145
Concord, Mass.
1898
June 24
(No 2)
uttering their feeble chirping (tsee-tsee-e-e) from
various parts of the bear oak thicket where I had
first seen the old bird, and presently she began
answering them with a low hen-like cror-cror-cror
(always just three notes). As i could easily tell by these
calls and answers the young quickly rejoined their
mother when the sounds all ceased.
  There can be little doubt, I think, that this
particular hen Partridge had learned by experience
that the old-established trick of tumbling about on
the ground with beating wings and loud whining cries
did not always deceive men who are accustomed to
the woods. [delete]into thinking[/delete] In its place she had hit
upon a simpler, yet really cleverer, ruse by which I was
completely deceived.
  For the past two nights the clamor and din of
Batrachian voices has been something indescribable. Bull Frogs,
Green Frogs, Garden Toads and Tree Toads have been
apparently vying with each other as to which should
make the most noise. The Green Frogs have easily
carried off the palm. Their tung, tung-tungy sounds at
certain distances singularly like the voices of proper
talking and laughing. It irritates and annoys me at
times but I never tire of listening to the rich,
deep bass of the Bull Frogs. They are decidedly
the least numerous of the Batrachians here but
fortunately a very few of them suffice to fill the
marshes with sound which rolls against the wooded
hills and echoes back again drowning the cries of
all the smaller species.