BESIDE THE MARSH. 3) 
As I approached the creek, a single spotted 
sandpiper was teetering along the edge of 
the water, and the next moment a big blue 
heron rose just beyond him and went flap- 
ping away to the middle of the marsh. Now, 
an hour afterward, he is still standing there, 
towering above the tall grass. Once when I 
turned that way I saw, as I thought, a stake, 
and then something moved upon it, —a bird 
of some kind. And what an enormous beak! 
I raised my field-glass. It was the heron. 
His body was the post, and his head was the 
bird. Meanwhile, the sandpiper has stolen 
away, I know not when or where. He must 
have omitted the tweet, tweet, with which 
ordinarily he signalizes his flight. He is the 
first of his kind that I have seen during my 
brief stay in these parts. 
Now a multitude of crows pass over; fish 
crows, I think they must be, from their small 
size and their strange, ridiculous voices. And 
now a second great blue heron comes in sight, 
and keeps on over the marsh and over the 
live-oak wood, on his way to the San Sebas- 
tian marshes, or some point still more remote. 
A fine show he makes, with his wide expanse 
of wing, and his feet drawn up and standing 
