a sudden dash, the flock were scattered in every direction, 
and a single Martin closely pursued by the Hawk disappeared 
behind a cluster of trees. The next instant I heard the 
screams of the poor victim, at first loud, then fainter, 
and finally, after a moment of silence, coming again in 
feeble, despairing tones as the unfortunate creature drew 
its last breaths in the grasp of the sharp and relentless 
talons. 
As on several former occasions when I have seen a 
Hawk catch a small bird and have listened to its expiring 
cries I was moved by deep pity and fierce wrath to an extent 
surprising on the part of one who, like myself, has killed 
thousands of birds without suffering more than an occasional 
slight qualm. But there is something peculiarly moving and 
piteous in the voice of a bird in the clutches of a Hawk, 
a quality of mingled pain and'apprehension which the grasp 
of the human hand seldom or never elicits. 
^The identity of the Hawk just mentioned puzzles 
me. The bird was almost certainly a Falco but I havemver 
seen columbarius here at this season while sparverius (Sparrow Hawk) 
would sca.rcely attack so large a bird as a Martin . As 
the chase and capture occurred at a distance of fully six 
hundred yards and I had no glass with me, I could only 
judge by form, size and flight. 
The Grass Finches have ne arly ceased singing but 
Song Sparrows and Chippies keep on with unabated vigor.3 
