178 ORNITHOLOGICAL RAMBLES. 



they could persuade them to take wing. Now for 

 that little alder coppice at the further end of the 

 marshy swamp. Hark to that whipping sound, so 

 different from the rush of the rising pheasant or 

 the drumming flight of the partridge ! I cannot 

 see the bird, but I know it is a woodcock. This 

 must be one of his favourite haunts, for I perceive 

 the tracks of his feet and the perforations of his 

 bill in every direction on the black mud around. 

 Mark! again. A second is sprung, arid as he 

 flits between the naked alders a snap-shot stops his 

 career. I now emerge at the farther end, just 

 where the trees are thinner than elsewhere. A 

 wisp of snipes utter their well known cry and scud 

 over the heath ; one of these is secured. The rest 

 fly towards a little pool of dark water lying at 

 a considerable distance on the common, a well- 

 known rendezvous for those birds. Cautiously 

 approaching, down wind, I reach the margin. Up 

 springs a snipe j but just as my finger is on the 

 trigger, and when too late to alter my intention, a 

 duck and mallard rise from among the rushes and 

 wheel round my head. One barrel is fortunately 

 left, and the drake comes tumbling to the ground. 

 Three or four pheasants, another couple of wood- 

 cocks, a few more snipes, a teal or two and half a 

 dozen rabbits picked up at various intervals, com- 

 plete the day's sport, and I return home, better 



