GREY HERON. 445 



but the Heron courts not society, and seems to care as little 

 as any one for the cold. Were you to betake yourself to the 

 other extremity of the island, where the scenery is of a very 

 different character, and the inlets swarm with Ducks and 

 Gulls, there, too, you would find the Heron, unaltered in 

 manners, slow in his movements, careful and patient, ever 

 hungry and ever lean, for even when in best condition he 

 never attains the plumpness that gives you the idea of a 

 comfortable existence. 



Far away through the green valley winds the silver 

 Tweed, now rolling its waters over the white pebbles, then 

 gliding placidly between banks covered with fresh herbage 

 and gaudy florets of many hues. The hum of the wild bee 

 draws your eye toward those beautiful tufts of purple trefoil ; 

 the Weet-weet, ever vibrating its body as if delicately 

 balanced on its slim legs, runs along the sunny beach, 

 spreads out its pointed wings, and skims over the pool. 

 There, in the water, nearly up to the knees, is the Heron, 

 patiently waiting an opportunity of seizing some giddy trout. 

 Those ducklings that swim so beautifully, and dive with 

 such marvellous quickness, he seems to eye with hungry 

 glance ; but their watchful protectress is in the midst of 

 them. That wary old water-rat is equally safe, as he nibbles 

 the grass at the mouth of his hole, and at intervals trims 

 his whiskers with his little paws. In short, go where you 

 will, in summer or in winter, to the shores of the sea or the 

 far inland lake, the source or the estuary of the hill-born 

 streams, you may here and there find a solitary Heron. 



But this bird, usually so careless of companionship, finds 

 it meet to join its fellows, to select a mate, and ply its archi- 

 tectural labours in the midst of a busy crowd. About the 

 middle of March individuals assemble in certain places, and 

 soon after resort to their breeding stations, which are not in 

 the rushy marshes nor on unfrequented islands, as one might 

 expect, but on tall trees, sometimes in large woods, but more 

 frequently in places near some old family mansion, where 

 they are not always sure of protection. The nests, which 

 are very large, nearly flat, and rudely constructed of sticks, 

 with a lining of grass, wool, and similar materials, are 



