ridge is one of our native and most 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 were 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. When you approach 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
bomb-shell,--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 done. He does not hug the log, but stands very erect, expands
his ruff, gives two introductory blows, pauses half a second, and then
resumes, striking faster and faster till the sound becomes a continuous,
unbroken whir, the whole lasting less than half a minute. The tips of
his wings barely brush the log, so that the sound is produced rather by
the force of the blows upon the air and upon his own body as in flying.
One log will be used for many years, though not by the same drummer. It
seems to be a sort of temple and held in great respect. The bird always
approaches on foot, and leaves it in the same quiet manner, unless
rudely disturbed. He is very cunning, though his wit is not profound. It
is difficult to approach him by stealth; you will try many times before
succeeding; but seem to pass by him in a great hurry, making all the
noise possible, and with plumage furled he stands as immovable as a
knot, allowing you a good view.

The sharp-rayed track of the partridge adds another fig