William Post Hawes （b. 1803,d.1842） was born in New York City. and was a graduate of Columbia College. He was a lawyer by profession. His writings consist mainly of essays,contributed tvarious newspapers and magazines,and show great descriptive power. He was a frequent contributor tthe "Spirit of the Times," under the title of "Cypress,Jr.," on various sporting topics. After his death a collection of his writings was published in twvolumes,entitled,"Sporting Scenes" and "Sundry Sketches."
1.The quail is peculiarly a domestic bird,and is attached this birthplace and the home of his forefathers. The various members of the aquatic1 families educate their children in the cool summer of the far north,and bathe their warm bosoms in July in the iced waters of Hudson Bay;but when Boreas2 scatters the rushes where they had builded their bedchambers,they desert their fatherland,and fly tdisport in the sunny waters of the south.
2.The songsters of the woodland,when their customary crops of insects and berries are cut off in the fall,gather themselves trenew their loves and get married in more genial climes. Presently,the groves svocal3,and the sky sfull,shall be silent and barren. The "melancholy days" will soon be here;only thou,dear Bob White,wilt remain.
3.The quail is the bird for me. He is nrover,nemigrant. He1Aquatic,frequenting the water.
2Boreas is the name which the ancient Greeks gave tthe north wind. 3Vocal,having a voice.
stays at home,and is identified1 with the soil. Where the farmer works,he lives,and loves,and whistles. In budding springtime,and in scorching summer-in bounteous autumn,and in barren winter,his voice is heard from the same bushy hedge fence,and from his customary cedars. Cupidity2 and cruelty may drive him tthe woods,and tseek more quiet seats;but be merciful and kind thim,and he will visit your barnyard,and sing for you upon the boughs of the apple tree by your gateway.
4.When warm May first wooes the young flowers topen and receive her breath,then begin the cares and responsibilities of wedded life. Away fly the happy pair tseek some grassy tussock3,where,safe from the eye of the hawk and the nose of the fox,they may rear their expectant brood in peace.
5.Oats harvest arrives,and the fields are waving with yellow grain. Now be wary,kind-hearted cradler4,and tread not intthose pure white eggs ready tburst with life! Soon there is a peeping sound heard,and lo! a proud mother walketh magnificently in the midst of her children,scratching and picking,and teaching them how tswallow. Happy she,if she may be permitted tbring them up tmaturity,and uncompelled trenew her joys in another nest.
6.The assiduities of a mother have a beauty and a sacredness about them that command respect and reverence in all animal nature,human or inhuman-what a lie does that word carry-except,perhaps,in monsters,insects,and fish. I never yet heard of the parental tenderness of a trout,eating up his little baby,nor of the filial gratitude of a spider,nipping the life out of his gray-headed father,and usurping5 his web.1Identified,united.2Cupidity,eager desire tpossess something. 3Tussock,a tuft of grass or twigs.4Cradler,one whuses a cradle,which is an instrument attached ta scythe in cutting grain. 5Usurping,seizing and holding in possession by force.
7.But if you would see the purest,the sincerest,the most affecting1 piety of a parent’s love,startle a young family of quails,and watch the conduct of the mother. She will not leave you. No,not she. But she will fall at your feet,uttering a noise which none but a distressed mother can make,and she will run,and flutter,and seem ttry tbe caught,and cheat your outstretched hand,and affect tbe wing-broken and wounded,and yet have just strength ttumble along,until she has drawn you,fatigued,a safe distance from her1Affect,tpretend.
threatened children and the young hopes of her heart;and then will she mount,whirring with glad strength,and away through the maze of trees you have not seen before,like a close-shot bullet,fly ther skulking infants,8.Listen now. Dyou hear those three half-plaintive notes,quickly and clearly poured out? She is calling the boys and girls together. She sings not now "Bob White!" nor "Ah! Bob White!" That is her husband‘s love call,or his trumpet blast of defiance. But she calls sweetly and softly for her lost children. Hear them "Peep! peep! peep!" at the welcome voice of their mother’s love! They are coming together. Soon the whole family will meet again.
9.It is a foul sin tdisturb them;but retread your devious1 way,and let her hear your coming footsteps,breaking down the briers,as you renew the danger. She is quiet. Not a word is passed between the fearful fugitives. Now,if you have the heart tdit,lie low,keep still,and imitate the call of the hen quail. mother! mother! how your heart would die if you could witness the deception! The little ones raise up their trembling heads,and catch comfort and imagined safety from the sound. "Peep! peep!" They come tyou,straining their little eyes,and,clustering together and answering,seem tsay,"Where is she? Mother! mother! we are here!"1Devious,winding.
