YELLOW-BREASTED CHAT. 261 
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order of events, in bursts of almost startling eloquence and fervor. For the nesting- 
place is fixed upon, the fabric hastens to completion; and the exultant bird, no longer 
constrained to the lowliness of the coverts, mounts buoyantly from bough to bough of 
some tall sentinel that guards the leafy undergrowth, to sound his exultation from the 
very tree-top. Yet once more: the nest now bears its precious burden; the brooding 
bird assumes her patient place, and presses down her golden breast upon her hopes. 
Then this strange bird goes fairly wild with joy; he spurns the ground, the favorite 
singing-post no longer bids him welcome, he rises on the wing, and in mid-air above 
the nest, with fluttering pinions, down-stretched legs, and open beak, he poises, hovers, 
and performs a thousand antics in the sheer abandon of his eccentricity.” 
Mr. John Burroughs frequently observed the Chat on Rock Creek, near Washington. 
In his excellent little book “Wake Robin” he writes as follows in regard to this bird: 
“T seldom go the Rock Creek route without being amused and sometimes annoyed 
by the Yellow-breasted Chat. This bird also has something of the manners and build 
of the Cathird, yet he is truly an original. The Cathird is mild and feminine compared 
with this rollicking polyglot. His voice is very loud and strong and quite uncanny. 
No sooner have you penetrated his retreat, which is usually a thick undergrowth in 
low, wet localities, near the woods or in old fields, then he begins his serenade, which 
for the variety, grotesqueness, and uncouthness of the notes, is not unlike a country 
skimmerton. If one passes directly along, the bird may scarcely break the silence. But 
pause a while or loiter quietly about, and your presence stimulates him to do his best. 
He peeps quizzically at you from beneath the branches, and gives a sharp feline mew. 
In a moment more he says very distinctly, who, who. Then in rapid succession follow 
notes the most discordant that ever broke the sylvan silence. Now he barks like a 
puppy, then quacks like a Duck, then rattles like a Kingfisher, then squalls like a fox, 
then caws like a Crow, then mews like a cat. Now he calls as if to be heard a long 
way off, then changes his key, as if addressing the spectator. Though very shy, and 
carefully keeping himself screened when you show any disposition to get a better view, 
he will presently, if you remain quiet, ascend a twig, or hop out on a branch in plain 
sight, lop his tail, droop his wings, cock his head, and become very melodramatic. In 
less than half a minute he darts into the bushes again, and again tunes up, no French- 
man rolling his r’s so fluently. C-r-r-r-r-r,— whrr,—that’s it, —chee,— quack, cluck,— 
yit-yit-yit, — now hit it, — tr-r-r-r,— when, — caw, — caw,— cut, cut,— tea-boy,— who, 
who,—mew, mew,—and so on till you are tired of listening. Observing one very closely 
one day, I discovered that he was limited to six notes or changes, which he went 
through in regular order, scarcely varying a note in a dozen repetitions, Sometimes, 
when a considerable distance off, he will fly down to have a nearer view of you. And 
such a curious, expressive flight,—legs extended, head lowered, wings rapidly vibrating, 
the whole action piquant and droll! The Chat is an elegant bird both in form and 
color. Its plumage is remarkably firm and compact. Color above, light olive-green; 
beneath, bright yellow; beak, black and strong.” 
In Wisconsin I never have observed the Chat. In northern Illinois it is an 
exceedingly rare bird, having met with it only a few times in the hazel thickets near the 
Des Plaines River, in the vicinity of Waldheim cemetery. In south-western Missouri and 
