Gallinago wilsoni. 1873. Maine (Lake Umbagog). Aug. 19. Heard one at the Outlet shortly after dark, Sept. 17 Four were started on the Cambridge River meadows, S " 18. Eight were startedon the meadows. 1880. Sept. 3. As it was getting dark this evening a pair of Snipe rose from the marsh and climbed the rosy westerk sky until lost in the gloom above whence their hearse scaina came back through the still air. " 4. Shot three on the Cambridge River meadows near the edge of the lower pond. Here rank grass grew in scattered clumps with bare spaces between covered with a velvety turf of emerald-green moss. The ground was everywhere moist and spongy, and there were occasional depressions filled with soft mud and a little water and fairly perforated by Snipe "borings". " 6. Flushed one three times on the meadows. It rose with a heavy whirring of the wings and flew off in a perfectly straight course and in silence. At the third rise it took a long flight and alighted on the edge of the woods in a deep dry grassy ditch. In the evening twilight as I was paddling up river a Snipe shot close over the boat, its wings making a distinct rushing sound. " 11. Entering the patch of meadow where I find most of these birds now, my eye happened to light on a bare space among the rushes and in the very middle was a Snipe standing erect and still. The next moment my setter gallopped past and getting the bird's wind wheeled and came to a point. The Snipe, meanwhile, had skulked under an overhanging leaf of pickerel weed where it squatted in plain sight. It wa a beautiful tableau.--the graceful game bird covering under its slight protection and the intelligent dog, rigid as a statue, staring with fixed eyes and pinkled forehead at the spot whence the hot scent came to his dilated nostrils. The cool breeze rustled among the leaves and played with the fringe on the dogs tail. Overhead a fish hawk was circling; a flock of Titlarks whirled by and a Heron hanked harshly somewhere in the marsh beyond; but the three figures in this central group remained immovable for I had caught something of the setter's spirit and felt reluctant to break the spell. Finally the end came as it always must. The Snipe sprang lightly into the air and dashed off in zig-zagf flight, the loud report of the gun rolled over the quiet meadow echoing back from the woods beyond, a few feathers floated on the breeze, and the bird fell lifeloss into the tall grass.