But I must tell you the rest of the story of the bluebirds; and I am sorry to say, they met with sad trials. The first encroacher, as they supposed him to be, was a woodpecker; he seemed, as I thought, to mean them no harm; but as soon as they heard his tap, tap, tap, they flew at him very angrily and drove him away. A more dangerous enemy was at hand, one that from his size you would not have supposed dangerous to them. A little wren, not nearly so large as the bluebird, came one day to the tree; and, seeing the jar, having examined it, and being pleased with it, resolved to take it for herself. The little thief waited till the bluebirds had gone upon some expedition; and then, without any ceremony, without any fear of any thing, she entered the jar, and was evidently confirmed in her purpose of taking possession of it. Probably she held a consultation with her mate; but this I did not witness, as I did that between the two bluebirds. The next day this pert little Madam Wren, or her mate, I could not tell which, came again, and, perching on the topmost branch of the tree, poured forth a loud triumphant song, and then, as soon as the coast was clear, entered the house she was resolved to appropriate to herself. In a minute after, she appeared at the mouth of the jar with her bill full of the dried grass of which the bluebird's nest was made, which she threw out on the ground disdainfully. Back again she flew, and in an instant brought some more and threw it out. This she did with the most impudent look you can imagine. Then she flew swiftly in and out, like a little termagant, throwing out of the mouth of the jar, sticks, dead leaves, grass, with all the nice soft things which the poor bluebird had been a week in collecting. Every now and then, she came out for a minute and sang as sweetly as if she were not engaged in such a piratical work; and the little rogue looked up in my face so saucily, too, as much as to say, 'Who cares for you?' Then she began singing at the top of her voice, exulting over her work of destruction. Can you suppose it was any sense of honesty that prevented her using the bluebird's nest after having stolen her house? No, Jenny Wren had no principle. You would have laughed to see how scornfully she tossed out those dead leaves. Every thing went out of the nest pell-mell. The little monster! what could the poor bluebirds say or do? This bird evidently had no conscience, at least not a good one, that is plain. Never did general rejoice more over the capture and destruction of a city than this little bit of a bird rejoiced over the destruction of the bluebird's nest, and at the unlawful possession of the house. I saw her carrying in a long stick that suited her better than the short ones that the bluebird had carried in: she found she could not get it in if she took it in the middle; so she changed the place, and held it by the end, and so by that means got it in. She was more cunning than the bluebird. Now