Volume VII. 



RECREATION. 



OCTOBER, J897. 

 G. 0. SHIELDS (COauiNA), Editor and Manager. 



Number 4. 



THE WILLET ( SYMPHEMIA SEMIPALMATA). 



WILMOT TOWNSEND. 



NE morning I sat in 

 my blind, on the 

 edge of a pond- 

 hole, in the salt 

 meadows bordering the restless tides 

 of the Virginia broadwaters. 



The mellow sunlight of early spring 

 spread its life-giving spirit in a flood of 

 quiet beauty over the wide marsh. 

 Here and there the tender blades of 

 sprouting sedge-grass were already 

 threading their way among the tangle 

 of withered reeds and grasses, up to 

 the balmy air and sunshine. 



The heavy showers of the night had 

 left their sparkling drops on every 

 hand, to lend an additional freshness 

 to the landscape. It was one of the 

 mornings when sound travels a mar- 

 vellous distance with distinctness. 

 The voices of men and the rattle of a 

 falling oar, on the oyster fleet, miles 

 away, were heard with wonderful 

 clearness. Over all spread the restful 

 quiet of the springtide, intensified 

 rather than disturbed by these echoes 

 of far-away life. 



The day grows, marsh life awakens 

 to greater activity, curlews call and 



sail off on the breeze toward their 

 more Northern haunts. 



Now and then the air becomes mu- 

 sical with the plaintive notes of dow- 

 itch, while at intervals the free, wild, 

 " phew-e-e " of the black-breast plov- 

 er, with its peculiar inflections, rings 

 down from the cloudless sky, with a 

 clear, unexpected suddenness. 



The birds are travelling, and soon — 

 possibly in a day or 2 — these meadows 

 will be deserted by all save a few of 

 the large migrants. 



The meadowhen will remain, to 

 gladden the heart of egg-hunting man, 

 though after June 15 he must cease 

 despoiling the nests. These birds are 

 here in mvriads, and their cackling 

 cries fill the meadowland with noise, 

 to an extent that must be heard to be 

 appreciated. 



Another voice strongly in evidence 

 is that of the willet. There is a fear- 

 lessness about this fellow, at this sea- 

 son, charming to see. Protected from 

 the ravages of man — his death being 

 punished by a fine, the penalty apply- 

 ing also to the despoiling of his nest — 

 he abandons himself with his whole 

 soul to the delights of courtship and of 

 housekeeping. 



Flitting about over the dun-colored 

 meadows, he shouts, as if in very ex- 

 cess of spirits, " Will- willet ! will-wil- 

 let! will-willet! " with a ringing em- 

 phasis on the first syllable, until the 

 air seems to vibrate in response to his 

 joyous mood. 



He has a graceful habit of stretching 



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