Taking up a residence in the tangled shrubbery or
thickety undergrowth, it immediately begins to scold like a crotchety old
wren. It becomes irritated over the merest trifles -- a passing bumblebee, a
visit from another bird to its tangle, an unsuccessful peck at a gnat
-- anything seems calculated to rouse its wrath and set every feather on its
little body a-trembling, while it sharply snaps out what might perhaps be
freely constructed into "cuss-words."
And yet the inscrutable mystery is that this virago meekly permits the lazy
cowbird to deposit an egg in its nest, and will patiently sit upon it, though
it is as large as three of her own tiny eggs; and when the little interloper
comes out from his shell the mother-bird will continue to give it the most
devoted care long after it has shoved her poor little starved babies out of
the nest to meet an untimely death in the smilax thicket below.
An unusual variety of expression distinguishes this bird's voice from the
songs of the other vireos, which are apt to be monotonous, as they are
incessant. If you are so fortunate to approach the white-eyed vireo before he
suspects your presence, you may hear him amusing himself by jumbling together
snatches of the songs of the other birds in a sort of potpourri; or perhaps he
will be scolding or arguing with an imaginary foe, then dropping his voice and
talking confidentially to himself.
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