130 IDLE DAYS IN PATAGONIA 



for these pulverizing pits serve the same birds 

 every day, and, there being more birds in the 

 covey than there are pits, the bird that does not 

 quickly secure a place doubtless runs from pit to 

 pit in search of one unoccupied. Doubtless there 

 are many pretty quarrels too; and the older, 

 stronger bird, regular in the observance of this 

 cleanly luxurious habit, must, per fas et nefas, find 

 accommodation somewhere. 



I leave the favored haunt, but when hardly a 

 hundred yards away the birds resume their call 

 in the precise spot I have just quitted; first one 

 and then two are heard, then twenty voices join 

 in the pleasing concert. Already fear, and emo- 

 tion strong but transitory in all wild creatures, 

 has passed from them, and they are free and 

 happy as if my wandering shadow had never 

 fallen across them. 



Twilight comes and brings an end to these use- 

 less researches; useless, I say, and take great 

 delight in saying it, for if there is anything one 

 feels inclined to abhor in this placid land, it is the 

 doctrine that all our investigations into nature 

 are for some benefit, present or future, to the 

 human race. 



Night also brings supper, welcome to the hun- 

 gry man, and hours of basking in the genial light 

 and warmth of a wood fire, I on one side, and my 

 bachelor host on the other. The smoke curls up 

 from our silent lips, whilst idle reveries possess 

 our minds fit termination of a day spent as we 



