The Western Mockingbird 
Taken at Los Colibris Photo by the Author 
“CONTRALTO CADENCES OF GRAVE DESIRE” 
Yet my appreciation of Mockingbird music is undoubtedly dulled by long 
familiarity. Even angels will become commonplace in time, as witness 
the sluggish enthusiasm which marks an approaching “silver wedding.” 
It is rather for the lady visitor, fresh from the snows of New England, to 
go into ecstasies over our Mockingbird, to answer his raptures with her 
own, as she stands reluctant at the study door, dreading to enter and so 
shut off the torrent of music. Come in, Lady. Que voidez vous? Oh, 
of course, I am the spoiled Californian, blase, unresponsive. It is you, 
my Lady from Massachusetts, who must sing the Mocker’s praise, while 
your interest is fresh. 
Ah, yes; but let one even hint that my bright particular angel (for 
whom the silver chimes are soon to ring) is not the most beautiful, the 
most gifted, the most deserving of all help-meets, and he—well, he shall 
taste my steel upon the instant; and if some miscreant were to kill our 
Mockingbird, we should suddenly know ourselves bereft of a portion of 
heaven, the choicest, the most dependable of avian consolations; and the 
trouble we should make for that person would be measured only by the 
Government’s ability, or sincerity, in enforcing the federal regulations. 
Wherefore, the degree of our consolation and the quality of its source will 
evidently repay examination. Sir Mockingbird, we will do our best. 
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