230 
WILD WINGS 
noon they were gone, and in the evening I saw the old birds 
a third of a mile away on a salt marsh, whither they had 
evidently led their brood. 
Besides the breeding Horned Grebes, Bitterns, Red-breasted 
Mergansers, Black Ducks, Blue-bills, and Teal of these inter¬ 
esting East Point ponds, another striking phenomenon is the 
gyration and “love-song” of the Wilson’s Snipe. This is 
the l)ird so dear to sportsmen, here breeding quite commonly. 
We hrst heard a sweet winnowing or twittering sound some¬ 
where above us, reminding one of the sound of the wings 
of the Golden-eye Duck, or “ Whistler,” in flight. Though 
we strain our eyes in scanning the blue vault, nothing is at 
hrst visible. Finally we see what looks like a speck of a bird, 
so high up is it. The wings move rapidly, and with great 
velocity it darts about in wide circles, far and wide, high and 
low. It may at length dash close down over our heads, utter¬ 
ing now a continuous vocal alarm-note, somewhat after the 
style of the Cooper’s Hawk. The hrst thing we know it will 
alight pell-mell upon the topmost twig of a sjDruce, whence it 
will continue its sharp vociferation, or stand for a while in 
silence, when it may start oh again on another ten-mile Bight. 
Wdien an intruder approaches the nest, both birds will By 
about in this erratic manner. 
The nest is hard to hnd, and I have tramped and tramped, 
searching for it in vain. But this season one of our party 
undertook to watch a pair of snipe from a hiding-place. In 
the course of half an hour he saw one of them alight in the 
grass on the edge of a sort of marshy bayou, back from 
a large pond. Waiting a few moments, he walked up and 
soon Bushed the bird a few rods from where she had 
alighted. On damp ground, amid a tract of low bushes and 
sparse grass, was the long-sought nest, containing four dark- 
colored, mottled eggs, rounder and less pointed than the eggs 
