alley far up toward the mountain,
balancing and oscillating upon the strong current; now quite stationary,
except for a slight tremulous motion like the poise of a rope-dancer,
then rising and falling in long undulations, and seeming to resign
themselves passively to the wind; or, again, sailing high and level far
above the mountain's peak, no bluster and haste, but, as stated,
occasionally a terrible earnestness and speed. Fire at one as he sails
overhead, and, unless wounded badly, he will not change his course or
gait.

The calmness and dignity of this hawk, when attacked by crows or the
kingbird, are well worthy of him. He seldom deigns to notice his noisy
and furious antagonists, but deliberately wheels about in that aerial
spiral, and mounts and mounts till his pursuers grow dizzy and return to
earth again. It is quite original, this mode of getting rid of an
unworthy opponent,--rising to heights where the braggart is dazed and
bewildered and loses his reckoning! I am not sure but it is worthy of
imitation.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The red-tailed and red-shouldered hawks are both called hen-hawks.

THE RUFFED GROUSE, OR PARTRIDGE

Whir! whir! whir! and a brood of half-grown partridges start up like an
explosion, a few paces from me, and, scattering, disappear into the
bushes on all sides. Let me sit down here behind the screen of ferns and
briers, and hear this wild hen of the woods call together her brood. At
what an early age the partridge flies! Nature seems to concentrate her
energies on the wing, making the safety of the bird a point to be looked
after first; and while the body is covered with down, and no signs of
feathers are visible there, the wing-quills sprout and unfold, and in an
incredibly short time the young make fair headway in flying.

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 that 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 part