THE MOCKING-BIRD. 
73 
CHAPTER VIL 
THE MOCKING-BIRD. 
If you were to ramble into the woods and 
thickets of America, you would be pretty sure 
to hear a spund a little like the mewing of a 
cat ; and you might even look about you, and 
fancy that a kitten must have got lost, and be 
wandering among the bushes. But presently 
out would hop a bird, about the size of a 
thrush, and of very ordinary appearance, com- 
pared to the brilliant little creatures I have 
been describing. He has no gaudy plumage ; 
but is dressed in plain slate colour, with a 
little red under his wings, and the upper part 
of his head is black. This is the cat-bird, 
whose mewing note you have just heard ; and 
his nest is almost certain to be close at hand, 
in the foot of a tree, or among the bushes. 
You must not despise him on account of his 
appearance, and the grotesque tone of his 
voice. He has one of the best dispositions in 
the world ; and when you have heard a ittle 
about him, I am sure you will feel some 
