YELLOW-BREASTED CHAT 267 



deposits her egg in the Chat's nest it is never incubated but is destroyed 

 by the bird with her own." 



Song. As a vocalist the Chat is unique among the Warblers, and 

 indeed, so far as my experience goes, among birds at large. No 

 description does justice to his singular medley of calls and whistles. 

 Heard at night, when, especially if it be moonlight, the Chat often 

 sings freely, the performance takes high rank among the songs of 

 North American birds; not for its fluency or spiritual quality, but for 

 its striking originality. The Chat's calls are an emphatic chut chut 

 and an intense, concentrated kee-yuck. 



"Regularly up to the middle of July, and sometimes through the 

 third or even fourth week of the month, this species continues in song. 

 Imperfect songs may be heard in early August, but rarely later, 

 although my record extends to August 14. Dates of fairly perfect final 

 songs range between July 15 and August I." (Bicknell 2 ). 



"The voice of this bird is flexible to an almost unlimited degree. It 

 has no notes suggesting its place among the Warblers. Perhaps the 

 commonest note is a harsh, rather nasal, chuck, often prolonged into 

 chuck-uck. The song is almost impossible to describe; it begins with 

 two slow, deep notes; then follows one high-pitched and interrogative 

 note ; then several, rapid and even, and from that point on to the end, 

 I have never been able to give any rendering of the clucking and gurg- 

 ling that completes the long song. As far as I have described, it may 

 be rendered thus: Quoort-quoort ! wheef whew-whew-whew ! 



"It is generally uttered from a perch at or near the top of a small 

 tree among the thickets ; but often the bird mounts high into the largest 

 tree available but never far from the heavy undergrowth, utters 

 part of the song there, then launches into the air, wings held high, and 

 flapping slowly, almost meeting over the back; legs dangling, and 

 tail wagging extravagantly up and down. Singing madly, he lets him- 

 self slowly down, and finally drops into the thicket." (Allison, MS.). 



"His love song is a woodland idyl and makes up for much of his 

 short comings. From some elevated perch from which he can survey 

 the surrounding waste for a considerable distance he flings himself into 

 the air, straight up he goes on fluttering wings legs dangling, head 

 raised, his whole being tense, and spasmodic with ecstasy. As he rises 

 he pours forth a flood of musical gurgles, and whistles that drop from 

 him in silvery cascades to the ground, like sounds of fairy chimes. 

 As he reaches the apex of his flight, his wings redouble their beatings, 

 working straight up and down, while the legs hanging limply down, 



