56 THROUGH GLADE AND MEAD. 
ing angel blotted out with a tear the record of my mis- 
deeds, as he did that of “my uncle Toby.” 
The catbird (Mimus carolinensis, Gray) was an- 
other of the familiar birds of those early days. It is 
hard to explain the prejudice against him. All the boys 
imbibed so readily the idea that it was a perfectly proper, 
even a commendable, act to stone every catbird and to 
rob all their nests that it seems now as if the idea must 
have been inherited. Dr. Coues says of him in his 
“Birds of the Colorado Valley”: ‘For myself, I think 
the boys are right. Like many of the lower animals, 
they are quick to detect certain qualities, and apt to 
like or dislike unwittingly, yet with good reason. The 
matter with the catbird is that he is thoroughly com- 
monplace. . . . The catbird has certainly a good deal 
to contend with. His name has a flippant sound, with- 
out agreeable suggestiveness. His voice is vehement 
without strength, unpleasant in its explosive quality. 
His dress is positively ridiculous—who could hope to 
rise in life wearing a pepper-and-salt jacket, a black 
velvet skull-cap, and a large red patch on the seat of 
his pantaloons?” Who does not recognize the truth 
of this picture? ‘Let it be the humble country-home of 
toil, or the luxurious mansion where wealth is lavished 
on the garden—in either case the catbird claims the 
rights of squatter sovereignty. He flirts saucily across 
the well-worn path that leads to the well, and sips the 
