spines can hardly wait to pass through the purple stage before they turn yellowish and then white with thistledown. For what else should these bloom if not for the lining of birds' nests?
The mocker reminds me so much of the catbird that I had thought to find their eggs similar, but they are not. The catbird's egg is a rich greenish blue without a freckle; the mocking bird's is a paler, and blotched about the big end with cinnamon brown. When it comes to æsthetic standards I suppose the catbird's egg is the more beautiful, but any boy will agree with me that the mocker's egg with its wondrous blotching is the prettier. The blotching on birds' eggs is always a wonder and a delight. I remember the awed ecstasy with which as a small boy I looked upon the eggs of a sharp-shinned hawk, after having perilously climbed a big pine in a lonely part of the forest to view them. They were queer worlds most wondrously mapped with this same cinnamon brown. In a pelican rookery not long ago I was greatly disappointed that the huge eggs were merely a very pale, creamy or bluish white with a chalky shell. The eggs of such masterpieces of bird life ought to be equally picturesque.
With the mocker in the groves is the Southern butcher bird. Just as at first glimpse I am apt to mistake one bird for the other, so when I find a mocking bird's nest I am not sure but it is a
