though I felt certain I had not missed, the smoke hung and the air was
too thick to see, and, after a long search, I left the wood and was
going home when our old spaniel, Flush, turned his head to examine
something in a deep cart rut. Following the direction of his eyes, I
saw my woodcock; it must have flown 100 yards or more after I fired. I
was still more pleased with the last shot I fired in our old Surrey
covers at a woodcock going like an express train--and faster, for they
are said to fly at the rate of 150 miles an hour--with all his tricks,
through thick branches in the adjoining cover, where he fell at least
65 yards from where I stood. A friend of mine had the good-fortune to
see an old woodcock, which had evidently bred in his woods, flying,
followed by five or six young ones; he said it was one of the
prettiest bits of natural history he had ever seen.

"If a woodcock had a partridge's breast
He'd be the best bird that ever was dressed;
If a partridge had a woodcock's thigh
He'd be the best bird that ever did fly."

is a very old description, and fairly divides the honours between the
two birds.

The hawfinch is very easily recognized by its distinct and beautiful
colouring; it is a shy bird, and though it bred regularly at
Aldington, we rarely saw it. It is commoner here, and is sometimes
very destructive, its powerful beak making havoc with the
"marrowfats"; but, though I am partial to green peas of this
description, I would sooner suffer some damage than have the
hawfinches shot.