II. 



THE WOODCOCK. 



THOUGH Bob White has been a more familiar 

 spirit because he spent the whole year with us 

 and had more sides to his lovely nature, there is 

 no bird I have walked so far to see as the wood- 

 cock in his own wild home. What gave such 

 charm to this frail being I never knew ; but it was 

 not his fine flavor, or even the satisfaction of 

 shooting him, for I have hunted the woodcock 

 almost as much without a gun as with one. Be- 

 fore the pure white of the blood-root illumined 

 the sodden leaves, almost before the purling note 

 of the bluebird was heard in the open, or the 

 drum of the ruffed grouse sounded again in the 

 laurel brake, I used to roam with the dog only 

 the southern slopes along the spring runs and 

 the warm open bogs, to renew acquaintance with 

 this bird on his return from the South. Where 



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