one feels in the strike and whirl of a trout. 

 Fifty thrushes would fifty times sweeten the 

 swale ; my single pair of woodcocks would keep 

 it all wild and untamed. 



But they are gone. Like all birds, the wood- 

 cocks have many natural enemies ; they are one 

 of their* own worst enemies in building so early 

 that snows and frosts destroy the eggs, and in 

 places where April freshets sweep them away. 

 Yet in spite of all this, they would flourish were 

 it not for the pot-hunter. They could be hunted 

 during the weeks of the fall migration, as the 

 New England States allow, and still flourish. 

 But in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, 

 Maryland, and several other States they are 

 shot in July, almost before the young are on the 

 wing. And in the Southern States, excepting 

 South Carolina and Alabama, no protection is 

 afforded them whatever. Here from the North 

 they congregate during the winter, and here all 

 winter long they are slaughtered and shipped 

 back to the North -^ to the States that are trying 

 to save them. 



From everywhere over their wide range, 

 between the Atlantic coast and the line of the 

 r 222"! 



