144 FEATHERED GAME 



angel turn a deaf ear to the all-too-energetic ex- 

 pressions of the sportsman, who is gazing earn- 

 estly into space before him with disgust in every 

 lineament and blistering eloquence hurrying 

 from his tongue! Two empty cartridge cases 

 idly smoking in the mire represent another 

 waste of ammunition, and still the would-be 

 slayer stares, unable to believe the evidence of 

 his eyes. Yet the reason for his failure is not 

 far to seek our friend, as someone has beauti- 

 fully said, has "shot zig just as the Snipe 

 turned zag." 



There is no fear that the sportsman of the 

 east will deserve opprobrium because of too 

 much snipe-slaughter. That is hardly possible 

 under our game conditions. Here are no such 

 chances as the spring flights afford our west- 

 ern brothers. Somehow Snipe are rare in that 

 season, and even in the fall months a dozen 

 Snipe to a gun in a day is a good killing in most 

 New England marshes. Still, with the "yel- 

 lowlegs" and "grassbirds" and on occasion 

 the stray teal and black duck, our gunners 

 will make a satisfactory bagful. To many the 

 uncertainty as to what the charge may be 

 unloosed at next lends an added charm to 



