lO THE FRIENDSHIP OF NATURE 



has scarcely broken ground. On the 

 top of the bank the dogwood stands 

 unchanged, and the pinxter flower 

 seems lifeless. 



A brown bird, with reddish tail and 

 buff, arrow-speckled breast, runs shyly 

 through the underbrush, and perching 

 on a low bush, begins a haunting, flute- 

 like song. It is the hermit thrush. Its 

 notes have been translated into sylla- 

 bles thus: "Oh speral, speral ! Oh 

 holy, holy! Oh clear away, clear 

 away; clear up, clear up!" — again 

 and again he repeats and reiterates, 

 until seeing us he sUps into the bushes. 

 Over the spring in the open is the 

 thrush's kinsman, the brown thrasher, 

 a large bird of muscular build, with 

 specked breast and rust-brown back, 

 who thrashes the air with his tail held 

 erect. He is a mocking thrush, allied 

 to the southern mocking-bird, and like 

 him is a vociferous singer. 



