IN THE HEMLOCKS 63 
watchful ear to hear it. How gentle and solicitous 
and full of yearning love! It is the voice of the 
mother hen. Presently a faint timid “Yeap!” 
which almost eludes the ear, is heard in various 
directions, —the young responding. As no danger 
seems near, the cooing of the parent bird is soon a 
very audible clucking call, and the young move 
cautiously in the direction. Let me step never so 
carefully from my hiding-place, and all sounds in- 
stantly cease, and I search in vain for either parent 
or young. 
The partridge is one of our most native and char- 
acteristic 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 was 
ireally 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. Approaching him at such times, 
he suddenly bursts out of the snow at your feet, 
scattering the flakes in all directions, and goes hum- 
ming away through the woods like a bomb-shell, — 
a picture of native spirit and success. 
His drum is one of the most welcome and beau- 
tiful sounds of spring. Scarcely have the trees 
expanded their buds, when, in the still April morn- 
