THE NEST OE THE BROWN THRUSH. 



421 



Slow and deliberate their melody seemed 

 when heard at a distance. It opened with a 

 prelude of 3 distinct notes, each followed 

 by a pause. Then, after a brief rest, came 3 

 more and different notes, terminating, as it 

 seemed, in the long drawn out syllable 

 che-e-e. On nearing the singer, so that the 

 elements of the melody could be more 

 clearly distinguished the song was found 

 more complicated and difficult to describe 

 than it first appeared. Softer notes could be 

 heard filling every pause until it almost 

 seemed that the bird was singing 2 songs at 

 once. Heard more distinctly the closing 

 note of each burst of melody was no longer 

 a simple che-e-e, but a most charming trill, 

 rapidly uttered, tremulous and beyond de- 

 scription. 



Dark days, gloomy weather and the long 

 shadows of approaching night were the de- 

 light of the thrushes, and it was when other 

 songsters were mute and discouraged that 

 they most joyed in displaying their gifts. 

 On bright clear days they fled to this shel- 

 tered spot beside the creek to escape from 

 the glaring sunlight; and here their songs 

 could often be heard all day. 



Have I ever found their nests and seen 

 their eggs and young? Many a time; but 

 if I tell you where, I do so in strict confi- 

 dence, and you must never reveal the spot 

 to any naturalist; for he would rob the nest 

 to get specimens for his cabinet. He might 

 even think stuffed thrushes were desirable 

 curiosities. 



There were several small trees standing 

 in the osage hedge on the high bank, and 

 one of these, undermined by the stream and 

 apparently crowded off by its neighbors, 

 had lost its footing and bent low toward 

 the water. The wild grape vines had caught 

 it in their long arms, stayed it in its fall and 

 had hidden its decay with their luxuriant 

 green. Beneath the swaying sapling the 

 tangled sprays of vines were loosely 

 wreathed together, and in this living net the 

 decaying twigs and fallen branches had been 

 caught and held in jagged clusters. 



On this picturesque foundation the 

 thrush, year after year, builds her nest, of 

 dry leaves, plastered together with mud and 

 lined with the finest hair-like roots, and 

 soft moss. Her 4 eggs are of a delicate 

 light blue color, with perhaps a light shade 

 of green, but free from all spots and mark- 

 ings. 



Beneath this overhanging screen of sway- 

 ing branches and vines I once found shelter 

 from a sudden shower and watched the old 

 bird sitting fearlessly on her nest, while her 

 mate, heedless of rain and visitor, sang on 

 undisturbed. As I emerged from this re- 

 treat the low sun peered out between the 

 thunder clouds; a rainbow spanned the 

 Eastern sky, its colors mimicked by the 

 sparkling drops shaken flashing from the 

 dripping leaves, and the tireless thrush, bal- 

 anced on a swaying spray of vine, poured 

 forth a fresh burst of song. 



A GROUP OF GRIZZLIES. 



Killed by W. E. Carlin and W. H. Wright, and exhibited by Recreation, at the Third Annual Sportsmen's 



Exposition. 



