The nest is a loose, globular affair situated in the top of a tussock of grass or in rushes some twelve or eighteen inches above the ground or water. It is composed of coarse grass closely interwoven with fine blades and fibers, making a compact structure. The inner part is lined with fine materials, such as soft down, cat-tail blossoms, etc. At one side, sometimes ingeniously hidden, is a small round entrance. The nest resembles very closely that of its first cousin in shape and location, but can easily be recognized by the eggs, which are pure white. This little bird sometimes builds a number of nests, but lays eggs in but one. Whether it does this because it enjoys the occupation, or for the purpose of producing a “blind,” no one can say. A number will nest in the same locality, thus forming quite a colony. Its song is quite different from that of the long-billed. Mr. Gault says: “In the manner of delivery it forcibly reminds one of the song of the dickcissel, although, of course, it is not near as loud. They are quite shy, but would allow one to approach within forty or fifty feet of them, when they would dart down into the thick grass, from which it was almost impossible to dislodge them.” Mr. Washburn, in speaking of this bird in the Red River valley, gives some interesting accounts of its peculiarities. “In a large marsh * * * I found a colony of these wrens, which by my presence was thrown into most excitable activity. They are at a disadvantage when on the wing, these appendages seeming scarcely able to support their obese bodies, for they fly as though weighted like a bee returning to a hive heavily laden. Instinctively they fly toward the friendly support of some tall weed where, as if feeling more secure on their feet than in the air, they resume their antics, hanging their heads downward, twirling their tails, jumping from one weed to another, and each bird apparently communicating its restlessness to its neighbor, until the whole colony is in a state of ferment. They do not alight gracefully like most birds, but seem to tumble into the weeds.” Unless one is very cautious and persevering he is not able to observe the activity of these wee bits of bird life. He can wade into their very midst and can hear them chattering within a few feet of him without seeing them or at the best getting but a glimpse of one. But if he conceals himself and remains quiet for perhaps a half hour his efforts may be rewarded. Ilk happy bird, wee helpless thing, That in the weary months o’ spring Delight me to hear thee sing, What’s come o’ thee? Where wilt thou cower thy chittering wing And close thy e’e? —Burns. J. Rollin Slonaker.