So ENGLISH BIRD LIFE 



into the current and catch the drifting herbage. 

 When the water falls a little, this flotsam hangs 

 from the boughs in dry, grey wisps, and when the 

 Heron is fishing here in the dim light of the early 

 morning, his gaunt, motionless head and neck 

 match the tangle from the stream so completely 

 that one has no hint of his presence until the 

 broad ashen-grey wings are unfolded and, with 

 his long legs hanging, he lifts himself into the air 

 in ungainly haste. Now, as he flies steadily over- 

 head, his legs, seen against the sky, stretch behind 

 him in a thin horizontal line, balancing his snaky 

 head and pointed bill, making the whole an aerial 

 machine of perfect counterpoise. 



Just now he is making straight for home, the 

 belt of great ashes and oaks which stand clear 

 against the horizon at the other extreme of the 

 lake. There are, perhaps, from twelve to fifteen 

 nests : large, straggling platforms with hollows 

 in the centre in which the pale-blue eggs are laid. 



When the first branches are reached, these trees 

 are not difficult to climb, although, when one 

 arrives at the nests, the great barriers of sticks still 

 intercept the way, and time and trouble are spent 

 before an opening can be found. 



The Heron breeds early, and even in the first 

 week in May there are young birds nearly fledged 

 on the platforms. One appears to be dead, its long 

 legs are stretched inertly out, and its head and 

 neck are drooping over the mass of dead sticks 

 which form the margin of the nest. Its eyes, too, 

 are closed, but as one stretches forward and has it 

 almost within grasp of the hand, it pulls itself 



