THE HOME-LIFE OF THE 

 WHITE STORK. 



Not far from the hostel where we were staying, and on 



the outskirts of the Httle village of , is an avenue 



of immense aspen poplars, whose great height and 

 uniformity at once arrest the attention. At some 

 previous time their tips have been sawn off, and each now 

 terminates in an abrupt and bushy head. Planted only 

 thirty or forty feet apart, their branches meet almost 

 from the ground right up to their summits, obscuring 

 the trunks, the whole forming one mighty wall of foliage. 

 While admiring them, we noticed that in one midway 

 down the row there was a something— a suggestive lump. 

 It was impossible, owing to the great height and dense 

 foliage, to say more, but the glimpse we could get left 

 us content that it had come there by no other agency 

 than that of birds. There was little doubt as to what 

 the nest would be, and knowing full well in what high 

 esteem, not to say reverence, the Stork is held on the 

 Continent, it was thought advisable to withhold further 

 investigations until a quieter hour. Accordingly late 

 that evening we strolled by way of the poplar avenue, 

 and when opposite the tree I slipped quietly from the 

 other two, and was quickly out of sight amid the branches. 

 The climbing was as laborious as it was simple, the very 

 profusion of branches making it difhcult to force a passage 

 through, and it was long before I reached the nest. 

 Here, however, as often in such cases, the real difficulty 

 presented itself— the getting round or on to the nest 

 to see what it contained. As can be seen from the illus- 

 trations, there were no branches above it capable of 

 supporting a man's weight, and only after the liberal 



