Conspicuously Yellow and Orange 



Before and after the nesting season these active birds, plump 

 of form, elegant of attire, forceful, but not bold, enter the scrubby 

 pastures near our houses and the shrubbery of old-fashioned, 

 overgrown gardens, and peer out at the human wanderer therein 

 with a charming curiosity. The bright eyes of the male masquer- . 

 ader shine through his black mask, where he intently watches 

 you from the tangle of syringa and snowball bushes ; and as he 

 flies into the laburnum with its golden chain of blossoms that pale 

 before the yellow of his throat and breast, you are so impressed 

 with his grace and elegance that you follow too audaciously, he 

 thinks, and off he goes. And yet this is a bird that seems to de- 

 light in being pursued. It never goes so far away that you are 

 not tempted to follow it, though it be through dense undergrowth 

 and swampy thickets, and it always gives you just glimpse 

 enough of its beauties and graces before it flies ahead, to invite 

 the hope of a closer inspection next time. When it dives into the 

 deepest part of the tangle, where you can imagine it hunting about 

 among the roots and fallen leaves for the larvae, caterpillars, spi- 

 ders, and other insects on which it feeds, it sometimes amuses 

 itself with a simple little song between the hunts. But the bird's 

 indifference, you feel sure, arises from preoccupation rather than 

 rudeness. _ 



If, however, your visit to the undergrowth is unfortunately 

 timed and there happens to be a bulky nest in process of con- 

 struction on the ground, a quickly repeated, vigorous chit, pit, 

 quit, impatiently inquires the reason for your bold intrusion. 

 Withdraw discreetly and listen to the love-song that is presently 

 poured out to reassure his plain little maskless mate. The music 

 is delivered with all the force and energy of his vigorous nature 

 and penetrates to a surprising distance. " Follow me, follow me, 

 follow me," many people hear him say; others write the syllables, 

 "Wichity, wichity, wichity, wichity"; and still others write 

 them, " I beseech you, I beseech you, I beseech you," though the 

 tones of this self-assertive bird rather command than entreat. 

 Mr. Frank Chapman says of the yellowthroats : "They sing 

 throughout the summer, and in August add a flight-song to their 

 repertoire. This is usually uttered toward evening, when the bird 

 springs several feet into the air, hovers for a second, and then 

 drops back to the bushes." 



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