OCTOBER 4.
THE MOCKING BIRD.
Can anything be more ecstatic than the mockingbird's manner as he pours out his soul in song, flirting that expressive tail—that seems hung on wires, jerking those emphatic wings, which say so much, turning his dainty head this way and that, and now and then flinging himself upon the air—light as a feather—in pure delight, and floating down to place again without dropping a note. It is a poem in action to see him, so lithe, so graceful in every movement.
OLIVE THORNE MILLER.
OCTOBER 5.
THE MOCKING BIRD.
Each flower a single fragrance gives,
But not the perfume of the rest;