A TEXT FROM THOREAU 133 



the month a grouse drummed again and 

 again ; an unseasonable piece of lyrical en- 

 thusiasm, one might think ; but I doubt if 

 it was anything so very exceptional. Once, 

 indeed, a few years ago, I heard a grouse 

 drum repeatedly in January, on a cloudy 

 day, when the ground in the woods was 

 deep under snow. That, I believe, was an 

 event much out of the common, though by 

 no means without precedent. I wish Thoreau 

 could have been there ; he would have im- 

 proved the occasion so admirably. So long 

 as the partridge can keep his spirits up to 

 the drumming point, why should the rest of 

 us outdoor people pull a long face over hard 

 times and short rations ? Shall we be less 

 manly than a bird ? 



The partridge will neither migrate nor 

 hibernate, but looks winter in the eye and 

 bids the wind whistle. It is too bad if we 

 who command the services of coal dealers 

 and plumbers, tailors and butchers, doctors 

 and clergymen, cannot stand our ground with 

 a creature that knows neither house nor fuel, 

 and has nothing for it, summer and winter, 

 but to live by his wits. To the partridge 



