187 



COMMON MOCKING-BIRD. 



Orpheus polyglottus, Linn. 

 PLATE CXXXVIIL— Male and Female. 



It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crowned with 

 evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautiful flowers, that 

 perfume the air around; where the forests and fields are adorned with 

 blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange ornaments the gardens and 

 groves; where bignonias of various kinds interlace their climbing stems 

 around the white-flowered stuartia, and mounting still higher, cover the 

 summits of the lofty trees around, accompanied with innumerable vines, 

 that here and there festoon the dense foliage of the magnificent woods, 

 lending to the vernal breeze a slight portion of the perfume of their 

 clustered flowers; where a genial warmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; 

 where berries and fruits of all descriptions are met with at every step; — in a 

 word, kind reader, it is where Nature seems to have paused, as she passed 

 over the earth, and opening her stores, to have strewed' with unsparing 

 hand the diversified seeds from which have sprung all the beautiful and 

 splendid forms which I should in vain attempt to describe, that the Mocking- 

 bird should have fixed its abode, there only that its wondrous song should be 

 heard. 



But where is that favoured land? — It is in this great continent. — It is, 

 reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in the greatest 

 perfection. It is there that you should listen to the love-song of the 

 Mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he flies round his mate, 

 with motions as light as those of the butterfly! His tail is widely expanded, 

 he mounts in the air to a small distance, describes a circle, and, again 

 alighting, approaches his beloved one, his eyes gleaming with delight, for 

 she has already promised to be his and his only. His beautiful wings are 

 gently raised, he bows to his love, and again bouncing upwards, opens his 

 bill, and pours forth his melody, full of exultation at the conquest which he 

 has made. 



They are not the soft sounds of the flute or of the hautboy that I hear, 

 but the sweeter notes of Nature's own music. The mellowness of the song, 

 the varied modulations and gradations, the extent of its compass, the great 

 brilliancy of execution, are unrivalled. There is probably no bird in the 



