hither and thither in most lawless fashion, the gunner could easily believe him 

 an escaped jail-bird, if the stripes of his garments only ran the other way. 



The Wilson Snipe is a bird of the open marsh, a frequenter of the grassy 

 border stretches, or of the boggy margins of the ''spring branch." Here he lies 

 pretty closely by day, but as dusk comes he bestirs himself and goes pattering 

 about in the shallow water or over the weedy scum-strewn muck, thrusting his 

 beak down rapidly into the ooze and extracting worms or succulent roots. If 

 danger approaches by day, the bird's first instinct is to crouch low. If the sky is 

 clear, it is difficult to dislodge him. for the light blinds him in the air, and he 

 knows that his ragged blacks and browns exactly match the criss-crossed vegeta- 

 tion and interlacing shadows of his present surroundings. If, however, the day 

 be overcast and windy, the bird springs up quickly against the wind, shouts "Jack, 

 Jack'' twice, pursues a bewildering zigzag until out of range, and then flies 

 straight to some other feeding ground, or circles about and enters the old one 

 from another quarter. This zigzag flight, which is the joy of the old gunners and 

 the despair of the young, is really a wonderful exhibition of the self-protecting 

 instinct. For we cannot fairly accuse the Snipe of not knowing his own mind, 

 since when once out of harm's way, his flight is direct and rapid, and he drops 

 into a bog like a shot. The trick must have been deliberately acquired. The cries 

 of the first bird startled are sometimes a signal for all the others in a given swamp 

 to rise and dodge about in the upper air, taking distant counsel whether to return 

 or fly to pastures- new. In either case, the sport is off for that day, for the aerial 

 caucus is a sign that the birds won't stand maich fooling. 



Of course the degree of timidity which the birds exhibit in any locality is 

 simply a matter of the amount of persecution to which they have been recently 

 subjected. Sometimes the entrance of a gunner into a field is the signal for the 

 Snipe to flee the country. On the other hand, I once approached in midwinter a 

 bird which I knew to be in perfect condition, and which stood quizzically in full 

 sur\'ey until I got within five feet of it, whereupon it calmly szi'am across a little 

 brock rather than bother to fly from the harmless bird-man. 



Besides its semi-nocturnal habits and fashion of probing the mud for food, 

 the Wilson Snipe closely resembles the Woodcock in the manner of its love- 

 making. Indeed, never having had opportunity of simultaneous comparison, I 

 cannot now distinguish in memory the characteristic hooting notes of the Snipe 

 from those of the Woodcock. I have seen the former, not only at the favorite 

 hours of dawn and sunset, but at high noon as well, hovering over a pasture 

 swamp patch, or cutting mysterious figures in high air, and uttering ever and anon 

 the most lugubrious, love-lorn strains, like unfocused flute-notes. This passion 

 song of the Jack-snipe has been called drumming, but the term is inappropriate. 

 When nesting season is on the male betrays his anxiety by resorting frequently to 

 commanding positions on fence-posts and stumps. Sometimes, when greatly 

 excited, the bird will utter a harsh, guttural cackling or bleating note. On such 

 occasions, when the bird is settled on a post regarding you with sober, down- 

 turned beak and watchful eye, the effect is irresistibly comical. And you might 

 as well laugh, for you can't find the nest — not once in a dozen times. 



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