UNDER THE MAPLES 



flight of the wood thrush across the lawn is such a 

 picture of grace and harmony, it is music to the eye. 

 The catbird seems saying, *'There, there! I 

 told you so, pretty figure, pretty figure you make!" 

 But the courteous thrush (just here I heard the 

 excited calls of robins and the hoarse, angry caw 

 of a crow, and rushed out hatless to see a fish crow 

 fly away from the maple in front of the Study, 

 pursued by a mob of screeching robins. He took 

 refuge in the spruces above the house where the 

 collected robins abused him from surrounding 

 branches. On my appearance he flew away, and 

 the robins dispersed) — but the courteous thrush, I 

 say, invites the good-breeding in you which he 

 himself shows. The thrush never has the air of a 

 culprit, while the catbird seldom has any other 

 air. But I welcome them both. One shall stand 

 for the harmony and repose of bird life, and the 

 other for its restlessness and curiosity. The 

 songs and the manners of birds correspond. The 

 catbird, the brown thrasher, and the mocking- 

 bird are all theatrical in their manners — full of 

 gestures of tail and wings, and their songs all 

 imply an audience, while the serene melody of the 

 thrushes is in keeping with the grace and poise of 

 their behavior. 



