This bird of humble nature, that makes the scrubby pastures and uplands tuneful from early morning until after sunset, flies away with exasperating shyness as you approach. Alighting on a convenient branch, he lures you on with his clear, sweet song. Follow him, and he only hops about from bush to bush, farther and farther away, singing as he goes a variety of strains, which is one of the bird's peculiarities. The song not only varies in individuals, but in different localities, which may be one reason why no two ornithologists record it alike. Doubtless the chief reason for the amusing differences in the syllables into which the songs of birds are often translated in the books, is that the same Notes actually sound differently to different individuals. Thus, to people in Massachusetts the white-throated sparrow seems to say, "Pea-bod-y, Pea-bod-y, Pea-bod-y!" while good British subjects beyond the New England border hear him sing quite distinctly, "Sweet Can-a-da, Can-a-da, Can-a-da!" But however the opinions as to the syllables of the field sparrow's song may differ, all are agreed as to its exquisite quality, that resembles the vesper sparrow's tender, sweet melody. The song begins with three soft, wild whistles, and ends with a series of trills and quavers that gradually melt away into silence: a serene and restful strain as soothing as a hymn. Like the vesper sparrows, these birds sometimes build a plain, grassy nest, unprotected by over hanging bush, flat upon the ground. Possibly from a prudent tear of field-mice and snakes, the little mother most frequently lays her bluish-white, rufous -- marked eggs in a nest placed in a bush of a bushy field. Hence John Burroughs has called the bird the ''bush sparrow."
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