1869, | 
of the reeds, there to crouch expectant 
in the hay while the steel-blue heavens 
begin to detach themselves by a lighter, 
almost phosphorescent shimmer from 
the hills and tree-tops eastward. On 
the water all is darkness, yet here in 
the reeds the inhabitants are already 
astir ; and after the first preparations are 
made, and the first moment of hushed 
attention over,—your left-hand decoy, 
quacking slowly in a measured, tenta- 
tive way, making ready for business, 
and the other responding irregularly, 
as if incurious and intent rather upon 
the surrounding possibilities of duck- 
weed, — you feel at liberty to attend to 
these more speculative interests. First 
of all, a Song Sparrow in the willows 
by the road begins to sing, in a cheer- 
ful, confident way, having, it is like, just 
waked from a dream of daylight, and 
then, fairly getting his eyes open, ends 
rather abruptly and inconclusively, and 
dives into the shelter beneath. He is 
an outsider, and ought to keep vil- 
lage hours, but the proper marsh com- 
munity are earlier risers. From the 
pines behind comes the hoo, hoo-hoo of 
the owls, like the toot of a distant horn 
preluding the full blast, and out of the 
darkness overhead the bark of the 
Kwa-birds or Night Herons. A most 
characteristic marsh sound earlier in 
the season is the strange note of the 
American Bittern, like a heavy echoed 
axe-stroke upon a post in the swamp. 
At our sides all is rustling and creak- 
ing. Are they two-footed or four-footed 
these invisible forms that set the reeds 
a-shaking and a-whispering? In the 
wilderness, averywhere, the night is 
the time of noises. In the woods at 
midday Pan sleeps, but at night the 
forest is full of stir and bustle, the rab- 
bits and all the tribes of mice are abroad, 
and the prowlers that prey upon them. 
We hear the squeaking and croaking of 
Rails, stragglers perhaps, and uneasy 
at being left behind by their migrating 
brethren. One flutters across the bit 
of open water, with loose bat-like flight 
and hanging legs, ready to take the 
ground again when he can. The wedge- 
like body and long legs and feet are 
perfectly fitted for running over the 
Sedge-Birds. 
385 
floating stalks and making way unseen 
through the matted blades, and he will 
not fly when he can run. A similar 
habitat gives something of the same air 
and build to the Swamp Sparrow. He 
has one foot on firm land also; his 
plumage is like that of the Song Spar- 
row, but of richer and purer tints, un- 
bleached by dust and sunshine, and he 
can sing sweetly too. But now he ap- 
pears in the character of sedge-bird, 
silent, skulking, rat-like, not afraid, but 
shy and burrowing out of daylight. 
Now the surface of the water begins 
to appear, and the dim reflection of the 
more distant shores. On the left the 
high pines of the promontory stand 
tree and shadow one black mass, like 
a black cavern cut into the sky,— close 
at hand or miles away, you could not 
tell. Suddenly from the dim distance 
of reeds on the right a sparkling line 
of ripple comes cutting across the open 
water in front. Not a muskrat, for as 
it crosses the lighter space a slender 
neck shows for a moment upright 
above the water. It might be a Teal, 
but the decoys take little notice of the 
stranger, who moves athwart our system 
in a cometic way, neither seeking nor 
avoiding, as if of imperfect affinities 
with the duck-kind. Perhaps a Coot, 
or more likely a Pied-billed Grebe, and 
where the ripple ceased he dived for 
food. By and by he may come nearer, 
and if a Grebe may be worth shooting, 
if nothing better offers. The Coot is 
only a larger Rail set afloat, with the 
thighs planted farther back, and the 
lobes of the toes furnished each with 
its fringe of membrane to aid in swim- 
ming. The Grebe, too, has divided 
toes, but the fringe is continuous in- 
stead of being scalloped out as in the 
Coot, and in other respects the adapta- 
tion to an aquatic life has gone much 
further ; the body slender, cylindrical, 
the plumage compact and glossy, the 
legs so good for swimming as to be 
good for no other purpose, — all as 
befits the typical diver or “ dipper,” 
who gets his living under water. Just 
as the flush of morning begins to tinge 
upwards into the sky and to show the 
swirl of mist lying low over the water 
