It was my belief at one time that the Wren was one of the little birds a cat never could catch; but later on I discovered that this was a mistake. At my home on the pampas we once had a large yellow tom cat exceedingly dexterous in catching small birds; he did not, however, eat them himself, but used to bring them into the house for the other cats. Two or three times a day he would appear with a bird, which he would drop at the door, then utter a loud mew very well understood by the other cats, for they would all fly to the spot in great haste, and the first to arrive would get the bird. At one time I noticed that he brought in a Wren almost every day, and, curious to know how he managed to capture so clever a bird, I watched him. His method was to go out into the grounds frequented by Wrens, and seat himself conspicuously amongst the weeds or bushes; and then, after the first burst of alarm had subsided amongst the small birds, one or two Wrens would always take on themselves the task of dislodging him, or, at all events, of making his position a very uncomfortable one. The cat would sit perfectly motionless, apparently not noticing them at all, and by-and-by this stolid demeanour would have its effect, and one of the Wrens, growing bolder, would extend his dashing little incursions to within a few inches of pussy's demure face; then at last, swift as lightning, would come the stroke of a paw, and the little brown body would drop down with the merry brave little spirit gone from it. The House-Wren is widely distributed in South America, from the tropical forests to the cold uplands of Patagonia, and, possessing a greater adaptiveness than most species, it inhabits every kind of country, moist or dry, and is as much at home on lofty mountains and stony places as in the everglades of the Plata, where it frequents the reed-beds and damp forests. About houses they are always to be found; and though the traveller on the desert pampas might easily imagine that there are no Wrens in the giant grasses, if he makes himself a lodge in this lonely region, a Wren will immediately appear to make its nest in his thatch and cheer him with its song. Even in large towns they are common, and I always remember one flying into a church in Buenos Ayres one Sunday, and, during the whole sermon-time, pouring out its bright lyric strains from its perch high up somewhere in the ornamental wood-work of the roof. The Wren sings all summer, and also on bright days in winter. The song is not unlike that of the English House-Wren, having the same gushing character, the notes being strong and clear, and uttered with rapidity and precision; but the Argentine bird has greater sweetness and more power. In spring the male courts his mate with notes high and piercing as the squeals of a young mouse; these he repeats with great rapidity, fluttering his wings all the time like a moth, and at intervals breaking out into song.