rymen bestow on him the title of the "double poacher,"--for thus
was called my worthy friend Le Pere Seguin.

CHAPTER X.

The woodcock--Its habits in the forests of Le Morvan--Aversion of
dogs to this bird--Timidity of the woodcock--Its cunning--Shooting
in November--The Woodcock mates--The Woodcock fly.

In the last and preceding chapters, the imaginative and romantic have
predominated almost to the entire exclusion of any description of the
wild sports of Le Morvan, and I fear that the sporting reader, not
generally of a very sentimental taste, will ere this have become
impatient, and perhaps a little angry at the delay. I trust, however,
that I may be able to soften his indignation, and by the following
sketches gratify the expectations naturally raised in his mind by the
first words of the title-page. Of boar and wolf-hunting we shall speak
further on: my present object will be to give a description, not only of
the woodcock-shooting in Burgundy and Le Morvan, but also of the habits,
etc., of that bird.

In the forests of which we are writing, the woodcock is not a mere bird
of passage, as in other European countries; it does not fly beyond sea,
like the swallow and most of the emigrating feathered tribes, nor does
it disappear like the quail, at a fixed period, and reappear at a given
moment. Here the woodcock seldom if ever deserts the forests which have
been its constant abode, and the sportsman is sure to find it nearly all
the year round. I have said nearly, for though not seeking other climes,
it requires a change of locality to secure a certain temperature.

For instance, in the months of May, June, July, and August, woodcocks
are to be found in elevated spots, such as mountains covered with large
trees, or in warm open places on their slopes. At the first approach of
cold weather they leave the hills, and come down into the plains,
concealing themselves in the underwood, or the fern, or in the high
grass, when the snow begins to fall. The woodcock is a melancholy bird,
and somewhat misanthropic. Its habits are eminently anti-social; it
flies but little, so little indeed that its wings seem scarcely of any
use, and with the laziness already alluded to that forms its
characteristic feature, it seeks out a solitary spot, and having dug a
hole amongst the dry leaves, there it will squat for days together
without stirring. It likewise delights to cower under the gnarled roots
of an old