(_Harporhynchus rufus_) Thrasher and Mocking-bird family
_Called also_: BROWN THRUSH; GROUND THRUSH; RED THRUSH; BROWN
MOCKING-BIRD; FRENCH MOCKING-BIRD; MAVIS
(Illustration facing p. 119)
_Length_--11 to 11.5 inches. Fully an inch longer than the robin.
_Male_--Rusty red-brown or rufous above; darkest on wings, which
have two short whitish bands. Underneath white, heavily
streaked (except on throat) with dark-brown, arrow-shaped spots.
Tail very long. Yellow eyes. Bill long and curved at tip.
_Female_--Paler than male.
_Range_--United States to Rockies. Nests from Gulf States to
Manitoba and Montreal. Winters south of Virginia.
_Migrations_--Late April. October. Common summer resident.
"There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in a tree;
He is singing to me! He is singing to me!
And what does he say, little girl, little boy?
'Oh, the world's running over with joy!'"
The hackneyed poem beginning with this stanza that delighted our
nursery days, has left in our minds a fairly correct impression of the
bird. He still proves to be one of the perennially joyous singers,
like a true cousin of the wrens, and when we study him afield,
he appears to give his whole attention to his song with a
self-consciousness that is rather amusing than the reverse. "What
musician wouldn't be conscious of his own powers," he seems to
challenge us, "if he possessed such a gift?" Seated on a conspicuous
perch, as if inviting attention to his performance, with uplifted head
and drooping tail he repeats the one exultant, dashing air to which
his repertoire is limited, without waiting for an encore. Much
practice has given the notes a brilliancy of execution to be compared
only with the mocking-bird's; but in spite of the name "ferruginous
mocking-bird" that Audubon gave him, he does not seem to have the
faculty of imitating other birds' songs. Thoreau says the
Massachusetts farmers, when planting their seed, always think they
hear the thrasher say, "Drop it, drop it--cover it up, cover it
up--pull it up, pull it up, pull it up."
One of the shatterings of childish impressions that age too often
brings is when we learn by the books that our "merry brown thrush" is
no thrush at all, but a thrasher--first cousin to the wrens, in spite
of his speckled breast, large size, and certain thrush-like instincts,
such as never singing near the nest and shunning mankind in the
nesting season, to mention only two. Certainly his bold, swinging
flight and habit of hopping and running over the ground would seem to
indicate that he is not very far removed from the true thrushes. But
he has one undeniable wren-like trait, that of twitching, wagging, and
thrashing his long tail about to help express his emotions. It swings
like a pendulum as he rests on a branch, and thrashes about in a most
ludicrous way as he is feeding on the ground upon the worms, insects,
and fruit that constitute his diet.
Before the fatal multiplication of cats, and in unfrequented, sandy
locations still, the thrasher builds her nest upon the ground, thus
earning the name "ground thrush" that is often given her; but with
dearly paid-for wisdom she now most frequently selects a low shrub or
tree to cradle the two broods that all too early in the summer
effectually silence the father's delightful song.