500 BRITISH BIRDS, 
the former the small flat wicker-nests of the Night-Heron may be seen in 
all directions, some only a foot or so from others; and the croaking 
and flapping and fighting that goes on overhead bears some distant resem- 
blance to the crowded deck of an emigrant steamer on first encountering 
a turbid sea. The granite slabs that form the pavement beneath these 
trees are so bedaubed with the droppings of old and young, that permission 
to scrape them clean daily might prove a fine speculation for the guano- 
collector. The birds, from the protection afforded them, were remarkably 
tame, and we could stand beneath the trees and watch them without their 
evincing the slightest fear. This was in April. Some might be seen 
sitting on their nests, with their long legs bent under them, the weight of 
their bodies resting for the most part on the tarsal joint ; others standing 
on single leg close by, with shortened neck, the beak and head occasionally 
moving partially round as on a pivot; others flapped to and fro, ruffling 
up their head-gear, and occasionally sparring together. In their various 
movements, the dark-green-black of the head and back, with the thin 
snow-white occipital streamers flowing and quivering over the latter, gave 
a quaint, though not ungainly, look to the birds. From some of the nests 
we heard a subdued chattering like the cry of young, and it was to feed 
these hungry mouths that the parents were constantly leaving the trees to 
seek for food at all times of the day, while others were returning with 
supplies. As the sun set, however, they became more active. While I sat 
watching them from a neighbouring roof-top in the evening, numbers of 
them emerged from the leafy darkness, and one by one settled on the stark 
bare outstanding arms of the cotton-tree. After resting for a little time 
like gaunt spectres on the tree-top, off they went, one after the other, 
with a kwa—seldom more than two in the same direction. As darkness 
set in, many returned, and the noise and hubbub from the trees rose to a 
fearful pitch. Until night hid them from my view, I could see the old 
birds going and coming, and hear the clamour of the young. What kind 
of nocturnal slumbers the priests enjoyed in the temple below, I never took 
the trouble to inquire, though I have little doubt that from constant use 
the noise of these croakers has become quite essential to their good night’s 
rest. Though these birds moved about very much during the day, yet it 
strikes me that twilight 1s the most active time with them, and that in 
most instances the departures during the day were to seek food for the 
newly-hatched young, which would require feeding oftener at first, and 
perhaps with more choice food. I sent my man up one of the trees, 
whence he brought down three nests, two of which contained eggs, and the 
third two young birds and one egg. Judging from their size, one of these 
little birds must have been born at least three days before the other ; and 
on opening the egg I found a live chick inside, which would have required 
at least two days before it could have ventured out. ‘The varying stages 
