THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS 15 
vesper-bird, —the poet of the plain, unadorned 
pastures. Go to those broad, smooth, uplying 
fields where the cattle and sheep are 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, consti- 
tute 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, un- 
conscious melody! It is one of the most character- 
istic sounds in nature. The grass, the stones, the 
stubble, the furrow, the quiet herds, and the warm 
twilight among the hills, are all subtly éxpressed 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 grass or thistles, that might prom- 
ise protection and cover to mouse or bird, these 
cunning rogues would be apt to explore most thor- 
oughly. The partridge is undoubtedly acquainted 
with the same process of reasoning; for, like the 
vesper-bird, she, too, nests in open, unprotected 
