IN THE CAMBRIDGE SWAMP 31 



bird was too wary for me ; and a miss is as 

 good as a mile. No doubt I shall die with- 

 out the sight. 



So the Carolina rail will whistle and the 

 Virginia rail call the pigs, but it will be a 

 memorable hour when you detect either of 

 them in the act. You will hear the sounds 

 often enough ; I hear them to-day ; and much 

 less frequently you will see the birds step- 

 ping with dainty caution along a favorite 

 runway, or feeding about the edges of their 

 cover. But to see them utter the familiar 

 notes, that is another story. 



This morning I see on the wing a night 

 heron (so I call him, without professing abso- 

 lute certainty), a bittern (flying from one 

 side of the railroad tracks to the other), and 

 a little green heron, but no rail of either 

 species, although I sit still in favorable 

 places where at other times I have seen 

 them with exemplary patience. In hunt- 

 ing of this kind, patience must be mixed with 

 luck. It pleases my imagination to think 

 what numbers of birds there are all about 

 me, each busy with its day's work, and not 

 one of them visible for an instant, even by 

 chance. 



