130 POOECETES GRAMINEUS, GRASS FINCH. 



" This Western race is certainly as well entitled to rank as a geo- 

 graphical species or variety as any of the Western Empidonaces for 

 instance. The bay on the wings is often reduced to a faint trace, and 

 sometimes extinguished altogether; the white of the tail is lessened in 

 extent, and the whole aspect of the bird certainly presents a strong 

 contrast to the typical gramineus.''^ 



The Bay-winged Bunting builds a nest on the ground in an open field, 

 anywhere, clear of any special surroundings. It is sunk to the level of 

 the surface, and is rather large outside, though the cavity is small and 

 deep, owing to the great thickness of the walls — an inch or even more. 

 It is built entirely of grass and weed-stalks, having usually a layer of 

 quite fine grasses at the bottom, where it is thinnest, and with a mass 

 of the coarser material around the sides, forming the broad brim. It is 

 finished inside with little art — with a few horse-hairs, or some finer 

 grass, in many instances, but often without any special lining what- 

 ever. An average nest, gathered somewhat compactly together, will 

 measure about four inches across by two deep, with a cavity but two 

 inches across and nearly as deep. I have only found four eggs, laid the 

 latter part of May or early in June. They are rather narrow, measur- 

 ing on an average 0.80 by 0.55. The ground-color is grayish-white; 

 this is marked all over in a wholly indeterminate manner with spots, 

 splashes, and even larger areas of dull reddish-brown, with a good deal 

 of fine sprinkling of the same color, as well as, occasionally, dots of 

 heavier, darker brown. The female does not spring from her nest until 

 almost trodden upon, when she flutters in silence languidly away, re- 

 peatedly falling as if hurt, and arising again, in hopes of drawing atten- 

 tion from the nest to herself; at a little distance she finally disappears 

 in the herbage. 



The charming song of the "Vesper-bird" has been fittingly de- 

 scribed by one of the most enthusiastic and agreeable of writers upon 

 birds — I mean John Burroughs, in his welcome little volume entitled 

 " Wak^ Robin." " Have you heard the song of the Field-Sparrow ?" he 

 asks. " If you have lived in a pastoral country, with broad upland 

 IJastures, you could hardly have missed him. Wilson, I believe, calls 

 bim the Grass-Finch, and was evidently unacquainted with his powers 

 of song. The two white lateral quills of his tail, and his habit of running 

 and skulking a few yards in advance of you as you walk through the 

 fields, are sufficient to identify him. Not in meadows or orchards, but 

 in high, breezy pasture-grounds, will you look for him. His song is 

 most noticeable after sundown, when other birds are silent, for which 

 reason he has been aptly called the Vesper-Sparrow. The farmer follow- 

 ing his team from the field at dusk catches his sweetest strain. His 

 song is not so brisk and varied as that of the Song-Sparrow, being softer 

 and wilder, sweeter and more plantive. Add the best parts of the lay 

 of the latter to the sweet vibrating chant of the Wood-Sparrow {iSpizella 

 jpimlla), and you have the evening hymn of the Vesper-bird — the poet 

 of the plain, unadorned pastures. Go to those broad, smooth, up-lying 

 fields, where the cattle and sheep are grazing, and sit down on one of 

 the warm, clean stones, and listen to this song. On every side, near 

 and remote, from out the short grass which the herds are cropping, the 

 strain rises. Two or three long, silver notes of rest and peace, ending 

 in some subdued trills or quavers, constitute each separate song. Often 

 you will catch only one or two of the bars, the breeze having blown the 

 minor part away. Such unambitious, unconscious melody ! It is one 

 of the most characteristic sounds in Nature. The grass, the stones, the 

 stubble, the furrow, the quiet herds, and the warm twilight among the 



