The colored people have an ornithology all their own, in which their own observations are strangely mingled with superstition. They tell us of two kinds of mockingbirds, “de real” and “de French” varieties. The real mockingbird deserves an article all to himself. His winning ways, playful disposition and ability as a singer give him a place second to none among our American birds. I am pleased to see the spirit of Americanism growing in our literature, that conventional allusions to the skylark and the nightingale, birds few of us have ever seen or heard, are becoming rarer and rarer, while those to the robin, the mockingbird and the wood thrush are becoming more frequent. The mockingbird, like other singers, does his best during the courting and nesting seasons, but does not confine his concerts to that joyous time. On warm days in winter he loves to perch in the cedars and give his listeners a sample of what he can do, an earnest of the floods of melody that spring will bring. Balmy air, green of cedar and water oak and bird music disarrange our mental almanac. Even the nodding narcissus contributes to the illusion that it is not February, but May. The “French mockingbird” is no mockingbird at all, but the logger-headed shrike, or butcher bird. Like some people, he tries to occupy a front seat, even if his music wins for him one of the lowest seats of the choir. A beanpole in the garden, the topmost wire of the fence and the top of a solitary shrub or tree are alike acceptable to him, for it’s all one to him if he gets to see all that is going on in his little world. No doubt he does do mischief during the nesting season, when eggs or tender nestlings are easier to find or more acceptable to his fastidious palate than the mice and insects which compose his winter diet. Just now he is a most pleasing bit of decided color, black, white and blue-gray, very refreshing to the eye, amid the browns and grays of last year’s vegetation.