WILD WINGS 



THE ides of March see the woodcock hack in 

 its northern home, and in early April it pre- 

 pares for nesting. The question of the nest itself 

 is a very simple matter, being only a cavity, 

 formed by the pressure of the mother's body, 

 among the moss and dead leaves. The formalities 

 of courtship are, however, quite another thing, 

 and the execution of interesting aerial dances 

 entails much effort and time. 



It is in the dusk of evening that the male wood- 

 cock begins his song, — plaintive notes uttered at 

 regular intervals, and sounding like peent! peentf 

 Then without warning he launches himself on a 

 sharply ascending spiral, his wings whistling 

 through the gloom. Higher and higher he goes, 

 balances a moment, and finally descends abruptly, 

 with zigzag rushes, wings and voice both aiding 

 each other in producing the sounds, to which, let 

 us suppose, his prospective mate listens with 

 ecstasy. It is a weird performance, repeated 

 again and again during the same evening. 



So pronounced and loud is the whistling of the 

 wings that we wonder how it can be produced by 

 ordinary feathers. The three outer primaries 

 of the wing, which in most birds are usually like 



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