THE REFERENDUM 



479 



ishingly regular in their flight, and time after 

 time will make for odd covers that the sports- 

 man has not considered it worth while to 

 visit. When shooting on strange ground the 

 complete disappearance for the rest of the 

 day of large wisps that have risen wild is a 

 constant source of wonder to many. When 

 such is the case my advice is to search thor- 

 oughly every little insignificant, wet corner 

 that lies in the direction of their flight. If 

 you are so fortunate as to find one or two 

 of these occupied, you should have some 

 pretty shooting, for a wisp is very seldom a 

 wisp more than once in a day, and it is ten 

 to one that the snipe will lie well. I call to 

 mind a large flooded marsh from one corner 

 of which a flock of fifty birds made off in a 

 certain direction daily immediately their terri- 

 tory was invaded. There was only one place 

 to which they could have gone — but snipe-like 

 they were never there. One day it occurred 

 to me, after the usual performance had taken 

 place, to explore a densely grown little combe 

 or hollow that lay to one side of my custom- 

 ary walk. The place was certainly not 

 more than thirty yards across at the top, and 

 sloped down like an inverted cone to a point 

 below, where trickled a tiny stream — a pos- 

 sible lie for a woodcock, but as likely to hold 

 a tiger as a snipe. However, snipe were 

 there, not one or two, but fifty at least, un- 

 doubtedly the company that in a delightful 

 state of unsociability had screamed adieu 

 from the marsh behind. I got nine couple 

 there on that day, killed, but was unable to 

 retrieve at least half that number again, and 

 moved the rest on to the "only place to which 

 they could have gone," where the more fa- 

 vorable ground enabled a fairly satisfactory 

 toll to be taken. Had it not been for the 

 dreadful nature of the undergrowth and the 

 extreme difficulty of shooting when up to the 

 armpits in brambles, that little "woolly" dell 

 might have been the scene of too large bags. 

 Subsequently, after the marsh had been shot 

 over, snipe were always there, but never be- 

 fore, as I proved. It took me three years 

 to find this out. 



If down-wind can not be managed natur- 

 ally, the next best thing is to walk across it, 

 and it will be found that this will be pos- 

 sible on' by far the greater portion of your 

 daily round. But here, too, there are pros 

 and cons to be considered. Will it be better 

 to proceed with the wind blowing across your 

 path from left to right or from right to left? 

 In the first case you will have to shoot at the 

 snipe flying to your left, in the latter case to 

 your right. To me the former direction is 

 the easier, but I believe that most sportsmen 

 declare in favor of the latter. Therefore it 

 is plainly a point that each must settle for 

 himself. Perhaps the acme of the sport is 

 attained when the wind is blowing warm but 



fresh across a wide, open stretch of moor or 

 bog. There is then no necessity to return on 

 your tracks in order to take the next strip 

 before the wind. The ground can be fairly 

 walked out from end to end and back again in 

 a series of long U's, the shots presenting a 

 fascinating sequence of lessons in quickness 

 and "holding ahead," as the snipe slip off on 

 either hand close to the ground at every con- 

 ceivable angle, and perhaps at inconceivable 

 speed. A hint as to the "marking" may be 

 given. When shooting without a retriever in 

 bog grass or rushes it will be found that 

 every now and then a bird clearly seen to fall 

 dead will have disappeared in a most myste- 

 rious and exasperating fashion when you go 

 to pick it up. The number of snipe complete- 

 ly lost in this manner throughout a season's 

 shooting is astonishing; but it will -be reduced 

 if it is remembered that a dead snipe usually 

 falls nearer to you than it appears to do. I 

 have often seen sportsmen walk right over 

 their bird, fallen, maybe, back upwards and 

 harmonizing exactly with the surrounding 

 growth, only to search vainly and impatiently 

 perhaps ten yards ahead. I think it is pretty 

 certain that a snipe not killed outright but 

 yet in extremis, always looks cut for a secure 

 place in which to drop, even though it may 

 die before reaching the ground, a fact that 

 may account for the wonderful concealment 

 of many dead birds. I can only say that I 

 have witnessed birds falling with a bump, per- 

 fectly dead, into the only patch of cover avail- 

 able for quite a distance, too often for the 

 circumstance to be merely the result of 

 chance. 



INDIAN SUMMER. 



BY C. LEON BRUMBAUGH. 



Once more the dreamy days are here. 

 With filmy haze o'er azure sky; 



Once more the heat-tide of the year 

 Smiles warm and tender ere it die. 



Along this favored trysting slope 

 A violet laughs in sunny dream, 



And butterflies set sail in hope 

 To' find a nectar-flowing stream. 



The crickets chirp with flatt'ring zeal, 

 The meadow mice with knowing heart 



Sit at the door as if they feel 

 These mellow days will soon depart. 



Thus when I ask where fare the flowers 



That smiled till yesterday, 

 And where the songs that cheered the hours, 



The bluebird answers, "Far-a-way." 



A vague, foreboding, pensive note, 



In dream-clad undertone, 

 Remarks in lisp of golden-throat, 



Where erewhile gladness shone. 



