they literally fell down, and
fluttering their wings, without having the power to fly, looked at me
with rolling eye-balls, while their beaks opened as if to call for help,
emitting nothing but inarticulate sounds, that seemed so many prayers
for mercy. Somewhat relieved of their worst fears, on perceiving that I
had no evil intentions, they rushed away head over heels, and sought
refuge under their favourite roots. The recollection of this scene,
which only lasted seven or eight seconds, has often made me laugh.

Yet notwithstanding this general want of presence of mind, the woodcock
displays some cunning in extreme danger,--such as when the shot is
whistling past its feathers, or when the hawk is wheeling about in the
air above its head; its faculties then seem to awaken, its blood
circulates more freely, a spark of intelligence seems to flash across
its usually obtuse brain, and the magnitude of the peril suggests an
excellent means of escaping from its enemies. During the daytime, for
instance, when, snugly ensconced in its hole, and with its ear close to
the ground, the woodcock hears you approach from afar, instead of rising
and taking refuge amongst the trunks of the surrounding trees, it first
reflects solemnly whether it is worth while to disturb itself for so
slight a noise, and quit its leafy bed, where it lies so warm and
comfortable. After all, it may be only a hare running past--or perhaps a
roebuck grazing in the neighbourhood--so the woodcock waits, then
listens, then stands up and begins to move; on hearing your thick shoes
trampling the withered branches, it stands motionless, not daring to
stir, nor can it make up its mind to fly until it feels the breath of
your dog. Then it rises rapidly enough.

It flies straight, but its flight is not even, and at the distance of
about fifty paces, and just as you are going to fire, the woodcock, well
aware that the sportsman's eye is upon it, and shrewdly guessing that
thunder and lightning is about to follow, changes his tactics, and
lowering its flight, so as to avoid the mortal aim, suddenly plunges
down behind a bush. The sportsman, who, not aware of this specious
manoeuvre, fires at this juncture, thinks the bird has fallen dead,
and forthwith runs to pick it up, but no woodcock can he find; for on
raising his eyes, lo! and behold, he sees the provoking bird some five
hundred paces distant, cleaving the air with sails full set; and as his
eyes follow it st