The Veery (Hylodchla fuscescens) 

 By John H. Wallace, Jr. 



Length: 7^ inches. 



Range : Eastern United States to the plains, north to Manitoba, Ont., and 

 Newfoundland. 



Nest : On or near the ground ; eggs, 3 to 5. 



Long known as Wilson's Thrush. 



The name "Veery," by which this bird is known is evidently an imitation of 

 one of its rolling notes. 



The Veery is the commonest of the genus in the greater part of eastern North 

 America. It inhabits every piece of wet woodland and wooded swamp. It 

 is shy, like all of its kind, but may often be seen feeding in the paths of shaded 

 roads, running and pulling up in the manner of Robins. Its feed consists of 

 insects, small snails, and berries. The song of the Veery is less fine than that of 

 either the Wood Thrush or the Hermit, but it has a peculiar charm. It consists 

 of a series of ringing phrases, each lower in the scale than the preceding, and 

 resembling somewhat the syllables vee-u-ry, vee-u-ry, vee-u-ry ; the last notes 

 often ring with a fine metallic quaver. The gloom of the woods, the general 

 quiet, and the invisibility of the singer, all heighten the charm of the performance. 

 The ordinary call of the Veery is a harsh pheii, which is modified to various 

 melancholy or angry tones. The arrival of the Veery in early May is not heralded 

 by its song. It is often a week after its arrival before it sings. The nest is placed 

 on or near the ground, in some moist or swampy woodland, and is composed of 

 grasses, leaves, and bits of bark, lined within with roots and fine grass. The 

 Veeries, like the Wood Thrushes, cease to sing in July, and are rarely seen after 

 the middle of August. They winter beyond the limits of the United States. 



One day in June my son invited me for a walk. He said I would need 

 my boots. He took me to a swamp at the farther part of the farm. He parted 

 the dense thicket of bushes at the border and we looked into what seemed more 

 like a grotto than like a swamp. Soft maple trees grew up, each out of its own 

 knoll, from a watery floor. My son assisted me to leap from knoll to knoll till 

 we were within the beautiful place — so roomy, yet so shady; so cool and so 

 sweet — and that was the Vera-bird's home. 



Then I invited my son to go with me for a twilight visit to another swamp 

 that also had its pair of Tawney Thrushes. Low on the slope that led to the 

 swamp was a certain scrubby tree that I knew the bird had chosen as a favorite 

 place for singing. We waited under the tree and when the twilight deepened and 

 other birds were still the Vera came and sang a few stanzas of his good-night 

 song — not grand and soaring like the Wood Thrush's song, but most sweet, and 

 so tremulous that it seemed to rain down upon us and about us Hke a gentle 

 shower of melody. , 



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