88 A Book of the Snipe, 



I call to mind a large flooded marsh, from 

 one corner of which a flock of about fifty 

 birds made off in a certain direction daily 

 immediately their territory was invaded. 

 There was only one place to which they 

 cottld have gone, — so said my man, who 

 knew every inch of the country ; but, snipe- 

 like, they were never there. One day it 

 occurred to me, after the usual performance 

 had taken place, to explore a densely grown 

 little combe or hollow that lay to one side 

 of my customary walk. The place was cer- 

 tainly not more than thirty yards across at 

 the top, and sloped down like an inverted 

 cone to a point below, where trickled a tiny 

 bramble-grown stream, — a possible lie for a 

 woodcock, but as likely to hold a tiger as a 

 snipe. However, snipe were there, not one 

 or two, but fifty at least, and in a delightful 

 state of unsociability, undoubtedly the com- 

 pany which had screamed adieu from the 

 marsh behind. I got nine couple there on 

 that day, killed, but was unable to retrieve 

 at least half that number again, and moved 



