THE AMERICAN QUAIL. 



While you are young and live in the 

 country where you can hear the blithe whis- 

 tle of the bob white and his sweet, tender 

 love call, you do not need to wish yourself a 

 grown person. They are among the most 

 charming sounds of our rural districts, and 

 after you have come to middle life or old age, 

 every time you have a chance to listen to them, 

 you will wish yourself a light-hearted boy or 

 girl again, skipping over the green hills and 

 meadows. I think if I had my life to live 

 over, I should never again become discontented 

 as long as I could hear those rural sounds. 



More than once, as we sat around the din- 

 ner table in our old country home, we would 

 suddenly hear a merry, challenging whistle 

 from out of doors, and for a moment would 

 look at one another doubtfully, thinking that 

 some one was whistling a signal to us ; then we 

 would burst into a hearty laugh, for the next 

 thought told us that it was only the human- 



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