The object of this chapter will be to give the reader some little insight into the habits of the woodcock, and the mode of snaring them in the forests of Le Morvan, during the month of November. At the close of this month, Dame Nature's barometer, their instinct, far better than the quicksilver, tells them the December rains are close at hand; and that if they remain in their hiding-places in the low grounds, they will be driven out by the approaching deluge. They at length make up their minds to set forth on their travels. With a long-drawn sigh, therefore, the woodcock bids farewell to the old oaks that have sheltered it all the summer, and taking leave of its friendly comrades, the squirrels, it sets out on the first fine night for a more genial climate, to the delight, no doubt, of the neighbouring worms, who pop their heads out of window to witness its departure; and the moment their enemy is fairly out of sight, perform many a pirouette on the tip of their tails, and dance upon the grass in honour of the joyous event. If a woodcock was not a woodcock, that is, one of the laziest birds in the creation, it might easily reach, in a few days' flight, the dry heaths, the hills, and elevated regions, which it loves; but woodcocks abhor all violent exercise, always preferring the use of their feet to that of their wings, which latter they never agitate, except when necessity requires. Well, they have now set out, and after marching all night by slow and easy stages, when morning comes our woodcocks make a halt wherever they happen to be, breakfast as best they may, and then ensconce themselves in some snug spot, where they doze the livelong day, till, refreshed by their twelve hours' rest, they set off again with renewed strength the moment the sun has gone down. Thus it is that during the middle of November there is no regular flight, but a kind of circulation, of woodcocks, perambulating from the lower to the higher regions, and the _gourmet_ and the sportsman fail not to stop them on their way. As it is necessary in this kind of _chasse_ to spend the night under the trees and on the damp moss, those who wish to enjoy it prepare for it accordingly by dressing themselves like Navarre, in a suit of sheepskins, and lay in a good store of cold meat and brandy. During their nocturnal peregrinations, instinct leads the woodcock to follow ascending roads and open pathways, especially such as are completely exposed to the mild winds of the south and south-east only; they avoid walking through the woods, where the road is encumbered with brambles and other obstacles, which would oblige them to hop or fly far oftener than they like, occasionally leaving a portion of their feathers behind them. Moreover, their feet are tender, and they in consequence prefer the paths that are overgrown with grass, the open glades, or roads cut through the moss.