THE CATBIRD. 321 



nounced favorably upon it. and il is allowaldc now to admit that Whistler was 

 a great artist — that is. a great discoxerer and revcaler nl' Xatttre. 



Nature has painted upon our eastern hills a s}mphon\' in gray greens, a 

 can\as of arteniisia, simple, ample, insistent. And still the people stand be- 

 fore it hesitating — it is so common — is it considered beautiful, pray? Well, 

 at least a bird thinks so. a l)ird whose whole life has been spent in the sage. 

 Listen! The hour is sunrise. .\s we face the east, heavy shadows still huddle 

 about us and blend with the ill-defined realities. The sti"etching sage-tops 

 tremble with oblation l)ef<ire the expectant sun. The pale dews are taking 

 counsel for flight, but the opalescent haze, ]M"egnatit with sunfire, yet tender 

 with cool greens and subtle azures, hovers over the alt;ir waiting the con- 

 comitance of the morning hymn before ascent. Suddenly, from a distant 

 sage-bush bursts a geyser of song, a torrent of tunefitl waters, gushing, as it 

 would seem, from the bowels of the wilderness in an ccstacy of greeting and 

 gratitutle and praise. It is from the throat of the Sage Thrasher, poet of the 

 bitter weed, that the tumult comes. Hitiiself but a gray shadow, scarce visible 

 in the early light, he pours out his soul and the soul of the sage in a rha])sody 

 of holy joy. Impetuous, impassioned, compelling, rises this matchless music 

 of the desert. To the silence of the gray-green canvas, beautiful but incom- 

 plete, has come the throb and thrill of life, — life brimful, delirious, exultant. 

 The freshness and the gladness of it touch the soul as with a magic. The 

 heart of the listener glows, his veins tingle, his face beatiis. He cannot wait 

 to analyze. He must dance and shout for joy. The wine of the wilderness 

 is henceforth in his veins, and flrunk with ecstacy he reels across the en- 

 chanted scene forever more. 



And all this ins])iration the bird draws from common sage anrl the rising 

 of the common sun. How floes he do it? I do not know. Ask Homer, 

 Milton. Keats. 



No. 124. 

 CATBIRD. 



.-\. O. U. Xo. 704. Dumetella carolinensis (Linn.). ^ 



Description. — .Idult: Slate-color, lightening almost imperceptibly below; 

 black on top of head and on tail : under tail-covcrts chestnut, sometimes spotted 

 with slaty; bill and feet black. Length 8.00-9.35 (203.2-237.5): wing 3.^9 

 (91.2); tail 3.65 (92.7): bill .r,2 (15.81. 



Recognition Marks. — Cbcwink size; almost uniform slaty coloration with 

 iliickct-hauntiiig habits distinctive; lithe and slender as comi^ared with Water 

 Ouzel. 



