mon pigeon, of a dirty gray and
yellow colour, and marked with little black spots, are the proofs of its
maternity. The woodcock, as I have before remarked, has only the gift of
talking in the spring season, when soft breezes fan the air, and they
educate their young. Nevertheless, it is in this season that
woodcock-shooting is the most amusing. Then is the time for gentlemen to
shoot; the _braconnier_ despises it. From the middle of April to that of
May is the important epoch at which the generality of animals marry,
and the woodcocks are not behindhand in this respect; they leave their
well-concealed retreats, become humanized, solicit the attentions of
their feathered ladies, and fly with gay inspirations amongst the
neighbouring bushes. But though as much in love as a widow, the woodcock
does not on that account forget its habitual prudence; like the usurer
who lends his money, and takes every precaution, the woodcock is equally
careful, and does not leave its nest till twilight has draped the earth
in the gray mantle of evening. When the humid atmosphere descends slowly
on the trees, when the cool breezes of night ascend the valleys, when
distant objects begin to assume a fantastic shape, when the branches of
the oak near you, like the arms of a giant, wave to and fro, and seem to
ask you to approach; when the withered tree, devoid of leaves, looks
like a brigand on the watch, or your comrade, ensconced against it,
seems to form a portion of it at a hundred yards off; when, in short,
the sportsman can see only a few yards before him, then is the moment
that the circumspect and wily woodcock leaves its abode, and pays a
nocturnal visit to his friends; and man, his enemy, and still more
cunning, is on the alert. The sport which we are about to describe, and
which does not last longer than from thirty to forty minutes, has
something particularly taking in it. At the close of day a universal
silence reigns in the forest, and every sportsman is at his post with
bated breath, and eyes dilated as wide as a woman's listening to a
neighbouring gossip's tale, when, all at once--pray note this well,
reader--a little fly, which plays a prominent part in all sport _a
l'affut_ (in ambush)--a little fly, about the size of a pea, regularly
makes its appearance, and wheeling round your head, fidgets you for five
minutes with its buzzing b-r-r-r-r-r-r-oo. In this way the little insect
informs you the woodcocks have left the underwood,