(_Turdus fuscescens_) Thrush family
_Called also_: VEERY; TAWNY THRUSH
(Illustration facing p. 126)
_Length_--7 to 7.5 inches. About one-fourth smaller than the robin.
_Male and Female_--Uniform olive-brown, with a tawny cast above.
Centre of the throat white, with cream-buff on sides of throat
and upper part of breast, which is lightly spotted with
wedge-shaped, brown points. Underneath white, or with a faint
grayish tinge.
_Range_--United States, westward to plains.
_Migrations_--May. October. Summer resident.
To many of us the veery, as they call the Wilson's thrush in New
England, is merely a voice, a sylvan mystery, reflecting the sweetness
and wildness of the forest, a vocal "will-o'-the-wisp" that, after
enticing us deeper and deeper into the woods, where we sink into the
spongy moss of its damp retreats and become entangled in the wild
grapevines twined about the saplings and underbrush, still sings to us
from unapproachable tangles. Plainly, if we want to see the bird, we
must let it seek us out on the fallen log where we have sunk exhausted
in the chase.
Presently a brown bird scuds through the fern. It is a thrush, you
guess in a minute, from its slender, graceful body. At first you
notice no speckles on its breast, but as it comes nearer, obscure
arrow-heads are visible--not heavy, heart-shaped spots such as
plentifully speckle the larger wood thrush or the smaller hermit. It
is the smallest of the three commoner thrushes, and it lacks the ring
about the eye that both the others have. Shy and elusive, it slips
away again in a most unfriendly fashion, and is lost in the wet tangle
before you have become acquainted. You determine, however, before you
leave the log, to cultivate the acquaintance of this bird the next
spring, when, before it mates and retreats to the forest, it comes
boldly into the gardens and scratches about in the dry leaves on the
ground for the lurking insects beneath. Miss Florence Merriam tells of
having drawn a number of veeries about her by imitating their
call-note, which is a whistled _wheew, whoit_, very easy to
counterfeit when once heard. "_Taweel-ab, taweel-ab, twil-ab,
twil-ab!_" Professor Ridgeway interprets their song, that descends in
a succession of trills without break or pause; but no words can
possibly convey an idea of the quality of the music. The veery, that
never claims an audience, sings at night also, and its weird, sweet
strains floating through the woods at dusk, thrill one like the
mysterious voice of a disembodied spirit.
Whittier mentions the veery in "The Playmate":
"And here in spring the veeries sing
The song of long ago."
[Illustration: A CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER FAMILY.]
[Illustration: THE WOOD THRUSH HEARS THE CLICK OF THE CAMERA]