CHAPTER XVI. 



CHATS AND WKENS : A SUMMERS STUDY. 



I FIEST saw the chat on Sunday, May 9, 1874. From 

 the topmost branch of a tall locust he sailed, with unsteady 

 wings and dangling legs, upward and outward for some 

 distance, uttering a few harsh squeaks, and then alighting, 

 he warbled a series of sweet, liquid notes, followed in turn 

 by sounds like the yelp of a puppy, the squeak of a squir- 

 rel, or the dull creaking of a rusty weather-vane. Then, 

 hopping from twig to twig, searching for insects, he added 

 his own peculiar chirp, alternated with low yet distinct 

 notes, quite indescribable, but all hollow, ghost-like, and 

 gloomy. These weird, mournful groans, plaintive calls, 

 and cries as of some poor creature in distress, would fol- 

 low each other in quick succession, when, suddenly ceas- 

 ing, an outburst of glorious melody would complete the 

 strange series. Then, having regained his perch upon the 

 topmost branch, the restless bird would remain quiet for 

 a moment, when, with the same awkward, crooked flight, 

 he would repeat the same series of strange and sweet notes, 

 with some little variation of the uncouth sounds he se- 

 lected for imitation. 



While I listened, wondering what next would greet 

 my ears, I was surprised, even startled, by hearing the 

 same strange sounds repeated, but at some distance off. 

 Another chat, farther down the path, was singing in the 

 same strange way another it must be, for the one first 

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