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. c-r-r-r-r-r —­Wrrr,—­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 curious, expressive flight,—­legs extended, head lowered, wings rapidly vibrating, the whole action piquant and droll!