elf in
some way, for I distinctly remember how a man with my bow and arrows
led the way, and I in restrained delight followed him to the cedar
grove. I remember how he maneuvered among the trees, and with keen eyes
watched for an opportunity to make a shot.

He stopped, whispered to me, pointed to a bird in the trunk of a cedar.
Raising the bow, it bent taut under his firm, cautious pull. "Whiz,"
went the arrow, and there, pinned to the tree with the iron spike,
fluttered a hairy woodpecker. To my wondering child-mind it was a great
feat--my inherent instinct for hunting the wild approved and applauded.

That very phase of human nature is what we are now trying to eliminate
from the present and coming generation.

--Eugene Swope.

[Illustration: "HUNGRY HOLLOW."]

WREN NOTES.

FROM NATURE AND CULTURE.

We have grown to expect at least one wren's nest on our porch or
elsewhere in our yard each year; so, as usual, we put our boxes this
Spring with notices, figuratively: "For wrens only--no sparrows need
apply."

Knowing Jenny's fastidious taste, we furnish several boxes, thus giving
her a choice. There is but little we would not do to induce her to live
in our neighborhood, and it would be a great disappointment to us if
she would not accept one of our houses, rent free.

This year, 1912, she carried twigs to three different boxes before she
settled down to business. When this occurred, to our amusement, she
went to the other two boxes for twigs, bringing them to the chosen
site, instead of getting them from the ground, which for obvious
reasons would have been much easier. Mr. Wren is not so hard to suit.
Anything is good enough, in his estimation, much to the disgust of his
spouse.

[Illustration: WE ARE SEVEN.]

One day he made bold to select a box and carried in a few twigs to lay
the "cornerstone" of a structure. Soon Mrs. Wren came upon the scene
and in unmistakable language told him what she thought of him. Still
scolding, this Xantippe of birds threw out the material he had brought,
and, meekly submitting, he accepted her choice of a new location.

We always have to reckon with the sparrows--"avian rats," as some one
has aptly called them. We do our best in helping Jenny drive them away
by emptying out the stuff they bring in, by shooting them away, and
even by use of the air gun. When absent one day for several hours we
found, upon our return, the following things in the box: a rusty nai