etermined by the character of the ground. The noise begins to
subside a few hours after dark. The birds have now arranged themselves
for the night, nestled as close as they can be wedged, every bird with
his breast turned to the quarter in which the wind may be prevailing.
This scene is one of the most curious that can be imagined, especially
when we have the moonlight to contrast with their dark backs. At this
time they may be killed by cart-loads, as only those in the immediate
neighbourhood of the slain are apparently disturbed. They rise to the
height of a few feet, with a stupified and aimless fluttering, and
plunge into the snow within a short distance, where they are easily
taken by the hand. They will, if disturbed when they first arrive at a
resting-place, change it; but after the heavy snows have fallen, they
are not easily driven away by any degree of persecution. By melting the
snow with the heat of their bodies, and by trampling it down, they then
form a kind of sheltering-yard, the outside walls of which defend them
against the winds."

They have, besides human foes, numberless enemies among the foxes,
wolves, hawks, and other birds. The fecundity of the survivors,
however, keeps pace with the many fatalities to which they are liable.

THE RUFFED GROUSE, OR AMERICAN PHEASANT.

"This elegant species," writes Wilson, "is known throughout North
America. Its favourite places of resort are high mountains, covered
with the balsam-pine and hemlock." It prefers the woods--being seldom
or never found in open plains. They are solitary birds; generally being
seen in coveys of four or five, and often singly, or in pairs.

The stranger wandering through the forest is surprised to hear a
peculiar sound, very similar to that produced by striking two full-blown
ox-bladders together, but much louder. It is caused by the ruffed
grouse, who, amusing himself by drumming, is little aware that it will
bring the cruel sportsman towards him. The bird produces it when
standing on an old prostrate log. He lowers his wings, erects his
expanded tail, and inflates his whole body something in the manner of
the turkey-cock, strutting and wheeling about with great stateliness.
After a few manoeuvres of this kind he begins to strike with his
stiffened wings, in short and quick strokes, which become more and more
rapid, till they run into each other. The sound then resembles the
rumbling of distant thunder, dying away grad