THE VARIED THRUSH. 



249 



XO ; il docs nul always rain in western Washinglon. Sd far is this from 

 being the case, that we will match our Februaries against all comers, and 

 especially invite the attention of "native sons" of California. Our summers, 

 too, are just a little dry latterly, and we begin to wonder with a vague uneasi- 

 ness whether we are to be condemned to mediocrity after all. This paves the 

 way for a declaration that the true \\cli-f( ">|(t. iicvcnhrlcss. l(i\cs tlio rain, 

 and will exchange a garish sky 

 for a gentle drizzle any day in the 

 year. The \'aried Thrush is a 

 true Wcb-footcr. He loves rain 

 as a fish loves water. It is his 

 native element and \ital air. He 

 cndtu-es dry weatlicr, indeed, as 

 all i->f us shuiild, with calm stoi- 

 cism. Lchriic cii Icidcn ohiic cii 

 khigcn, as poor Emperor Freder- 

 ick II, the beloved "Unser Frit::," 

 used to say. But the Varied 

 Thrush is not the poet of sun- 

 shine. Dust motes have no charm 

 for his eyes, and he will not mis- 

 use his vocal powers in praise of 

 the crackling leaf. Ergo, he sits 

 silent in the thickets while avian 

 jjoet-asters shrill the notes of 

 common day. Uut let the sun 

 once veil his splendors, let the 

 clouds shed their gentle tears of 

 self-pity, let the benison of the 

 rain-drops filter thru the forest, 

 and let the leafage begin to utter 

 that myriad soft sigh wdiich is 

 dearer than silence, and our 

 poet Thrush wakes uj). 1 Ic 

 mounts the chancel of some fir 

 tree and utters at intervals a sin- ''^"'■' 

 gle long-drawn note of brooding 

 melancholy and exalted beauty, — 

 a voice stranger than the .sound of any instrument, a waif echo siranding 

 on the shores of time. 



Raitikr .\\ilio„al Park, 

 a PUotograph Copyright, 1908, by IV. 



.\ MORNING IN I'.\R.\I)ISK, 



