A Second Marriage

— When we took possession of a little cottage, we discovered in one corner of its piazza, at the south and west, traces of former occupants. A collection of sticks, straws, and grass formed a nest across the corner of a ledge which ran all around the inside under the roof. Upon inquiry, we learned it had been occupied for two or three seasons past by a pair of tiny wrens.

One lovely morning in June our expectant hearts and ears were rejoiced by a burst of melody from an old apple-tree near the corner of the piazza, and soon after a grateful, happy song from a syringa bush still nearer. We had suspended a basket of ivies and ferns very near this cosy corner, and were soon rewarded by the appearance of Mr. Wren clinging to the cord, most carefully inspecting the ruins of his old home from that convenient point. He was evidently pleased and satisfied that things wore to be as they had been. During the day, the soft, gentle little “gluck, gluck, gluck ” of Mrs. Jennie Wren was heard in and about the apple-tree. The next day operations began for house-building. Every twig and fibre was taken away, and dropped at some distance from the house. Then the rebuilding went on vigorously until the nest was completed. The presence on the piazza of people, or even of newspapers blown about, caused no alarm, and we were viewed with the same interest, as we watched their movements, without suspicion or fear. The little brood were hatched in due time, and left the nest on the glorious Fourth, sprawling and flopping on the piazza half the day, and finally getting their balance in the appletree before dark.

For three seasons we enjoyed these melodious little lodgers and friends. Then we gave them a pretty house made fast to the same corner ledge. They had to do battle for it, as we found the testy English sparrows and wandering bluebirds had discovered its advantages before Mr. and Mrs. Wren arrived to take possession. However, by their energy and quick wit they gained the victory, and arranged their apartments to suit themselves ; always giving us in return their lovely songs and confidence. We became very intimate and devoted friends, so that the shock and grief were excessive when, one morning in June, after the soft, cosy nest had been occupied by five tiny pale blue eggs, we found our dear little Jennie lying stiff and cold at the foot of the piazza steps, not a wound or blemish on her tiny form or feathers. We could only surmise that she had flown after dark, with miscalculation, against the roof, and had been killed by the force of the blow. We left her there for a time, that her mate might learn his misfortune. To our surprise, he seemed indignant and unbelieving, sang impatiently, and flew to and fro. At last we buried her with much sorrow. Then his fury knew no bounds ; his wild song was almost constant, as if demanding her return at once. He tore bits from the nest and flung them about; later, he scrambled into the nest, and kicked madly backward, until every egg was tumbled out on the piazza. He swooped down on them, and, with his sharp black beak and slender claws, picked and stamped upon every remnant of his hopes and affections. Then he was exhausted, and was neither seen nor heard again that day, poor fellow.

The next morning he appeared, in a more humble frame of mind and song. He had evidently decided that dear Jennie did not like her home; he would build her a better one, and she would return to him ; so with busy brain and tender song he worked on alone the entire day. At dusk, when this nest was finished to his satisfaction, he seemed happy and hopeful. To our amazement, the next morning he perched himself on the topmost spike of a tall pine-tree at the north of the house, and began to sing in the loudest, most bewildering notes he was capable of. This continued for three days, until it was pitiable to see his thin, weary little form dilating with this effort of melody and love. On the fourth day he was in the apple-tree, using his most endearing tones and manners. A young, plump, pretty little Miss Wren was evidently appreciating them. For a day or two she was coy and hard to please, but was finally induced to take a peep at his residence from the banging basket. She was so pleased that she soon took up her abode there. Mr. Wren was very devoted, but his plumage was ragged and gray, bis eyes were less bright; it was plain to us that the week of agony, fatigue, and temper woidd never be effaced even by this fascinating young wife.

His decline in vigor and pluck was still more apparent the following spring, as he did not succeed in putting to flight his enemies, the bluebirds and sparrows, but gave up his old home, and took refuge in an orchard near by. Possibly the young wife preferred pink decorations and pale green portières as more artistic. Such tastes and compromises have been known among the unfeathered tribes.