(_Troglodytes hiemalis_) Wren family
_Length_--4 to 4.5 inches. About one-third smaller than the
English sparrow. Apparently only half the size.
_Male and Female_--Cinnamon-brown above, with numerous short,
dusky bars. Head and neck without markings. Underneath rusty,
dimly and finely barred with dark brown. Tail short.
_Range_--United States, east and west, and from North Carolina
to the Fur Countries.
_Migrations_--October, April. Summer resident. Commonly a
winter resident in the South and Middle States only.
It all too rarely happens that we see this tiny mouse-like wren in
summer, unless we come upon him suddenly and overtake him unawares as
he creeps shyly over the mossy logs or runs literally "like a flash"
under the fern and through the tangled underbrush of the deep, cool
woods. His presence there is far more likely to be detected by the ear
than the eye.
Throughout the nesting season music fairly pours from his tiny throat;
it bubbles up like champagne; it gushes forth in a lyrical torrent and
overflows into every nook of the forest, that seems entirely pervaded
by his song. While music is everywhere, it apparently comes from no
particular point, and, search as you may, the tiny singer still
eludes, exasperates, and yet entrances.
If by accident you discover him balancing on a swaying twig, never far
from the ground, with his comical little tail erect, or more likely
pointing towards his head, what a pert, saucy minstrel he is! You are
lost in amazement that so much music could come from a throat so tiny.
Comparatively few of his admirers, however, hear the exquisite notes
of this little brown wood-sprite, for after the nesting season is over
he finds little to call them forth during the bleak, snowy winter
months, when in the Middle and Southern States he may properly be
called a neighbor. Sharp hunger, rather than natural boldness, drives
him near the homes of men, where he appears just as the house wren
departs for the South. With a forced confidence in man that is almost
pathetic in a bird that loves the forest as he does, he picks up
whatever lies about the house or barn in the shape of food--crumbs
from the kitchen door, a morsel from the dog's plate, a little seed in
the barn-yard, happily rewarded if he can find a spider lurking in
some sheltered place to give a flavor to the unrelished grain. Now he
becomes almost tame, but we feel it is only because he must be.
The spot that decided preference leads him to, either winter or
summer, is beside a bubbling spring. In the moss that grows near it
the nest is placed in early summer, nearly always roofed over and
entered from the side, in true wren-fashion; and as the young
fledglings emerge from the creamy-white eggs, almost the first lesson
they receive from their devoted little parents is in the fine art of
bathing. Even in winter weather, when the wren has to stand on a rim
of ice, he will duck and splash his diminutive body. It is recorded of
a certain little individual that he was wont to dive through the icy
water on a December day. Evidently the wrens, as a family, are not far
removed in the evolutionary scale from true water-birds.
[Illustration: HOUSE WREN]
[Illustration: BROWN THRASHER]