THE SNIPE. 



As we wander round the mountain lakes, over the 

 seemingly interminable swamp, where the ground be- 

 neath us trembles under our weight, and we have to 

 pick our way carefully, stepping from one cluster of 

 rushes to another, we are apt to ponder over the absence 

 of bird life. True, we have passed a short while ago a 

 company of Plovers on the higher grounds, and seen the 

 Red Grouse in plenty on the drier land, still here all 

 seems desolate. As we pause to admire the sublimity 

 of Nature in her wildest aspects, the perfect silence 

 seems oppressive, and a slight feeling of sadness creeps 

 irresistibly upon us. Nothing breaks the solemn stillness 

 of the wilderness save the incessant lap lap of the waters, 

 stirred into motion by the mountain breeze, or the 

 rustling murmurs of the reeds and the plash plash of our 



