THRUSH COUSINS 



put my foot near the nest they attacked that, clinging 

 to my pant leg and mauling that to the utmost of their 

 ability. 



My only lack was of an assistant to photograph the 

 birds in the act of attacking me. It was too late, though 

 to secure one that afternoon. The next day I would 

 have brought Ned, but the rain poured down unceas- 

 ingly, and by the day following the thrashing thrashers 

 and their offspring had retired safely from the field 

 of the hard fought battle and the glorious victory. No 

 doubt they believe that they worsted and routed a man, 

 and henceforth and forever thrasher art, folk-song and 

 literature will, of course, prate of arms and of the 

 man who on that memorable day backward reeled from 

 the stubborn birds and a barren field. And, as for the 

 man in the case, he no longer doubts the thrasher 

 prowess, and enjoys recounting the sensations of the 

 thrashing administered by these professional thrashers. 



The melodious thrasher likes the dry thicket and 

 patches of bushy scrub, whereas his vocal rival and 

 near relative, the Catbird, prefers the swampy thickets, 

 or those bordering upon wet ground. Though called 

 Catbird from its ordinary scolding, mewing note, the 

 bird is a really magnificent singer, with an amazingly 

 extensive repertoire. After watching it on some perch 

 and hearing it warble away and imitate various birds, 

 if we invade its chosen thicket a striking change occurs 

 as it turns from singing to scolding, about as radical as 

 though at a concert the prima donna should suddenly 

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