THE BROWN THRASHER 



OUR long-tailed thrush, or thrasher, delights 

 in a high branch of some solitary tree, whence it 

 will pour out its rich and intricate warble for an 

 hour together. This bird is the great American 

 chipper. There is no other bird that I know of 

 that can chip with such emphasis and military 

 decision as this yellow-eyed songster. It is like 

 the click of a giant gunlock. Why is the thrasher 

 so stealthy ? It always seems to be going about 

 on tip-toe. I never knew it to steal anything, and 

 yet it skulks and hides like a fugitive from just- 

 ice. One never sees it flying aloft in the air and 

 traversing the world openly, like most birds, 

 but it darts along fences and through bushes as 

 if pursued by a guilty conscience. Only when 

 the musical fit is upon it does it come up into 

 full view, and invite the world to hear and be- 

 hold. 



Years pass without my finding a brown thrash- 

 er's nest ; it is not a nest you are likely to stumble 

 upon in your walk ; it is hidden as a miser hides 

 his gold, and watched as jealously. The male 

 pours out his rich and triumphant song from the 

 tallest tree he can find, and fairly challenges you to 



