THE BROWN THRUSH. 



" However the world goes ill, 



The Thrushes still sing in it." 



HE Mocking-bird of the North, 

 as the Brown Thrush has 

 been called, arrives in the 

 Eastern and Middle States 

 about the loth of May, at which 

 season he may be seen, perched on the 

 highest twig of a hedge, or on the 

 topmost branch of a tree, singing his 

 loud and welcome song, that may be 

 heard a distance of half a mile. The 

 favorite haunt of the Brown Thrush, 

 however, is amongst the bright and 

 glossy foliage of the evergreens. 

 " There they delight to hide, although 

 not so shy and retiring as the Black 

 bird ; there they build their nests in 

 greatest numbers, amongst the peren 

 nial foliage, and there they draw at 

 nightfall to repose in warmth and 

 safety." The Brown Thrasher sings 

 chiefly just after sunrise and before 

 sunset, but may be heard singing at 

 intervals during the day. His food 

 consists of wild fruits, such as black 

 berries and raspberries, snails, worms, 

 slugs and grubs. He also obtains 



much of his food amongst the with 

 ered leaves and marshy places of the 

 woods and shrubberies which he 

 frequents. Few birds possess a more 

 varied melody. His notes are almost 

 endless in variety, each note seemingly 

 uttered at the caprice of the bird, 

 without any perceptible approach to 

 order. 



The site of the Thrush's nest is a 

 varied one, in the hedgerows, under a 

 fallen tree or fence-rail; far up in the 

 branches of stately trees, or amongst 

 the ivy growing up their trunks. The 

 nest is composed of the small dead 

 twigs of trees, lined with the fine 

 fibers of roots. From three to five 

 eggs are deposited, and are hatched 

 in about twelve days. They have a 

 greenish background, thickly spotted 

 with light brown, giving the whole 

 egg a brownish appearance. 



The Brown Thrush leaves the East 

 ern and Middle States, on his migra 

 tion South, late in September, remain 

 ing until the following May. 



THE THRUSH'S NEST. 



"Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush 



That overhung a molehill, large and round, 

 I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush 



Sing hymns of rapture while I drank the sound 

 With joy and oft an unintruding guest, 



I watched her secret toils from day to day ; 

 How true she warped the moss to form her nest, 



And modeled it within with wood and clay. 

 And by and by, with heath-bells gilt with dew, 



There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, 

 Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue : 



And there I witnessed, in the summer hours, 

 A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly, 



Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky." 



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