THE LIFE OF BIRDS 143 
Golden-crowned Thrush, called, for this reason, 
the Oven-bird,—the Meadowlark, with its 
burrowed gallery among the grass, —and the 
Kingfisher, which mines four feet into the 
earth. Many of the rarer nests would hardly 
be discovered, only that the maternal instinct 
seems sometimes so overloaded by nature as 
to defeat itself, and the bird flies and chirps in 
agony, when she might pass unnoticed by keep- 
ing still. The most marked exception I have 
noticed is that of the Red Thrush, which, in 
this respect, as in others, has the most high- 
bred manners among all our birds: both male 
and female sometimes flit in perfect silence 
through the bushes, and show solicitude only 
in a sob that is scarcely audible, 
Passing along the shore-path by our lake, one 
day in June, I heard a great sound of scuffling 
and yelping before me, as if dogs were hunting 
rabbits or woodchucks. On approaching I saw 
no sign of such disturbances, and presently a 
Partridge came running at me through the 
trees, with ruff and tail expanded, bill wide 
open, and hissing like a goose, —then turned 
suddenly, and with ruff and tail furled, but with 
no pretence of lameness, scudded off through 
the woods in a circle,—then at me again 
fiercely, approaching within two yards, and 
spreading all her furbelows, to intimidate, as 
