AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 



99 



untarily departs, until twilight approaches. This imper- 

 fection in sight is strikingly manifested, when driven from 

 their seclusion, as they seldom make long flights, and are 

 always anxious to settle immediatelj', as though it was 

 painful to sustain the dazzling light of the sun, and are as 

 likely to rush into danger as to avoid it, frequently ap- 

 proaching the sportsman sufficiently near to be stricken by 

 the hand. The writerhimself,duringthepastsummer, while 

 standing beneath the shade of a tree, observed a Wood- 

 cock settle within a few feet of him, and actually remained 

 some seconds before it took to flight again; but this appa- 

 rent stupidit)'^ is only attributable to their imperfect vision, 

 in the day time. But no sooner do the shades of evening 

 appear, than they sally forth, from their thousand 

 hiding-places, to seek their food in open glades and mea- 

 dows. At this time, an expert shot may reap a rich reward 

 to his watchfulness, should he station himself near to some 

 dense swamp, where these birds are making continual in- 

 gress and egress. 



Often, in his walks at twilight, along the secluded lane 

 or lonely meadow, does the passenger observe an object 

 like a phantom flit before his face, or spring from his path, 

 with a whistling noise, and is lost in the impenetrable 

 gloom which surrounds him: — it is this lonely bird, unable 

 to sustain that light which gives life and gaity to other 

 birds, now breaking forth from every opening of the 

 woody recess, to enjoy the comfort and protection which 

 night affords, while seeking unmolested the means of sus- 

 taining life. 



Woodcocks, although migratory, remain frequently with 

 us during the whole year — sometimes, when the streams 

 are covered with ice, and the ground with snow; but their 

 places of resort then, are in cedar swamps, and those 

 springy woods, where the water never freezes, but is con- 

 stantly oozing from the ground, and it appears remarkable 

 how this bird, whose food consists altogether of worms and 

 insects, should, at this season of the year, find means to 

 sustain life; but Nature, ever provident in her resources, 

 and bountiful to all her ofl"spring, has furnished this bird 

 with a bill whose length and delicacy of touch enables it to 

 penetrate deeply into the earth, and draw from thence its 

 accustomed support. 



THE SEA. 



To those who are capable of only gazing upon its surface, 

 the ocean is a sublime sight. " The waste of waters," as 

 we are in the habit of calling it — though it be any thing but 

 a waste, girdles the globe from pole to pole, and occupies 



nearly three-fourths of its surface. When, on some calm 

 and pleasant day, when there is not a cloud to dapple the 

 sky, or a breath to ruf9e the waters, we look out from some 

 lone promontory or beetling rock, upon the soft green face 

 of ocean, and see it extending on and on in one glassy 

 level, till it blend its farther blue so softly with that of the 

 air, that we know not which is the sea, and which sky, but 

 are apt to fancy that this limpid watery curtain is drawn 

 over the universe, and that the sun, the planets, and the 

 stars, are islands in the same sea in which our own habita- 

 tion is cast. In the soft but sublime contemplation, we find 

 the mind expand with the subject; the fancy glides ofl' to 

 places more high than the line can measure, more deep 

 than plummet can sound; we feel the link that binds us to 

 creation; and finding it to be fair and lovely, our kindly 

 feelings only are touched, and we exult in the general hap- 

 piness of that of which we feel that we are a part. If then 

 a vessel should come in sight, with the sun illuminating its 

 canvass, like a beam of light on the blue sea, and moving 

 slow and stately, not seeming to us to be in motion, and 

 yet shifting miles before we can count minutes, how we 

 long to be passengers — to walk upon the waters — to be 

 wafted by the winds — to visit the remotest parts of the 

 earth, without half the effort which is required before the 

 sluggard can turn on his couch. Then, if we linger till 

 the sun declines, and his beams are wholly reflected from 

 the glowing surface, what an excess of brightness! An 

 infinitude of burnished gold, and of burnished gold all 

 living and in motion, stretches out at our feet; and as the 

 reflected light upon the shore wakens a gentle zephyr of the 

 air in that direction, the dimpling water plays in alternate 

 sunshine and shade, as if the luminary had been broken to 

 fragments, and gently strewed along its surface. 



But if the elements are in motion, if the winds are up — 

 if the "blackness of darkness," which cloud upon cloud, 

 rolling in masses and roaring in thunder, which answers to 

 the call of the forked lightning, has flung its shadow upon 

 the sea, so as to change the soft green to a dark and dismal 

 raven blue, which gives all the effect of contrast to the 

 sjjray that dances on the crests of the waves, chafes around 

 the reef, dashes with angry foam against the precipice, or 

 ever and anon, as the fitful blast puts on all its fury, covers 

 the whole with reeking confusion, as if, by the force of the 

 agitation, the very water had taken fire; — if one can stand 

 so as to view the full swell of the tempest-tossed ocean side- 

 ways, it is indeed a spirit-stirring sight! The dark trough, 

 between every two ridges, appears as if the waters were 

 cleft in twain, and both a pathway and a shelter displayed, 

 while ridge courses after ridge in eager race, but with equal 

 celerity. Some, indeed, appear to fall in their course, and 

 to be trampled upon by those that are behind. They are 



