THE WOODCOCK. 29 



the snowy racemes of the shad-bush Ht up the 

 still leafless thickets, what a thrill those little 

 holes in the mud made by the woodcock's bill 

 sent through my soul! How I hunted often in 

 vain by day to find the bird that made them, and 

 went there again in the evening to see him tower 

 twittering into the evening sky, and hear him 

 sing his only song, the song of springtime and 

 love ! 



And when the snowy involucre of the dogwood 

 lit up the darkening halls of the woods, and the 

 liquid tones of the wood-thrush made the falling 

 of night so sweet, long have I lingered around 

 the place where I knew there was a woodcock's 

 nest. Many a time after I had found the sitting 

 bird have I crawled softly up on hands and knees 

 to see the beam of that dark liquid eye that has 

 no equal elsewhere on earth. How I watched 

 for the little ones to come, and reached the place 

 early in the morning to see the old mother rise 

 with feeble wing, flutter but a /ew feet, and then 

 limp along the grass! How I searched beneath 

 every leaf and bit of grass until I found one of 

 the little downy things, felt more happy than if 

 I had shot an elephant, and took more pleasure 



