THE MIGRATION OF THE WOODCOCK. 35 
on the migration of birds, the old words, some of the most stately 
and onomatopoeic in the whole range of English language, come 
home — “ Thy way is in the sea, and Thy paths in the great 
waters ; and Thy footsteps are not known.” 
The point which I wish on the present occasion to maintain 
is, that allowing for the impulse Divine for migration in the bird, 
its immediate incidence is due to heat and cold. As in summer 
we wear light clothing and in winter warm, so the birds which 
are our principal migrants choose, at the approach of summer, 
the coldest quarters that they can occupy, and invariably nest in 
their highest latitudes, thereby hardening their offspring. In 
winter — or at its approach — they are driven by the bare breath 
of the north or east wind to get into moister and warmer air. 
The spring of 1886 was, at the end of March, warm and almost 
tropical ; that represented great heat in the tropics, driving the 
birds north before their time, and we had quite a dozen summer 
migrants a month in advance of their usual dates. The autumn 
of this year was a summer, and last Sunday, November 17th, I 
saw a Swallow fly over Harting Church at noon. Two birds had 
been observed thereabouts on the previous day. In the same 
way the Swifts of 1889 were a fortnight later in departing than 
usual ; they had enough heat to delay them. 
Now take the typical bird for migration, the Woodcock 
{Scolopax rusticola). It is a delicate fragile bird. It nests, among 
other places, in the Himalayas, and places as far apart from 
them as Scandinavia ; it goes to Persia for warmth and moisture 
only in the cold season. When we examine a Woodcock’s head 
we find evidence of its timidity. The lustrous jet black eyes 
largely developed are raised above the line of the long sucker- 
beak, and look backward angularly ; a somewhat similar arrange- 
ment is seen in the eyes of flat fish, which are strained to look 
away upwards in case of danger. The Woodcock’s most con- 
stant attitude is like the Spoonbill’s, with the long sucker-like 
tube of a bill pressed down into the ooze ; and I have seen one in 
frosty snowy weather help himself up by this beak. The Wood- 
cock’s feet and legs are small ; he has little development for 
running, and all his life depends on his wings and the marvel- 
lously large retrospect of his eye. His claws are absolutely un- 
armed, less formidable than a poor Nightjar’s, which, though 
useless for defence, are serrated. From his structure the Wood- 
cock is most timid and vulnerable ; one feather displaced by a 
shot has been known to make him unable to rise from the ground. 
Accordingly, this bird, like the hare, full of fears, feels keenly the 
breath of north and east wind packed perhaps in several mile 
thicknesses, as he is driven across the German Ocean. One year, 
1877, Mr. Cordeaux, who has most admirably edited the returns 
for the East English Coast, remarks, from the British Associa- 
tion reports of nine years, that there was not a single gale or 
even strong breeze from any northerly or easterly point between 
the middle of September and the end of November, and so there 
