l-fledged. The other day, by a brook, I came
suddenly upon a young sandpiper, a most beautiful creature,
enveloped in a soft gray down, swift and nimble and apparently a
week or two old, but with no signs of plumage either of body or
wing. And it needed none, for it escaped me by taking to the water
as readily as if it had flown with wings.

Hark! there arises over there in the brush a soft, persuasive
cooing, a sound so subtle and wild and unobtrusive that it requires
the most alert and watchful ear to hear it. How gentle and
solicitous and full of yearning love! It is the voice of the mother
hen. Presently a faint timid "Yeap!" which almost eludes the ear, is
heard in various directions,--the young responding. As no danger
seems near, the cooing of the parent bird is soon a very audible
clucking call, and the young move cautiously in the direction. Let
me step never so carefully from my hiding-place, and all sounds
instantly cease, and I search in vain for either parent or young.

The partridge is one of our most native and characteristic birds.
The woods seem good to be in where I find him. He gives a habitable
air to the forest, and one feels as if the rightful occupant was
really at home. The woods where I do not find him seem to want
something, as if suffering from some neglect of Nature. And then he
is such a splendid success, so hardy and vigorous. I think he enjoys
the cold and the snow. His wings seem to rustle with more fervency
in midwinter. If the snow falls very fast, and promises a heavy
storm, he will complacently sit down and allow himself to be snowed
under. Approaching him at such times, he suddenly bursts out of the
snow at your feet, scattering the flakes in all directions, and goes
humming away through the woods like a bombshell,--a picture of
native spirit and success.

His drum is one of the most welcome and beautiful sounds of spring.
Scarcely have the trees expanded their buds, when, in the still
April mornings, or toward nightfall, you hear the hum of his devoted
wings. He selects not, as you would predict, a dry and resinous log,
but a decayed and crumbling one, seeming to give the preference to
old oak-logs that are partly blended with the soil. If a log to his
taste cannot be found, he sets up his altar on a rock, which becomes
resonant beneath his fervent blows. Who has seen the partridge drum?
It is the next thing to catching a weasel asleep, though by much
caution and tact it may be