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COMMON MOCKING-BIRD. 
Orpheus polyglottus, Linn . 
PLATE CX5XVIII. — 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 breezes 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 
