THE BROWN THRASHER 17 
It is a performance worth buying a ticket for 
and going miles to hear; but it is to be heard 
without price on the outskirts of almost any vil- 
lage in the United States east of the Rocky 
Mountains and south of Maine. You must go 
out at the right time, however, for the bird sings 
but a few weeks in the year, although he remains 
in New England almost six months, or till the 
middle of October. He is one of the birds that 
every one should know, since it is perfectly easy 
to identify him ; and once known, he is never to 
be forgotten, or to be confounded with anything 
else. 
The thrasher’s nest is a rude, careless-looking 
structure, made of twigs, roots, and dry leaves, 
and is to be looked for on the ground, or in a 
bush not far above it. Often it has so much the 
appearance of a last year’s affair that one is 
tempted to pass it as unworthy of notice. I have 
been fooled in that way more than once. 
The bird sits close, as the saying is, and as 
she stares at you with her yellow eyes, full at 
once of courage and fear, you will need a hard 
heart to disturb her. Sometimes she will really 
show fight, and she has been known to drive a 
small boy off the field. Her whistle after she 
has been frightened from her eggs or nestlings 
is one of the most pathetic sounds in nature. I 
