The Woodcock 249 



yet another day, and when I arrived, instead of four 

 little woodcocks, there were only the remains of the 

 once beautiful eggs. My friend strongly asserted that 

 the mother had carried the chicks away to a place of 

 safety. Be that as it may, a feeling of sadness came 

 over me as I looked upon the empty nest, never to be 

 tenanted again. I sincerely hoped, now that they were 

 gone, that the gentle-eyed mother and the four little 

 chicks were far beyond the reach of dog and man, in 

 the fastnesses of the great swamp close by. And in 

 my fancy as I wander through the swamp, when the 

 sumac is crimson and the maple is aflame with russet 

 and gold, I imagine that the fine holes bored in the mud 

 by long bills were made by our woodcock family. 



