130 ON THE WING. 



kill some from a flock of these birds, when they come 

 to the stool. A good sportsman finds more pleasure 

 in knocking over a pair of woodcock or a brace of 

 quail, than in bagging a dozen marsh birds at one 

 shot, in their oozy, swampy grounds. There is noth- 

 ing elegant or artistic, to my mind, in bay shooting, — 

 nothing to make such shooting other than mere 

 slaughtering. Frank Forrester, in speaking of this 

 kind of sport expresses my opinion of it precisely. 

 He says : — 



" To me, I confess, the sport is a dull one, weary, 

 stale, unprofitable ; and the only things that could 

 reconcile me to it are the chance of obtaining rare 

 and curious ornithological specimens, and admiration 

 for the skill and imitative talents of the baymen. 

 Sport to me in it there is little. If the birds are 

 scarce, shy, and void the stools, the reek of the mud 

 banks, and stagnant waters, interspersed with savory 

 odors of departed king-crabs and such like, the blazing 

 sunshine of an American May or June reflected from 

 the smooth, heaving waters, and, above all, the tortur- 

 ing sting of the mosquitoes, are hardly compensated 

 by a few scattering shots. If, on the contrary, the 

 flocks come, as they do sometimes, countless in num- 

 bers and in quick succession, there is too much of it. 

 It becomes butchery, not sport." 



Give me brush shooting, instead of such unpleasant 

 work and such uncertainty as attend all kinds of 

 shooting for marsh birds. 



The following are the names of some of the bay- 

 snipe, as they are called, that visit our Atlantic coast, 



