THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 17 



grazing, and sit down in the twilight on one of those 

 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 peace and rest, ending in some 

 subdued trills and 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, quiet, 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 hills, are all 

 subtilely expressed in this song ; this is what they are 

 at last capable of. 



The female builds a plain nest in the open field, 

 without so much as a bush or thistle or tuft of grass to 

 protect it or mark its site ; you may step upon it, or 

 the cattle may tread it into the ground. But the danger 

 from this source, I presume, the bird considers less 

 than that from another. Skunks and foxes have a 

 very impertinent curiosity, as Finchie well knows, — 

 and a bank or hedge, or a rank growth of gra:- 

 thistles, that might promise protection and cover to 

 mouse or bird, these cunning rogues would be apt to 

 explore most thoroughly. The partridge is undoubt- 

 edly acquainted with the same process of reasoning ; 

 for, like the vesper-bird, she, too, nests in open, un- 

 protected places, avoiding all show of concealment, — 

 coming from the tangled and almost impenetrable 

 2 



