Wrens' Nests

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Title:     Wrens' Nests
Author: Thomas Garnett [More Titles by Garnett]

In Mr. Rennie's edition of Montagu's Dictionary, and also in his "Architecture of Birds," after copying what I have said on the subject of Wrens' nests being lined with feathers, he says:-- "There can be no doubt, I apprehend, of these supposed cock-nests being nothing more than the unfinished structures of paired birds; otherwise the story would require the support of strong evidence to render it credible." Mr. Rennie afterwards goes on to say that in two instances he had seen nests which had about half-a-dozen feathers interwoven into the linings with hair; and Mr. Jennings, if I recollect aright, as I have not the work to refer to at present, says that Wrens don't line their nests with anything but moss, and he thinks Montagu is in error when he says they are lined with feathers. Along with this I send you three or four Wrens' nests, which you will perceive have abundance of feathers in the inside; and although the Wren will occasionally use cows' hair along with the feathers, yet I am persuaded from the localities in which I have met with them, that cows' hair has been used because feathers were not to be found; but when the nests are in the vicinity of a rookery, a farm-yard, or any other locality where feathers are abundant, the Wrens will use them exclusively. What the "strong evidence" must be which will convince Mr. Rennie about cock-nests, I don't know; but I know of a dozen of these nests at the present moment, several of which have remained in the state in which they were left in the middle of April. Other nests found about the same time have now young ones in them. I doubt not these nests are occasionally used for breeding in: for instance, if the first nest of a Wren be taken, or if it breed a second time, it will occasionally take possession of a cock-nest; as I have sometimes found that after remaining in the same unfinished state for several weeks, they have afterwards been fitted up with a lining, and bred in.

Mr. Rennie asserts that Montagu is wrong when he says that the Wren always adapts its materials to its locality. Although it certainly is not always the case, yet so very generally is it so, that I think it is not surprising that Montagu made this assertion.

Thus, if a Wren build in a haystack, the front of the nest is generally composed of the hay from the stack; if it be built in a bush by the side of a river, and (which is frequently the case) below flood mark, it is generally covered on the outside with the rubbish which has been left there by the flood; and if it build in a mossy stump, the front of the nest is composed of the dark- coloured moss which grows there. (May 22, 1832.)

Along with my last letter, I sent some Wrens' nests lined with feathers, and I could easily have increased them to a dozen of the same sort, only I did not wish to deprive so many of my little favourites of their eggs and young. Every day convinces me more decidedly, that I am right both with regard to the lining of the Wrens' nests, and as to the cock-nests also. The nests I sent you will prove the former, and I know of at least twenty instances of the latter, in nests which I have known of all through the spring, from April to the present time, which have remained in the same unfinished state, although they are not forsaken, as I have found the birds in them, in several instances, when I have examined them. I found one of these nests on the 10th of April, under a bank on the side of the river; and I examined it repeatedly through April and May, and always found it in the same state, although there was always a pair of Wrens about, and I could find no other nest; yet I am sure there was another, for in the beginning of this month (June) there were some young Wrens, which had evidently only just come out of the nest; and there were only two or three bushes grew thereabouts, so that it is not probable they had come from any other quarter, but the bushes were filled with dead leaves, and other rubbish brought down by the flood. However, when I heard them, I looked out for another nest, as I believe (notwithstanding what Montagu says, that there are few birds, if any, that would produce a second lot of eggs if the first were unmolested) that most of the small birds which are early breeders build a second time the same year, even when they succeed in rearing the first brood. I have had proof of this (if anything can be considered proof, except marking the birds), in the Throstle, the Blackbird, the Wren, the Redbreast, and the Hedge Sparrow, whose second nests may be found contiguous to the first; and in point of time, this always happens just when the first brood have left the nest. The cock-bird, too, who had been silent whilst his young were unfledged, begins to sing again, and throwing off the anxious and care-beset manners of a parent, again assumes that of a bridegroom. But to return to Wrens' nests. I found one within ten yards of the one I had known of since the 10th of April, lined, and ready for an egg. As I was anxious to prove what I had so long believed, I pulled out this nest, thinking that the old bird was ready for laying a second lot of eggs; and that when I had destroyed this, as she had no other nest ready, she would probably take up with the cock-nest.

As it was half a mile from my house, I did not visit it again until the 16th of June, and was then delighted to find the old bird sitting on six or seven eggs in the cock-nest, which had remained so long unoccupied. I believe that in this instance there is very little lining (fur, feathers, &c.) in the nest, although I should be sorry to examine it minutely until the young have left it; but I consider it an exception to the general rule, inasmuch as I believe the bird was ready to lay when I pulled out the other nest. As she would have to find another with as little delay as possible, she would not have time to embellish the inside in the same manner as she probably would have done if she had had more time.

On examining another Wrens' nest a few evenings ago, I found the young ones had flown, and as there was a cock-nest in some wrack left by the river in a bush a few yards off, I gave it a shake to see if the old ones had taken possession of it for another brood; and I was surprised to see one, and then a second young one come flying out, and a third putting out its head to reconnoitre. Whether the whole brood was there I don't know, as I did not disturb them further. As I had examined this nest only ten days before, when it had not an egg in it, I was at first at a loss to account for these young ones; but I have now no doubt they were the young from the adjoining nest, which had taken up their quarters for the night in the new house. But how had they learnt the way? Young birds generally roost where night finds them, and if I had found only one, I should not have been surprised, but to find at least three, probably six or seven, in a nest where I am certain they were not bred, was something new to me. I went several times in the evening after this, but never found them; I suppose the fright I gave them deterred them from lodging there again.

The editor of "Loudon's Magazine," in a paragraph appended to this article, says: "We have examined the Wrens' nests sent; their staple materials are moss, feathers, and hair. Into the moss on the exterior of the nest are woven a more or less perfect but feeble frond or two, and separate pinnae as well of Aspidium Filix-Mas, and leaves of apple, elm, and oak trees. Interiorly cows' hair is not scarce, and is partly inwoven with the moss and laces it together, and partly mingled with the feathers; a horse- hair or two are also observable. The feathers in each nest, apparently those of domestic fowls, are numerous enough to fill the hollow of the hand when the fingers are so folded over as not to much compress the feathers."

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THE Editor of Loudon's "Magazine of Natural History," and one of his contributors, Mr. Jennings, were of opinion that the common Wren never lined its nest with feathers. The following contribution was sent to the "Magazine of Natural History" in consequence of this, and led to some discussion afterwards:--

_April 17th_, 1829.

Mr. Jennings and yourself, in opposition to Montagu, are of opinion that the Wren never lines its nest with feathers; like the knights of the gold-and-silver shield, both sides are right. It is true, many Wrens' nests may be found in which there are no feathers; but did you ever find either eggs or young ones in them?

As far as my observations go, the nest in which the Wren lays its eggs is profusely lined with feathers; but during the period of incubation, the male--apparently from a desire to be doing something--constructs several nests in the vicinity of the first, none of which are lined; and whilst the first nest is so artfully concealed as to be found with difficulty, the last is very often seen. The Wren does not appear to be very careful in the selection of a site for these cock-nests, as they are called in Yorkshire by the schoolboys. I have frequently seen them in the twigs of a thick thorn hedge, under banks, in haystacks, in ivy bushes, in old stumps, in the loopholes of buildings, and in one instance in an old bonnet, which was placed among some peas to frighten away the blackcaps.

* * * * *

_August 15th_, 1831.

TO PROFESSOR RENNIE.

In your edition of Montagu's "Ornithological Dictionary," just published, you say--speaking of the Wren--"An anonymous correspondent of Loudon's 'Magazine of Natural History,' &c. &c.;" and you remark, "There can be no doubt of these supposed 'cock- nests' being nothing more than unfinished structures of paired birds; otherwise, the story would require the support of very strong evidence to render it credible."

As I am the anonymous correspondent alluded to, I forward you a few observations of facts tending, as I think, to confirm my view of the question.

In the first place, these nests are far too abundant for the birds, which are not plentiful--at least, in this neighbourhood. Again, it is at least five to one that any Wren's nest which is found during the summer without a lining of hair or feathers is ever completed, or has any eggs in it. This I have verified in a hundred instances, when, having found Wrens' nests, I have visited them again at intervals, for the purpose of ascertaining whether my opinion of cock-nests was correct.

Farther, in a small wood adjoining my garden, where I was certain there was only one pair of Wrens, I found at least half-a-dozen nests, not one of which was either lined with feathers or ever had eggs in it; although I discovered they were not all deserted, as I found an old bird roosting in one of them. I was induced to be more particular in my remarks in consequence of my seeing Mr. Jennings's remarks in the "Magazine of Natural History;" and I searched, as I supposed, every bank, bush, and stump in the wood two or three times before I could find the breeding-nest, which I at last discovered in the twigs of a willow on the bank of the river, in the centre of a bunch of tangled grass, cotton waste, and straws which had been left there by the floods, and which the bird had apparently excavated and in it formed its nest, which was profusely lined with rooks' feathers.

The fear of being thought tedious prevents my giving other facts which tend, as I think, to prove the correctness of my opinion; however, I will just add that all the persons with whom I have conversed who take an interest in such pursuits, agree with me in opinion in this matter.

The nest I have just spoken of was also a strong proof that Wrens, although they may not always adapt their materials to the locality they have chosen for a nest, frequently do so; and if this is not with the intention of concealing it, but merely because the materials are at hand, it serves the purpose of concealment also, and very effectually. The one I am speaking of was so exactly like the other lumps of rubbish which had been left by the floods in the same bush, that I did not discover that it was a Wren's nest until I had pulled it out of the twigs; and if a Wren builds its nest in a haystack--which it frequently does--the front of the nest is almost invariably composed of the hay from the stack, which prevents its being seen much more effectually than if the moss of which the body of the nest is composed were visible on the outside.

The fact that the long-tailed tits occasionally associate to the number of six or seven, and have a nest in common, which is mentioned in the same page of the "Magazine of Natural History" as the Wrens' nests, I could prove by the testimony of twenty people who saw the nest and young there spoken of. I should be glad to learn whether the same thing has been noticed by other people.

Among the few rare birds which it has been my good fortune to procure is a Woodpecker, which I killed this summer, and which is not mentioned in your edition of Montagu, although spoken of by Bewick as a dubious species, under the name of the Middle Spotted Woodpecker.

A pair of these birds had built their nest, or rather hatched their young (for there was no nest), in a hole in a decayed ash tree about twenty feet from the ground. There were two young ones, which I secured, as well as one of the old ones, and they are all in the possession of a professional friend of mine, who is a collector of ornithological specimens.

The old one measures 9 1/2 inches long, and weighed 46 1/2 dwts. an hour after it was killed. The forehead is a dirty buff, the whole crown of the head a bright crimson; the irides a dark lead colour, and it has a white ring round its neck. In other respects it corresponds with your description of the _Picus major_. The sex was not ascertained. The young ones have also the bright crimson head, and differ very materially from the old one.

The Chevy Linnet, as the lesser Redpole is called, is found here throughout the year, and is at no time a scarce bird with us. It frequently builds its nest in the alder and willow bushes, on the banks of the brooks or rivers. It is a late breeder, the nests being often met with containing eggs or young in July. In the winter it feeds upon the seeds of the alder or the cones of the larch, hanging suspended from the twigs like the titmouse.

We have also the Gray Wagtail (_Motacilla sulphurea_) with us the whole year, but it is rather a rare bird at all times and in all localities with which I am acquainted. (1853:--It is more plentiful now than it was in 1831.)

I very strongly suspect Selby is mistaken when he says, "that previous to its departure in September, it assembles in small flocks or families, which haunt the meadows or bare pastures." This does not agree with my observations of this bird, although quite true when applied to the Spring Wagtail (_Motacilla flava_); on the contrary, the Grey Wagtail is solitary throughout the year, except in the breeding season, and never frequents the meadows, but is found in the beds of the rivers, brooks, or ditches, where its shrill note often betrays it to eyes which would otherwise never see it.

This bird may be easily distinguished from the Spring Wagtail by its note when flying--yet, notwithstanding the difference is very apparent to a person who hears them both, it is not so easily described. In attempting to do so, therefore, I hope I shall be excused if I don't make the difference so apparent in the description as it is in reality. The latter part of the note of the Grey Wagtail when flying is higher in the musical scale than the former part, and is very staccato, thus: [BAR OF MUSIC] generally being uttered as the bird makes a spring in the air, [10] whilst the latter part of the note of the summer-bird is lower in the scale than the former part, which is more prolonged than in the note of the Grey Wagtail, and is slurred into the latter part, something in the following manner: [BAR OF MUSIC] Of course I don't mean it to be understood that these notes are either of the same pitch, or that they bear the same relation to each other that the notes of the bird do, but as a rude attempt at illustrating what I could not explain in any other way.

FOOTNOTE [10]Persons conversant with the habits of birds will readily comprehend me; for the sake of those who do not, I will just observe that the flight of all the Wagtails is very peculiar, being a succession of great leaps in the air (if I may be allowed the expression), which form a series of curves, the bird rising considerably at the commencement of each effort, and sinking again at the close.

 

A singular habit which I have noticed in several individuals of this species (_M. sulphurea_) has amused me exceedingly. They were in the habit of looking at their own images in the windows and attacking them, uttering their peculiar cry, and pecking and fluttering against the glass as earnestly as if the object they saw was a real rival instead of an imaginary one (a friend who observed it, insisted that, Narcissus-like, it was in an ecstasy of self-admiration). What is more remarkable, two of these instances occurred in the autumn, when one would not suppose the same motives for animosity to exist that would probably actuate them in the spring.

The first of these instances was when I was a boy, and was repeated daily for several weeks, both against the windows of my father's house and those of our neighbour, who, being rather superstitious, was alarmed about it, and came to consult my mother on the subject. She said there was a bird which her brother told her was a barley-bird (_Motacilla flava_), which was continually flying against her windows, and as birds were not in the habit of doing so generally, she thought something serious was portended by it. My mother comforted her as well as she could, and I undertook to rid her of the annoyance, which I did by setting a horsehair- noose on one of the window-ledges which it frequented. I soon caught it, and by plucking out the under-tail coverts, with which I wanted to dress _yellow duns_, I effectually cured it of the propensity--whether, Narcissus-like, it was in an ecstasy of self- admiration, or like the cock which attacked its own image in the boot (which Mr. Robert Warren's poet and painter have immortalized), it would admit of no rival.

It has been suggested, and I think with great probability, that the bird was merely attempting to catch the flies which it saw on the inside of the panes of glass; but certainly it was not so silent about it as these birds generally are when they are feeding.

[The end]
Thomas Garnett's essay: Wrens' Nests

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