260 



THE OOLOGIST. 



passing by in its erratic course makes 

 the woods ring with its sweet bell-like 

 notes, a Goldfinch in undulating flight 

 festoons the ether with its plaintive 

 song, a group of Vultures sail silently 

 over the land, while an occasional Red- 

 tail mounting the stairway of flight, 

 rises to a dizzy height to pursue its sol- 

 itary course among the clouds. 



Prominent among the tenants of 

 these happy scenes is the California 

 Thrasher, the minstrel of our groves. 

 Unlike the Mocking-bird the Thrasher 

 has acquired no love for the habitations 

 of man. It delights in the quiet re- 

 treats of the country, where only an oc- 

 casional ear catches its joyous strains. 

 Balanced upon some swaying twig, it 

 floods the neighborhood with its notes, 

 often pausing in the midst of its song 

 to arrange its feathers. This song con- 

 sists of imitations of the notes of other 

 birds, boldly and quite accurately ren- 

 dered, ingeniously interwoven among 

 strains of its own, and all is given with 

 a zest that thrills the listener and makes 

 the Thrasher an element of beauty in 

 our rural districts. 



The Thrasher is accustomed to sing at 

 almost any hour of the day. but its 

 sweetest efforts are heard during the 

 cool hours of morning and of evening. 

 Its morning song, the first sound that 

 breaks upon the quiet vales, heralds 

 the approach of day to the drowsy ten- 

 ants of the woods. While a purple mist 

 still surmounts the distant mountains, 

 the Thrasher seeks some elevated sta- 

 tion where the first beams of the rising 

 sun may bathe its plumage, soon in the 

 east the loftiest streaks are crowned 

 with a halo of golden light, the purple 

 veil gradually slips from the mountain's 

 brow, and finally the glorious king of 

 day swells above the horizon, gladen- 

 ing the sleepiug world below with his 

 kindly light. The fields kissed by the 

 morning breeze, feel the pulsations of 

 life, each stalk bows a gracious good- 

 morning to its fellows; the flowers 



bursting from their night's repose 

 freight the early gale with their fra- 

 grance; the fresh leaves of the over- 

 hanging foliage show their lovliest 

 green, while in every shaded nook deli- 

 cate ferns sparkle with dewy gems. 



Meanwhile the song of the Thrasher 

 has reverberated among the hills and 

 dales. The woodland minstrels are 

 now astir greeting the dawn with their 

 joyous lays. The Thrasher from his 

 point of vantage rejoices in the light 

 and warmth shed about him and his 

 song grows into an ecstasy of nielody 

 as he leads the rural choirs. The woods 

 and fields resound with tne joyous 

 music of these feathered orchestras: 

 "While Earth's full heart is throbbing 



over 

 With its wealth of life and light and 



joy." 

 The cool hours of moi'ning pass away 

 and the mid-day glare drives the fest- 

 ive choristers to the shady nooks. The 

 woods and fields are now comparativ- 

 ly silent, only an occasional song stir- 

 ring the heated atmosphere. The sun 

 passes the zenith, traverses the western 

 hills and finally sinks to rest. Night, 

 cowled in dusky robes from the Orient, 

 creeps along every glimmering sti'eam, 

 over the hills and uplands, and across 

 the verdant valleys, wrapping every 

 mountain, vale and cliff in the darkness 

 and the hush of her gloom: 

 "Twilight's gray and pensive hour 

 Brings the low breeze and shuts the 



flower." 

 The fields and tree-tops gleam in the 

 soft moonlight, the silvery beams find 

 their way through the openings in the 

 groves, illuminating every little glade 

 and dancing along every murmuring 

 stream, all is quiet save the melancholy 

 cry of the Whip poor-will, or the hoot 

 of the distant lonely Owl. Suddenly 

 a sweet harmony breaks upon the ear, 

 floating upon the fragrant breeze and 

 keeping time with the soft rustling of 



