THE LEAST BITTERN. 
Taken on the Licking Reservoir Fhoto by the 
A NEST OF 
THE 
LIEAST BITTERN. 
25 Je Rs 
Author. 
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, hay- 
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, immovy- 
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 
flies only as a last resort. Even 
when he wants to make a 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. Now plashing softly 
through a shallow, now scram- 
bling nimbly over opposing 
vegetation, he can soon quit 
dangerous territory 1f he will. 
But the Least Bittern is a 
