Where Town and Country Meet 



A beautiful bird he is, too, somewhat re 

 sembling the woodcock in contour and 

 plumage, but of slighter build. He arrives 

 in our northern latitude about the latter part 

 of April, commonly in flights of from a 

 score to a hundred birds. The flock settles 

 down in some large, fresh-water marsh, 

 pairs off, and begins breeding about the 

 middle of May. You would never suspect 

 that there were some hundreds of this choice 

 and highly prized game-bird in the marsh 

 lying so silent under the midday sun. But 

 if you had been on the edge of the marsh 

 a little before sunrise, you might have heard, 

 high in air, a most tender, sweet, minor 

 note, now swelling loud, now dying away, 

 like the distant sound of a shepherd's whistle 

 in the Scotch mountains. This is the spring 

 love-note of the male snipe. The bird utters 

 it, larklike, high in air, mounting upward 

 with a spiral flight; and then when he has 

 voiced the longing of his heart at the very 

 gate of heaven, he drops down like an arrow 

 to the side of his mate in the marsh. It is 

 well worth a long walk before breakfast to 

 hear this charming, delicate, evanescent 

 love-note of our most idyllic swamp-hermit. 



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