AMERICAN PARTRIDGE, OR QUAIL. (Perdrix Virginianus. Wilson.)]
This well known bird, though not very migratory in its habits, has extended its colonies from New England to Mexico. The spot where they have been raised, if they can at all support life, is their home; and there they will remain until the whole flock is destroyed by sportsmen. This fact sufficiently disproves the asserted identity of our partridge with the quail of the European continent, which is a bird of passage, leaving Europe for Asia at the approach of winter, and returning in very great numbers in the spring. Partridges assemble in small families, varying according to circumstances from three to thirty; and, except in the breeding season, they all live together in a happy and mutual alliance. The quails on the other hand are pugnacious to a proverb—"as quarrelsome as quails in a cage."
The partridges are nearly full grown by the beginning of September, and associated in the usual coveys of from twenty to thirty afford considerable sport to the gunner. The notes of the males at this time are frequent, clear and loud, and they may by skillful imitation of the call be deceived and induced approach. Their food consists of grain seed, insects and berries of various kinds. The buckwheat fields suffer severely from their depredations in September and October, affording them at that time abundant food and secure shelter. At night they roost in the middle of a field, on high ground, sitting round in a circle with their heads outward. In this position they place themselves at the commencement of a fall of snow, when their mutual warmth is the better able to resist the effects of frost, and each forms a guard for the whole against the approach of danger. They are not afraid of snow, for they sometimes fly to a drift for safety; it being only when a coating of frozen sleet resists their efforts to leave it that they experience bad effects from it. The loud whirring sound of their flight when flushed is well known. Its steady, horizontal flight renders it an easy prey to the sportsman, especially when he is assisted by a sagacious dog. The flesh of the partridge is peculiarly white, tender and delicate, in this respect unequaled by any other American game.
THE AMERICAN ROBIN. (Turdus Migratorius.)]
This well known bird, and universal favorite, can require but a very few words at our hands. His unassuming familiarity of manners has caused him to be immortalized in the Songs for the Nursery, and others of Mother Goose's collections for the little ones. His nest is preserved from the rude hands of boyhood by a sort of instinctive veneration for his well known and long established character, and his cheerful, zealous singing not unfrequently causes the older sportsman to take down the armed gun from his shoulder, and suffer the assiduous songster to enjoy his liberty and life.
The robin is particularly fond of gum-berries, and it is only necessary for the sportsman to take his stand near one of these trees when it is covered with fruit, and load and fire his gun. One flock after another will come to it without intermission during the whole day.
TO A ROSE-BUD.
Thy leaves are not unfolded yet to the sweet light of love,
Thy bosom now is blushing like the sunset clouds above;
Thy beauteous form is perfect, thy hopes are fair and bright,
Thy dreams are sweet while sleeping in the gentle breeze of night;
And though I know a dew-drop tear hath in thy bosom been,
'Twas only sent to nourish thee, and make thee pure within:
No canker-worm corrodes thy rest, and life is life to thee,
And as the past has ever been so may the future be.
May all thy dreams be realized, thy hopes be not in vain,
Thy life pass calm and sweetly on without a sigh of pain:
And when thy leaves shall droop and fall, as droop and fall they must,
Thy lovely form will then lie low, to mingle with the dust;
And to thy long last resting-place soft winds shall be thy bier,
While the fragrance of thy loving heart will ever linger near;
To me thy memory will come back when I am lone and sad,
And thoughts of thy pure, gentle life shall make my spirit glad.
Ah! lovely rose-bud, well I know that both of us must die,
And when death comes, may I, like you, leave earth without a sigh;
May I, like you, when youth shall fade, still yield the sweet perfume,
The incense of a worthy heart, which age can not consume:
Farewell, farewell, sweet rose-bud, were I but as pure as thee,
My soul would be contented, my spirit would be free,
Each wish would then be gratified, each longing have a home,
And joy and peace would fill my heart wherever I might roam.