and you have the evening
hymn of the Vesper-Bird,--the poet of the plain, unadorned pastures. Go
to those broad, smooth, up-lying 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, 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 grass or thistles,
that might promise protection and cover to mouse or bird, these cunning
rogues would be apt to explore most thoroughly. The Partridge is
undoubtedly acquainted with the same process of reasoning; for, like the
Vesper-Bird, she, too, nests in open, unprotected places, avoiding all
show of concealment,--coming from the tangled and almost impenetrable
parts of the forest, to the clean, open woods, where she can command all
the approaches and fly with equal ease in any direction.

One of the most marvellous little songsters whose acquaintance I claim
is the White-Eyed Flycatcher. He seems to have been listened to by
unappreciative ears, for I know no one who has made especial mention of
him. His song is not particularly sweet and soft; on the contrary, it is
a little hard and shrill, like that of the Indigo-Bird or Oriole; but
for fluency, volubility, execution, and power of imitation, he is
unsurpassed (and in the last-named particular unequalled) by any of our
Northern birds. His ordinary note is forcible and emphatic, but, as
stated, not especially musical: _Chick-a-re'r-chick_, he seems to say,
hiding himself in the low, dense underg