WOOD NOTES WILD. 93 
lying quite motionless, as is the habit of the young in 
time of danger. The next morning, when I opened the 
door of the wood-house, where it had spent the night, 
instantly it hummed by my head and disappeared. (The 
partridge has a rapid flight, and no bird surpasses it in 
swift sailing.) What caused this partridge to seek the 
nest of the brooding hen at that hour is something of a 
mystery; it may have been hotly pursued by an owl. 
But it is of the musical powers of the partridge that 
I wish to speak. One spring the neighboring children 
came in companies to see a partridge on her nest close by 
my barn. The novel sight was highly entertaining, but . 
their eyes opened wider still when they saw and heard 
the performances of her mate on his favorite log. Dur- 
ing the time the hen was laying and sitting, he often 
gave us the “stormy music of his drum.” It was small 
trouble to arrange bushes on a fence near by, so that 
one could creep up unseen and get a full view of the 
gallant thunderer perched on a knotty old hemlock log, 
mossy and half-buried in the ground; and “children 
of a larger growth,” as well as the boys and girls, 
availed themselves of the opportunity. Of the many 
who saw him in the act of drumming, I do not recall 
one who had a correct idea beforehand of the way in 
which the “partridge thunder” is produced. It was 
supposed to be made by the striking of the bird’s wings 
either against the log or against his body; whereas it 
was now plainly to be seen that the performer stood 
straight up, like a junk bottle, and brought his wings in 
front of him with quick, strong strokes, smiting nothing 
