July, and August, the great heats in our
forests are suffocating, and the woodcock, which during the livelong day
has been squatting under some mossy root, is impressed with the idea
that a bathe in a clear pool of cold fresh water would be very conducive
to its health. Thus directly the sun, red as a shot which leaves the
furnace, falls below the horizon, and that the clouds surrounding the
spot where it disappears, at first lurid and bright like fire, then
yellow like a sea of gold, become cool, pale, and at length sink into
more sober hues, the woodcock,--which waits only for this moment to open
its wings and promenade the neighbourhood,--comes forth and commences a
study of the winds. Guided by instinct, and by the fresh currents of
air that float unseen in the atmosphere, she follows the sweet upland
breezes, and soon arrives at the spring or piece of water of which she
is in search.

The _Mares_ No. 3, in which the woodcock more especially loves to take a
bath, are almost as difficult to find as the one that I discovered, for
they are hidden in the depths of the forest; like it, also, they are for
the most part small, encircled by the thick foliage of the surrounding
trees, and consequently very dark; and the more this is the case, the
more solitary they are, and therefore the more sought after by this
bird. A woodcock never bathes in the _Mare_ No. 1; for to them resort
one after another all the large game, or those No. 2, as these are too
open. The woodcocks are discreet and bashful, and, like the wives of the
Sultan, love a retired bath-room, where they may disport themselves on
banks ever fresh and green, perfumed with wild flowers, and immerse
their fair persons in pellucid waters that have never been tainted with
a drop of blood, or covered with feathers torn from the victim of the
sportsman's gun. Thus it is therefore that the _Mares_ frequented by the
woodcock are so entirely hidden by the thick and falling branches, so
enveloped in deep shade, that you must have eyes made on purpose to be
able to discover their large brown bodies plunging in the crystal water
and wading amongst the flags. In aid of the sportsman, now as in the
spring, a little fly comes buzzing and wheeling about in the air to warn
the sportsman of the arrival of the birds, which, directly the moon's
white horn is seen glancing between the trees, arrive flapping their
wings in small parties of two and three at a time. One afternoon, when