Editor [possibly Miles Greenleaf]. May 22, 1921. The Language of the Tribe [Brown Thrasher]. Omaha Sunday World-Herald 56(39=34): 6-E. A bird editorial.

The Language of the Tribe.

In these mornings of spring, when those fortunate enough to live close to trees and shrubbery and pools of water are kept awake as the glorious sun has peeped across the Council Bluffs, and a reckless riot of bird-song fairly shakes the window curtains - it is goo to know the Brown Thrasher.

To anyone not deeply sentimental nor of a particularly religious frame of mind, that big brown bird with the long tail and the spotted breast and the voice of all the angels and birds of his acquaintance in the heavens, nevertheless makes an ardent appeal.

Birds, perchance, come from Heaven - and from the source of their journey to us, should have a good deal of Heaven's music in their throats to release when we are weary in the evening, or when we awake to confront the troubles of a business day and the mad scramble for livelihood that the songster himself confronts.

The Brown Thrasher is unique, we think, in that he is our pet mocker. He is a cousin of the southern Mockingbird and the third of the Trinity is the Catbird, skillful, but much less so. The Thrasher is the reigning monarch of the mimics in these parts, and he will tell you so in no meager measure.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown Thrasher are real neighbors to all the rest of our birds, and know and understand them so well that they can speak the language of the entire tribe.

To have one of their nests in your tree is a privilege that should give cause for the most devout rejoicing.