224 A BIRD-LOVER'S APRIL. 



never " heard the woodcock's evening hymn," 

 notwithstanding his knowledge of birds is a 

 thousand-fold more than mine, as all students 

 of American ornithology would unhesitatingly 

 avouch were I to mention his name. We waited 

 till dark ; but though Philohela was there, and 

 sounded his yak two or three times, — just 

 enough to excite our hopes, — yet for some 

 reason he kept to terra jirma. Perhaps he was 

 aware of our presence, and disdained to exhibit 

 himself in the role of a wooer under our pro- 

 fane and curious gaze ; or possibly, as my more 

 scientific (and less sentimental) companion sug- 

 gested, the light breeze may have been counted 

 unfavorable for such high-flying exploits. 



After all, our matter-of-fact world is surpris- 

 ingly full of romance. Who would have ex- 

 pected to find this heavy-bodied, long-billed, 

 gross-looking, bull-headed bird singing at heav- 

 en's gate ? He 2i '-'• scorner of the ground ' ? 

 Verily, love worketh wonders ! And perhaps 

 it is really true that the outward semblance is 

 sometimes deceptive. To be candid, however, 

 I must end with confessing that, after listening 

 to the woodcock's " hymn " a good many times, 

 first and last, I cannot help thinking that it 

 takes an imaginative ear to discover anything 

 properly to be called a song in its monotonous 

 clicks clicks even at its fastest and loudest. ^ 



1 While this book is passing through the press (April 30th, 



