pasture-fields, overturn dry chips of cow-dung, in search of crickets; but such young birds will naturally follow their parents thither, and this is just the case, for the larger proportion of birds killed in October, in such localities, are the young of the preceding summer.
In conclusion, with reference to young birds, I believe they leave their nests totally ignorant, and naturally imitate their parents. What this imitation secures to them, in the way of knowledge, they perfect by experience; and this explains the variation in the habits of the same birds, so noticeable when studied in localities widely distant and greatly differing in character.
Let us turn our attention now to adult birds; and, with reference to them, I would refer particularly to two phases of their life-habits that have interested me exceedingly. The first of these points is the ingenuity so frequently displayed in procuring food. By the exercise of ingenuity, I mean instances of the attacking bird (in cases of birds of prey) being at first outwitted by the pursued, and, after repeated efforts availing nothing, ceasing its aggressive movements; then considering the causes of failure, planning a new method of action, and, having correctly judged the difficulties, finally succeeding. This, at least, is the manner in which I interpret the following instance:
While out watching our winter birds, January 22d of this year, I was caught in quite a hard shower, and sought shelter under a group of three large, dense cedars. Like myself, driven in from the adjoining meadows by the increasing rain, came a dozen or more sparrows, which, settling among the branches, commenced dressing their feathers and twittering cheerily. In a few moments after came, with a rush and loud chirp, a gay cardinal. If the sparrows did not acknowledge his presence with a low bow, each, at any rate, took a lower branch, leaving him on his elevated perch like a monarch on his throne. But he was fated to be molested, for, scarcely had he become fairly settled, and his feathers smoothed, when a sparrow-hawk rushed through the tree, with a zigzag movement, endeavoring to seize him or one of his attendant sparrows. Failing in this, the hawk hovered about a few moments, giving the scattered birds time to return, which they quickly did, when, with a similar rush, he again scattered them. One little snow-bird was so thoroughly frightened that it lit upon my shoulder, as though seeking safety under the brim of my hat. The third effort of the hawk failing, he came back immediately and seated himself at a little distance from the top of the tree, and close to the main stem. I remained nearly motionless, but with upturned face, and could plainly see the bird, although fortunately I escaped notice. One thing in particular attracted my notice: the bird was very much exhausted, "out of breath," as we should say of ourselves, and, with his beak open, he panted violently. This satisfied me that the efforts to capture prey are not accomplished with the ease sometimes supposed. As the rain was increasing, and the wind con-
