WILSON'S SNIPE 87 



round, and zigzag high over the meadow, and finally 

 alight again, descending abruptly from that height. 



April 20, 1854. The sound of the snipes, winnowing 

 the evening air now at starlight, visible but for an in- 

 stant high over the meadows, is heard far into the village, 

 — hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo, rising higher and higher 

 or dying away as they circle round, — a ghostly sound. 



April 15, 1856. At the same time, I hear a part of 

 the hovering note of my first snipe, circling over some 

 distant meadow, a mere waif, and all is still again. 

 A-lulling the watery meadows, fanning the air like a 

 spirit over some far meadow's bay. 



April 25, 1856. I landed on Merrick's pasture near 

 the rock, and when I stepped out of the boat and drew 

 it up, a snipe flew up, and lit again seven or eight rods 

 off. After trying in vain for several minutes to see it 

 on the ground there, I advanced a step and, to my sur- 

 prise, scared up two more, which had squatted on the 

 bare meadow all the while within a rod, while I drew 

 up my boat and made a good deal of noise. In short, I 

 scared up twelve, one or two at a time, within a few 

 rods, which were feeding on the edge of the meadow 

 just laid bare, each rising with a sound like squeak 

 squeak, hoarsely. That part of the meadow seemed all 

 alive with them. It is almost impossible to see one on 

 the meadow, they squat and run so low, and are so 

 completely the color of the ground. They rise from 

 within a rod, fly half a dozen rods, and then drop down 

 on the bare open meadow before your eyes, where 

 there seems not stubble enough to conceal them, 

 and are at once lost as completely as if they had 



