THE HERON 



excellent feeding-grounds, while upon other sides little 

 rivers and rivulets, some of them holding excellent 

 trout, serve to minister to the wants of the great fishing 

 birds. Often during the pleasant Sussex springtime 

 have we halted to watch these herons upon their nests. 

 They are constantly going and coming; sometimes 

 we have counted as many as fourteen or fifteen parent 

 birds in and about the heronry. As the young ones 

 increase in size the attentions of the old birds are very 

 frequent, and at this time the amount of fish, eels, and 

 frogs which they capture and carry to the nests must 

 be exceptionally great. As one sits quietly watching, 

 they come sailing in at intervals from all quarters. 

 The flight is very majestic. Often they soar slowly 

 round once or twice at a great height above the nests. 

 As they drop, the vast wings are deftly folded inwards, 

 so as to offer less resistance to the air. The inner parts 

 show very dark as one watches this manoeuvre. The 

 bird sinks gently and with a wonderfully majestic 

 grace till within ten or fifteen yards of the nest, when 

 the long legs are lowered and the heron settles deftly 

 among the branches. As it approaches, the young 

 birds raise a hoarse, croaking cry — something like 

 what might be conceived of a husky crow — and to this 

 cry the old bird answers by one similar, but louder and 

 stronger. The bird stays for a while upon the nest, and 

 then, spreading its pinions, once more flaps off to the 

 marshes in search of fresh food. 



The Sussex peasants in the neighbourhood of this 

 heronry — that of Windmill Hill, Herstmonceux — have 

 the tradition that the herons always return thither for 

 the nesting season on the first Sunday in February. 

 This, of course, is a pleasing fancy, though it is firmly 

 believed in by the old folk about Herstmonceux. Some 

 of the earliest herons may begin to collect about that 



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