It is indeed absolutely unique. The catbird and the
mocking-bird are rare mimics; but while the chat is not their equal in this
respect, it has a large repertoire of weird, uncanny cries all its own -- a
power of throwing its voice, like a human ventriloquist, into unexpected
corners of the thicket or meadow. In addition to its extraordinary vocal
feats, it can turn somersaults and do other clown-like stunts as well as any
variety actor on the Bowery stage.
Only by creeping cautiously towards the roadside tangle, where this
"rollicking polyglot" is entertaining himself and his mate, brooding over her
speckled eggs in a bulky nest set in a most inaccessible briery part of the
thicket, can you hope to hear him rattle through his variety performance. Walk
boldly or noisily past his retreat, and there is "silence there and nothing
more." But two very bright eyes peer out at you through the undergrowth, where
the trim, elegant-looking bird watches you with quizzical suspicion until you
quietly seat yourself assume silent indifference. "Whew, whew!" he begins, and
then immediately, with evident intent to amuse, he rattles off an
indescribable, eccentric medley until your ears are tired listening. With bill
uplifted, tail drooping, wings fluttering at his side, he cuts an absurd
figure enough, but not so comical as when he rises into the air, trailing his
legs behind him stork-fashion.
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