g chopped square off.

The song of this bird is well known and quite celebrated; indeed, in the
Southern States he is called the French mocking-bird, as only second to
the mocking-bird proper. My bird never sang above a whisper, one may
say; that is, he never opened his mouth to let out the sound, though he
was extremely fond of singing, indulging in it by the hour. He hardly
paused for eating, or flying, or hopping around on the floor, but
dropped sweet notes in between the mouthfuls, and kept up the warble
through all movements.

As dusk came on the brown thrush began a wonderful series of postures,
more peculiar and varied than one would suppose possible to so large and
apparently clumsy a bird. Sometimes he stretched up very tall, then
instantly crouched as if about to spring; one moment he turned his head
downward as though to dive off, then wheeled and faced the other way;
now he drew his body out long to a point, head and tail exactly on a
level, then head and tail thrust up, making his back the shape of a bow;
at one time he threw his head back as though about to turn a back
somersault, then scraped his bill, shook himself out, and made the harsh
breathing I have spoken off; in another moment he spread his tail like a
fan, and instantly closed it again; then turned his head on one side
very far, while his tail hung out the other side, and in this odd
position jerked himself along by short jumps the whole length of his
perch. Between the postures and on every occasion he scraped his bill
violently. Next began movements: first he ran down his three perches,
across the floor, and hopped to the upper one from the outside, touching
his feet to the wires as he went, so rapidly that my eyes could not
follow him; then he alighted on the perch with a graceful flop of one
wing, sometimes also bowing his head several times, and uttering the
breathing sound each time. Again he jumped from the upper perch to one
directly under it, and returned the same way by a very peculiar motion:
standing on the lower perch, he turned his head over his shoulder, and
sprang back and up at the same time, landing in exactly the same
position on the perch above, with perfect ease and grace.

Nothing pleased the thrasher more than watching other birds; he observed
them closely, especially liking to stand on top of a cage and see the
life below,--an agitated life it was apt to be when he was there. Thus
he sometimes stood on the goldfinch's c