On the other hand, one Robin’s nest which I found in the open sage had no mud in its construction and was altogether composed of felted vegetable materials. Another freak nest, in Spokane, showed a hatchet handle firmly imbedded in its foundation and projecting from it a distance of six inches. The presence of the handle was not adventitious, for the nest was saddled on a pine branch, but it is difficult to conceive how the birds could have placed it in position at a height of fifteen feet.
Three eggs is the rule for the Western Robin; four is not unusual; but five is rare, and I have never seen six. In this respect, therefore, the Western Robin falls a little behind her eastern cousin.
A ROBIN BABY.
Young Robins are darling creatures; that is conceded by everyone,—even by the cat. And hungry! Oh, so hungry! It is estimated that if the appetite of a man were proportioned to that of a young Robin, he would consume daily the equivalent of a sausage four inches in diameter and twelve feet long!
In spite of the law-makers, who knew exactly what they were doing in declaring the Robin worthy of protection, thousands of these birds are annually slaughtered by unthinking people because of a rumored fondness for cherries and other small fruits. And yet we are assured by competent authorities that cultivated fruit forms only four per cent of the Robin’s food thruout the year, while injurious insects constitute more than one-third. Robins in the cherry trees are provoking, especially when they bring the whole family and camp out; but there is one way to limit their depredations without destroying these most distinguished helpers; plant a row of mulberry trees, preferably the Russian Mulberry, along the orchard fence, and the birds will seek no further. I have seen a mulberry tree swarming with Robins, while neighboring fruit trees were almost untouched. The plan is simple, humane, and efficacious.
No. 100.
VARIED THRUSH.
A. O. U. No. 763. Ixoreus nævius (Gmelin).
Synonyms.—Mountain Robin. Winter Robin. Oregon Robin. Columbian Robin. Varied Robin. Painted Robin.
Description.—Adult male: Above dark slate-color (plumbeous slate to blackish slate), sometimes, especially in winter, tinged with olivaceous; wings dusky edged more or less with slaty, the flight-feathers varied by ochraceous-buff, the middle and greater coverts tipped broadly with tawny or ochraceous forming two conspicuous bars; tail blackish, the outermost or several lateral rectrices tipped with white on inner web; a conspicuous lateral head-stripe originating above eye and passing backward to nape ochraceous or ochraceous-buff; area on side of head, including lores, suborbital space and auriculars, black or slaty-black connected narrowly on side of neck with a conspicuous pectoral collar of the same shade; chin, throat and remaining underparts tawny (or ochraceous-tawny to ochraceous-buff), paling on sides and flanks where feathers broadly margined with slaty-gray, changing to white on abdomen; under tail-coverts mingled white, slaty and ochraceous; axillars and under wing-coverts white basally broadly tipped with slaty-gray and under surface of flight-feathers crossed basally by band of white or buffish. Bill brownish black paling basally on mandible; feet and legs ochre-brown; irides brown. Adult female: Similar to adult male but paler and duller; upperparts olive-slaty to olive brownish; tawny of underparts much paler and pectoral collar narrower, of the shade of back or a little darker; more extensively white on abdomen; Young birds: Like adult female but more yellowish ochraceous below; pectoral band indistinct composed of ochraceous feathers having darker edges; other feathers of throat and breast more or less tipped with olive dusky. Length of adult 9.50-10.00 (241-254); wing 4.92 (125); tail 3.43 (87); bill .83 (21); tarsus .87 (22).
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; blackish collar distinctive; wings conspicuously varied by tawny markings; head pattern distinctive—otherwise very Robin-like in bearing and deportment.
Nesting.—Nest: of sticks, twigs, grasses and rotten wood smothered in moss, a bulky, handsome structure placed in saplings or trees at moderate heights without attempt at concealment. Eggs: usually 3, rarely 4, greenish blue sparingly speckled or spotted, rarely blotched with dark brown. Av. size 1.12 × .80 (28.4 × 20.3). Season: April 20-May 10, June 10-July 1; two broods.
General Range.—Mountains and forests of western North America, breeding from northern California (Humboldt County) to northern Alaska, wintering from Kadiak Island to southern California and straggling irregularly eastward during migrations.
Range in Washington.—Resident in coniferous forests thruout the State from sea-level to limit of trees; retires to valleys and lowlands in winter; less common east of the main divides (Cascade).
Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814), Ed. Biddle; Coues, Vol. II., p. 184]. Turdus nævius, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX., 1858, pp. 211 (“Simiahmoo, W. T.”), 220. T. C&S. L¹. D¹. Kb. Ra. Kk. J. B. E.
Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.
No; it does not always rain in western Washington. So far is this from being the case, that we will match our Februaries against all comers, and especially invite the attention of “native sons” of California. Our summers, too, are just a little dry latterly, and we begin to wonder with a vague uneasiness whether we are to be condemned to mediocrity after all. This paves the way for a declaration that the true web-footer, nevertheless, loves the rain, and will exchange a garish sky for a gentle drizzle any day in the year. The Varied Thrush is a true Web-footer. He loves rain as a fish loves water. It is his native element and vital air. He endures dry weather, indeed, as all of us should, with calm stoicism. Lehrne zu leiden ohne zu klagen, as poor Emperor Frederick II, the beloved “Unser Fritz,” used to say. But the Varied Thrush is not the poet of sunshine. Dust motes have no charm for his eyes, and he will not misuse his vocal powers in praise of the crackling leaf. Ergo, he sits silent in the thickets while avian poet-asters shrill the notes of common day. But let the sun once veil his splendors, let the clouds shed their gentle tears of self-pity, let the benison of the rain-drops filter thru the forest, and let the leafage begin to utter that myriad soft sigh which is dearer than silence, and our poet Thrush wakes up. He mounts the chancel of some fir tree and utters at intervals a single long-drawn note of brooding melancholy and exalted beauty,—a voice stranger than the sound of any instrument, a waif echo stranding on the shores of time.
