52 Tue Birps Asout Us. 
ning of the century, it was almost as abundant as 
the cat-bird. Now it is rare. The reason for this 
change of habit is difficult to determine, unless it be 
that every one that appears is chased away or capt- 
ured, 
The following is W. L. Baily’s admirable account 
of this strange bird: 
‘«‘ The air is soft and balmy, and possessed of a peculiar freshness 
which is characteristic of a pine forest. Nature here seems to have 
profusely spread her charms on every side, pointing us at each step 
to some new object of admiration. ‘The mellow whistle of the Red- 
bird is heard overhead, together with the call of the Jay, the soft 
warbling of the Vireos, the mewing of the Cat-bird, the loud, clear 
melody of the Wood-robin, the shrill cry of the Woodpecker, and 
many other voices equally attractive. As we advance into the thicket 
the confusion of sounds increases; every song with which we are 
familiar, and many more, seem suddenly let loose upon the ear; and 
last, though it is broad day, we are surprised to hear the cry of the 
Whip-poor-will. This exciting our curiosity, we naturally look 
around to discover the cause of so strange an occurrence; but still 
sounds the clear cry of * Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will !’ When 
suddenly there darts up from a low bush near by a fine Mocking- 
bird, and settling on a branch within our view, continues his varied 
melody. ‘The secret is at once explained; the little mimic before 
us has been the sole cause of our surprise, and there he sits flirting 
his long tail from side to side with an air of perfect satisfaction, ex- 
panding his wings and stretching his neck in all directions, while he 
calls out with much animation, ‘ Bob-White! Bob-White! and _ be- 
fore poor Bob-White has time to scamper to his covey, the screams 
of the Pigeon-hawk are heard wild and clear; then immediately his 
voice falls into some soft and tender warble, gradually rising higher 
and higher until we recognize, among a host of others, the clear and 
ringing melody of the Brown Thrush, set off with the gentler tones 
of the Robin and Bluebird, occasionally interspersed with some fine, 
pleasing original notes. We stand and listen with delight to this 
grand concert of Nature’s great musician, his voice ever changing, 
ever sweet, until the twilight unconsciously steals upon us; still the 
serenade continues. The pale moon glimmers in the eastern sky, 
