The white-throat has a timid, tremulous strain, that
issues from the low bushes or from behind the fence, where its
cradle is hid. The song sparrow modulates its simple ditty as
softly as the lining of its own nest. The vesper sparrow has only
peace and gentleness in its strain.
What pretty nests, too, the sparrows build! Can anything be more
exquisite than a sparrow's nest under a grassy or mossy bank? What
care the bird has taken not to disturb one straw or spear of grass,
or thread of moss! You cannot approach it and put your hand into it
without violating the place more or less, and yet the little
architect has wrought day after day and left no marks. There has
been an excavation, and yet no grain of earth appears to have been
moved. If the nest had slowly and silently grown like the grass and
the moss, it could not have been more nicely adjusted to its place
and surroundings. There is absolutely nothing to tell the eye it is
there. Generally a few spears of dry grass fall down from the turf
above and form a slight screen before it. How commonly and coarsely
it begins, blending with the debris that lies about, and how it
refines and comes into form as it approaches the centre, which is
modeled so perfectly and lined so softly! Then, when the full
complement of eggs is laid, and incubation has fairly begun, what a
sweet, pleasing little mystery the silent old bank holds!
The song sparrow, whose nest I have been describing, displays a
more marked individuality in its song than any bird with which I am
acquainted.
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