r
wood-wagtail, and the northern, or small, water-thrush.

The present species, though not abundant, is frequently met with along
Rock Creek. It is a very quick, vivacious bird, and belongs to the
class of ecstatic singers. I have seen a pair of these thrushes, on a
bright May day, flying to and fro between two spring runs, alighting
at intermediate points, the male breaking out into one of the most
exuberant, unpremeditated strains I ever heard. Its song is a sudden
burst, beginning with three or four clear round notes much resembling
certain tones of the clarinet, and terminating in a rapid, intricate
warble.

This bird resembles a thrush only in its color, which is olive-brown
above and grayish white beneath, with speckled throat and breast. Its
habits, manners, and voice suggest those of a lark.

I 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 catbird, yet he is truly an original. The
catbird 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, than 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 Frenchman rolling his r's so fluently.