X. 



DAYS AMONG THE PLOVER. 



NEXT to Wilson's snipe no small bird has such 

 attraction for the sportsman as the upland plover. 

 It seems but yesterday its strange call first fell 

 upon my childish ear, and made me stop and 

 scan the horizon long before discovering far on 

 high this little wisp of life speeding across the 

 dome of blue as if a messenger of Jove. 



In the Western States the upland plover a few 

 years ago was so tame there was no pleasure in 

 hunting it. But on the Atlantic coast, as far 

 back as 1855, it was the wildest of all wild things. 

 Few birds were more sought, and for few were as 

 many miles so willingly traversed. 



When the bugloss spread its blue across the 

 pastures, and the air was redolent of mint ; when 

 the mutterings of thunder were over, and silvery 

 clouds hung low along the horizon ; when a softer 



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