Vol. V, No. 1. 



ALBION, H. Y., JAN., 1888. 



Published Monthly, 

 50c Pek Ykak. 



The Brawn Thrasher. 



Harporhyiichw rufys (Linn.). 



BY OLIVER DAVIE. 



I know not whether to wonder most, at 

 the range and variety of this bird's natural 

 song or at his powers as a rnirnic. 



In the latter consideration I would not 

 dare to place him on the same plane with 

 the far famed Mockingbird, but the scope 

 and diversity of his natural song notes are 

 something wonderful, and when heanl un- 

 der favorable circumstances fills the mind 

 of the hearer with admiration for the bird 

 whose lyrical powers are among the first of 

 feathered songsters. 



Never shall I forget the early dawn of a 

 May morning in 1875, when the song of 

 this bird first fell on my ears I was bent 

 on making a collection of the birds of 

 Franklin Co., Ohio and many a spring 

 morning, often long before daybreak, 

 found me in the woods with my gun and 

 note-book in hand. 



It was one of those mornings when the 

 whole face of creation was fresh and gay, 

 when the gentle gales seemed freighted with 

 the odors of budding vegetation, when 

 everything tended to inspire the thoughts 

 to muse on Nature's grandeur. 



The sun's rays had not yet streaked the 

 eastern sky and the mornings gray cast a 

 lurid light over field and forest. From out 

 the blue firmament, still twinkling with 

 stars; came the crackling sound of the Pur- 

 ple Martin, and the gutteral crys of herons 

 could be distinctly heard as they winged 

 their way in the calm morning air. The 

 song of the cricket was on the wane and 

 the croaking of the frogs dying away 

 as the morning dawn was brightening. 

 Near by flowed the quiet Scioto, along 

 whose banks the sandpipers whistled while 

 the cackling and crowing of fowls? in the. 



neighboring farms told of the approaching 

 day. 



The grayness of dawn soon decayed and 

 the clouds of floating mist vanished before 

 the rising sun. A number of sprightly 

 Goldfinches flew in their undulating man- 

 ner through the air, and now the leafing 

 trees along the river bank and in the little 

 woods near by seemed swarming with birds; 

 everything appeared to be animated with 

 beauty, perfume and song. I listened to 

 the multitude of mingled voices as they 

 rang out in the pure atmosphere but they 

 were scarcely distinguishable. 



In another instant there came a sound 

 surpassingly rich and melodious, like a 

 voice from the spirit land. It was the 

 plaintive notes of the Thrasher charming 

 his mate with a love-song of bewitching 

 sweetness in the boughs just above me. 



I harkened to the delightful strain and a 

 soft melancholy stole over my mind in the 

 glorioiis dawn, while the dew-drops on the 

 drooping branches glistened like jewels in 

 the bright sunlight. 



He sat on a bough with his brown and 

 speckled plumage ruffled; his wings and 

 tail drooping, but his head was turned 

 heavenward, and as his throat swelled the 

 wild, artless harmony of this great min- 

 strel's song echoed and re-echoed through- 

 out the woodland. He was a rustic musi- 

 cian and extravagant with his powers. 



At first I thought his notes were the rust- 

 ling of leaves until he burst forth with the 

 lively chatter of the House Wren, then 

 came tht soft plaintive notes of the Blue- 

 bird followed by the loud ker-ker-ker of the 

 Red -headed Woodpecker and the hurried 

 clucking of the Golden-wing; again and 

 again he repeated the mellow piping of the 

 Kildeer Plover as it settles down on a peb- 

 bly shore. Sometimes his voice would die 

 away into a liquid tone like the murmur- 

 ing of a fcuEtsin, when suddenly he would 



