234 MOCKING-BIRD. 



sweet melody of the Wren, which in an 

 instant changed to the parental "cluck, 

 cluck" of the hen, gathering her young 

 around her. Then "whirr, whirr," went a 

 watchman's rattle, "bow, wow, wow," the 

 yelp of a dog, "meow, meow, phits, pints," 

 the fighting of a pair of cats, "uh! wee! 

 uh! wee!" the grunt of some antiquated 

 porker, and then the concert closed with 

 the rich and mellow whistle of the Brown 

 Thrush, dying away . in the distance. 

 Such was my morning's amusement for 

 weeks and weeks together, listening to 

 the lay of the Mock-bird, and tracing out 

 song after song as they were uttered, to 

 the original source, from which they were 

 first derived. 



But prose, plain prose is unequal to the 

 task of giving an idea of the capabilities 

 of this feathered Orpheus of our forest, 

 and we turn to a lay of one of our gifted 

 poets, which can better speak in the em- 

 passioned language of song, those powers 



