THE LEAST BITTERN. 



on the Licking Risen- 



A NEST Of THE LEAS! 



feet in the cat-tail tangle — the 

 flapping wings, the straighten- 

 ing neck, the legs clumsily dan- 

 gled until the bird's balance is 

 gained, the noisy plash with 

 which he settles into the reeds 

 again — all this seems awkward 

 enough. Or if you persist in 

 dashing after the stranger, hav- 

 ing noted his exact where- 

 abouts, see him as he stretches 

 to an incredible length, and 

 stiffens to the semblance of a 

 reed-stalk. — slender, immov- 

 able, the very counterpart of 

 any of his sere and lifeless com- 

 panions. In this position, if 

 you avoid betraying your rec- 

 ognition by a too knowing gaze 

 at the bird's eye, you may even 

 get close enough to seize him 

 in the hands. The bird appar- 

 ently realizes what a sorry fig- 

 ure he cuts on the wing, and 

 thes only as a last resort. Even 

 when he wants to make .1 recon- 

 naissance, instead of taking a 

 turn a-wing, he climbs carefully 

 up some upright stalk. Wren- 

 fashion, and squints furtively 

 over the tops of the reeds. 



Amused criticism, how- 

 ever, turns to admiration when 

 we note the marvelous dexterity 

 with which the bird threads the 

 lawless mazes of a cat-tail 

 swamp. Xow plashing softly 

 through a shallow-, now scram- 

 bling nimbly over opposing 

 vegetation, he can soon quit 

 dangerous territory if he will. 



But the Least Bittern is a 



