THE AMERICAN SPARROW-HAWK. 91 



little hunter rises in the air, describes a few circles, moves on directly, 

 balances itself steadily by a tremulous motion of its wings, darts towards the 

 earth, but, as if disappointed, checks its course, reascends and proceeds. 

 Some unlucky finch crosses the field beneath it. The Hawk has marked it, 

 and, anxious to secure its prize, sweeps after it; the chase is soon ended, for 

 the poor affrighted and panting bird becomes the prey of the ruthless pur- 

 suer, who, unconscious of wrong, carries it off to some elevated branch of a 

 tall tree, plucks it neatly, tears the flesh asunder, and having eaten all that 

 it can pick, allows the skeleton and wings to fall to the ground, where they 

 may apprise the traveller that a murder has been committed. 



Thus, reader, are the winter months spent by this little marauder. When 

 spring returns to enliven the earth, each male bird seeks for its mate, whose 

 coyness is not less innocent than that of the gentle dove. Pursued from 

 place to place, the female at length yields to the importunity of her dear 

 tormentor, when side by side they sail, screaming aloud their love notes, 

 which, if not musical, are doubtless at least delightful to the parties concerned. 

 With tremulous wings they search for a place in which to deposit their eggs 

 secure from danger, and now they have found it. 



On that tall mouldering headless trunk, the Hawks have alighted side by 

 side. See how they caress each other! Mark! The female enters the 

 deserted Woodpecker's hole, where she remains some time measuring its 

 breadth and depth. Now she appears, exultingly calls her mate, and tells 

 him there could not be a fitter place. Full of joy they gambol through the 

 air, chase all intruders away, watch the Grakles and other birds to which the 

 hole might be equally pleasing, and so pass the time, until the female has 

 deposited her eggs, six, perhaps even seven in number, round, and beautifully 

 spotted. The birds sit alternately, each feeding the other and watching with 

 silent care. After a while the young appear, covered with white down. 

 They grow apace, and now are ready to go abroad, when their parents entice 

 them forth. Some launch into the air at once, others, not so strong, now 

 and then fall to the ground; but all continue to be well provided with food, 

 until they are able to shift for themselves. Together they search for grass- 

 hoppers, crickets, and such young birds as, less powerful than themselves, 

 fall an easy prey. The family still resort to the same field, each bird making 

 choice of a stand, the top of a tree, or that of the Great Mullein. At times 

 they remove to the ground, then fly off in a body, separate, and again betake 

 themselves to their stands. Their strength increases, their flight improves, 

 and the field-mouse seldom gains her retreat before the little Falcon secures 

 it for a meal. 



The trees, of late so richly green, now disclose the fading tints of autumn; 

 the cricket becomes mute, the grasshopper withers on the fences, the mouse 



