Comedy and Tragedy 103 



parasite egg with the hatching of those of the sparrow itself 

 would have meant, doubtless, that the young cow-bird, by its 

 superior size and great greed, would have received the major 

 part of the food to the sacrifice of its foster brothers and 

 sisters. One morning, when on my way to pay a visit to the 

 vesper sparrow's nest, I stopped at the fence and looked 

 across the field to the spot where I knew the little home was 

 hidden in the grass. The field was pasture-land, and a cow 

 was grazing within a few yards of the sparrow's nest. It drew 

 dangerously near to the grass clump where the bird was brood- 

 ing, and in another instant I saw the sparrow leave the nest 

 and perform exactly the same series of gymnastics for the cow's 

 benefit that it had a day or two before for mine. Whether 

 this mother bird thought she could lure away from her home, 

 through motives of curiosity, this terrific horned beast or not, 

 I cannot say, but the effort was made in apparent good faith. 

 It is hard to be obliged to make a tragedy out of that into 

 which comedy has so largely entered. Before the young 

 vesper sparrows had been three days out of the shell one of the 

 grazing cattle put an end to the little ones' lives with a mis- 

 placed step. Much more than a month later I saw a pair of 

 vesper sparrows feeding four fledgeling young in the same field. 

 I believe that the plucky little mother, rising superior to dis- 

 aster, had succeeded finally in raising a promising family. 



No bird better typifies the wild life of the woods than the 

 ruffed grouse, or partridge, as it is commonly called. Flushed 

 from its forest retreat in the autumn, the whir of its wings 

 through the falling leaves is like the whirling of a belted mill- 

 wheel. The rush of its flight through the brush strikes a sort 

 of terror to the novice sportsman who stands with gun in ner- 

 vous hands, nor thinks of shooting till the bolt-like pace of 



