THE WOODCOCK. 51 



flight; and that very uncertainty is, perhaps, one of the 

 magic ties that bind us to its pursuit. Yet the wood- 

 cock is no dullard, but as great a rascal as ever flushed 

 before the gun. It will rise straight from before you, as 

 though impelled by some hidden spring; then, taking a 

 dash over the tree-tops, pitch just behind, not two rods 

 from where it was started; or it may dart through the 

 thicket to the outside, and skimming the edge quite close 

 to the ground, drop upon the very margin, or, suddenly 

 rising, dart back into the deepest portion of the cover; 

 or if the dog fails to catch the scent, it may wait until 

 you pass; then, when your back is turned, steal away 

 without even a note of warning. 



Again, it may flush rods away, a veritable coward, or 

 sit in an open spot, like the bravest of the brave, seem- 

 ingly indifferent to yourself, dog, and gun, and watch 

 you with big, staring eyes. Keep still, stare it out of 

 countenance, if you can, and it will soon take flight, but 

 in which direction no one can tell possibly down the 

 open pathway, probably straight into the thickest 

 bush, where a sparrow would find hard work to force its 

 way. 



It is truly wonderful how the woodcock directs its 

 flight, for no matter how thick the trees and branches to 

 mar your aim, it skillfully avoids them, and leaves 

 you wondering how it possibly escaped their network. 

 These leafy labyrinths are open sailing to this dark-eyed 

 bird. 



Its knowledge of curves and angles is shown with 

 mathematical certainty; and in the moderately open 

 woods it knows the exact position of all the trees, and 

 will dart away, twisting its flight behind these bulwarks, 

 so safely that you can only catch the shadow of its pin- 

 ions, while some tree catches your charge of shot. At 

 the report of a gun, it will often pitch headlong down 



