96 Poachers and Poaching. 



A sentinel heron that has been standing watch- 

 ful on one leg rises, and flaps languidly away 

 down the river reach. The consumptive figure 

 of the gaunt bird stands by the stream through 

 all weathers. He knows not times nor seasons, 

 and is a great poacher. In the wind, when 

 taking his lone stand, his loose fluttering feathers 

 look like drift-stuff caught in the bushes. He 

 reminds one of the consumptive, but, unlike him, 

 has wonderful powers of digestion, and withal an 

 immense capacity for fish. Woe to the luckless 

 mort or trout that comes within reach of his 

 formidable pike, or to the attacking peregrine 

 that he attempts to impale on his bill. The 

 heron is essentially a wanderer, and, like Words- 

 worth's immortal leech-gatherer, he roams from 

 pond to pond, from moor to moor. Herons 

 come and go by the same routes ; and night after 

 night have we flushed our fisher from the self- 

 same shallow. 



The peculiarly wild whistle of the curlew 

 comes from out the night sky, and swifts screech 

 for an hour after darkness has fallen. We are 

 now by the covert side, and a strange churring 

 sound comes from out the darkened glades. 

 Waiting silently beneath the bushes, it approaches 

 nearer and nearer until a loud flapping is heard 

 in the bushes. The object approaches quite 

 closely, and it is seen that the noise is produced 

 by a large bird striking its wings together as 



