I have found the Winter Wren in the lower parts of Louisiana, and in the Floridas, in December and January, but never saw one there after the end of the latter month. Their stay in those parts rarely exceeds three months; two more are employed in forming a nest and rearing their broods; and as they leave Labrador by the middle of August at the latest, they probably spend more than half of the year in travelling. It would be interesting to know whether those which breed along the Columbia River, near the Pacific Ocean, visit the shores of our Atlantic States. My friend Thomas Nuttall informs me that he occasionally saw the Winter Wren feeding its young in the woods, along the north-west coast.
At Eastport, in Maine, when on my way to Labrador, I found this species in full song, and extremely abundant, although the air was chill, and icicles hung from every rock, it being then the 9th of May. On the 11th of June, I found it equally plentiful in the Magdalene Islands, and wondered how it could have made its way there, but was assured by the inhabitants that none were ever seen in winter. On the 20th of July, I met with it at Labrador, and again asked myself, how it could possibly have reached those remote and rugged shores? Was it by following the course of the St Lawrence, or by flying from one island to another across the Gulf? I have seen it in almost every State of the Union, but only twice found it breeding there, once near the Mohawk River in New York, and again in the Great Pine Swamp in Pennsylvania. It breeds abundantly in Maine, and probably in Massachusetts, but few spend the winter even in the latter State.
The song of the Winter Wren excels that of any other bird of its size with which I am acquainted. It is truly musical, lull of cadence, energetic, and melodious; its very continuance is surprising, and dull indeed must be the ear that thrills not on hearing it. When emitted, as it often is, from the dark depths of the unwholesome swamp, it operates so powerfully on the mind, that it by contrast inspires a feeling of wonder and delight, and on such occasions has usually impressed me with a sense of the goodness of the Almighty Creator, who has rendered every spot of earth in some way subservient to the welfare if his creatures.
Once when travelling through a portion of the most gloomy part of a thick and tangled wood, in the Great Pine Forest, not far from Maunchunk in Pennsylvania, at a time when I was intent on guarding myself against the venomous reptiles which I expected to encounter, the sweet song of this Wren came suddenly on my ear, and with so cheering an effect, that I instantly lost all apprehension of danger, and pressed forward through the rank briars and stiff laurels, in pursuit of the bird, which I hoped was not far from its nest. But he, as if bent on puzzling me, rambled here and there among the thickest bushes with uncommon cunning, now singing in one spot not far distant, and presently in another in a different direction. After much exertion and considerable fatigue, I at last saw it alight on the side of a large tree, close to the roots, and heard it warble a few notes, which I thought exceeded any it had previously uttered. Suddenly another Wren appeared by its side, but darted off in a moment, and the bird itself which I had followed disappeared. I soon reached the spot, without having for an instant removed my eyes from it, and observed a protuberance covered with moss and lichens, resembling those excrescences which are often seen on our forest trees, with this difference, that the aperture was perfectly rounded, clean, and quite smooth. I put a finger into it, and felt the pecking of a bird’s bill, while a querulous cry was emitted. In a word, I had, the first time in my life, found the nest of our Winter Wren. Having gently forced the tenant from his premises, I drew out the eggs with a sort of scoop which I formed. I expected to find them numerous, but there were not more than six, and the same number I afterwards found in the only other nest of this species ever discovered by me. The little bird called upon its mate, and their united clamour induced me to determine upon leaving their treasures with them; but just as I was about going off, it struck me that I ought to take a description of the nest, as I might not again have such an opportunity. I hope, Reader, you will believe that when I resolved to sacrifice this nest, it was quite as much on your account as my own. Externally it measured seven inches in length, four and a half in breadth; the thickness of its walls, composed of moss and lichen, was nearly two inches; and thus it presented internally the appearance of a narrow bag, the wall, however, being reduced to a few lines where it was in contact with the bark of the tree. The lower half of the cavity was compactly lined with the fur of the American Hare, and in the bottom or bed of the nest there lay over this about half a dozen of the large downy abdominal feathers of our Common Grous, Tetrao Umbellus. The eggs were of a delicate blush-colour, somewhat resembling the paler leaves of a partially decayed rose, and marked with dots of reddish-brown, more numerous towards the larger end.
The nest which I found near the Mohawk was discovered by mere accident. One day in the beginning of June, and about noon, feeling fatigued, I sat down on a rock overhanging the water, where, while resting, I might have the pleasure of watching the motions of some fishes in sight. The damp of the place produced a sudden chillness, and caused me to sneeze aloud, when from beneath my feet there flew off a Winter Wren. The nest, which I soon found, was attached to the lower parts of the rock, and presented the same form and structure as that already described; but it was smaller, the eggs, six in number, contained young far advanced.
The motions of this interesting bird are performed with great rapidity and decision. While searching for food it hops, creeps, and leaps about from one spot to another, as if it derived pleasure from exercise. At each movement it bends its breast downward, so as almost to touch the object on which it stands, and by a sudden extension of its strong feet, aided by the action of its half drooping concave wings, jerks itself forward, keeping its tail elevated all the while. Now through a hollow log it passes like a mouse, now it clings to the surface in various attitudes, suddenly disappears, but presently shews itself by your side; at times it chirrups in a querulous rolling tone, then emits single clear sharp chirps resembling the syllables tshick, tshick, and again remains silent for a time. It will now and then reach the upper branches of a small tree or a bush, by hopping and leaping from twig to twig; in the course of this transit it will present its opposite sides to you a score of times; and when at length it has gained the summit, it will salute you with its delicate melody, and then dash headlong and be out of sight in a moment. This is almost constantly observed during the spring season, when more than ever its alertness is displayed. On all such occasions however, whilst in the act of singing, its tail is seen to be depressed. In winter, when it takes possession of the wood-pile, close to the husbandman’s dwelling, it will challenge the cat in querulous tones, and peeping out here and there, as it frisks in security, wear out Grimalkin’s patience.
The food of the Winter Wren consists chiefly of spiders, caterpillars, and small moths, as well as larvæ. Towards autumn it eats small juicy berries.
Having lately spent a winter, at Charleston in South Carolina, with my worthy friend John Bachman, I observed that this little Wren made its appearance in that city and its suburbs in December. On the 1st January I heard it in full song in the garden of my friend, who informed me that in that State it does not appear regularly every winter, but is sure to be found during very cold weather.
With the view of enabling you to compare the habits of our Winter Wren and the Common Wren of Europe, the manners of birds being a subject on which, as you are well aware, I have always bestowed particular attention, I here present you with those of the latter bird, as observed in Britain, by my learned friend, William Macgillivray:—“With us the Wren is not migratory, but is found during winter in the most northern parts of the island, as well as in the Hebrides. Its flight is effected by a rapid and continuous motion of the wings, and therefore is not undulated, but direct; nor is it usually sustained, for the bird merely flits from one bush to another, or from stone to stone. It is most frequently met with along stone-walls, among fragments of rocks, in thickets of gorse, and by hedges, where it attracts notice by the liveliness of its motions, and frequently by its loud chirring noise. When standing, it keeps its tail nearly erect, and jerks its whole body; then hops about with alacrity, using its wings at the same time, and continually enunciating its rapid chit. In spring and summer, the male has a very pleasing, full, rich, and mellow song, which it repeats at intervals; and even in autumn and on fine days in winter, it may often be heard hurrying over its ditty, the loudness and clearness of which, as proceeding from so diminutive a creature, is apt to excite surprise, even after it has been long familiar.
“During the breeding season, Wrens keep in pairs, often in unfrequented parts, such as bushy dells, mossy woods, the banks of streams, and stony places overgrown with brambles, sloes, and other shrubs; but they are also to be found in shrubberies, gardens, and hedges in the immediate vicinity of human habitations, to which the wilder individuals also approach in winter. They are not properly speaking shy, as they conceive themselves to be secure at the distance of twenty or thirty yards; but on the approach of a person, they conceal themselves in holes among stones, or the roots of bushes.