THE CATBIRD 



IT requires an effort for me to speak of the 

 singing catbird as he ; all the ways and tones of 

 the bird seem so distinctly feminine. But it is, 

 of course, only the male that sings. At times 

 I hardly know whether I am more pleased or 

 annoyed with him. Perhaps he is a little too 

 common, and his part in the general chorus a lit- 

 tle too conspicuous. If you are listening for the 

 note of another bird, he is sure to be prompted 

 to the most loud and protracted singing, drown- 

 ing all other sounds ; if you sit quietly down to 

 observe a favorite or study a new-comer, his curi- 

 osity knows no bounds, and you are scanned and 

 ridiculed from every point of observation. Yet I 

 would not miss him ; I would only subordinate 

 him a little, make him less conspicuous. 



He is the parodist of the woods, and there is 

 ever a mischievous, bantering, half-ironical under- 

 tone in his lay, as if he were conscious of mim- 

 icking and disconcerting some envied songster. 

 Ambitious of song, practicing and rehearsing in 

 private, he yet seems the least sincere and genu- 

 ine of the sylvan minstrels, as if he had taken up 

 music only to be in the fashion, or not to be out- 



