broken, snugly wedged, with their tails together, 

 under a pile of brush. 



Sharing the fields with the quails are the 

 meadow-larks. They scale along the grass, 

 rarely rising higher than the cedars, flapping 

 rapidly for a short distance, then sailing a little 

 in a cautious, breath-held manner, as though 

 wings were a new invention and just a trifle 

 dangerous yet. On they go to a fence-stake, and 

 land with many congratulatory flirts of wings 

 and tail. Has anybody observed the feat? 

 They look around. Yes ; here I sit, a man on a 

 fence across the field, and the lark turns toward 

 me and calls out : "Did you see me? " 



He would be the best-bred, most elegant of 

 our birds, were it not for his self -consciousness. 

 He is consumed with it. There is too much 

 gold and jet on his breast. But, in spite of all 

 this, the plain, rich back and wings, the slender 

 legs, the long, delicate beak, the erect carriage, 

 the important air, the sleek, refined appearance, 

 compel us to put him down an aristocrat. 



In a closely cropped pasture near the house, 

 in early June, I found the eggs of the night- 

 hawk. There was no nest, of course : the eggs 

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