ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. he 
spread his wings, as a matter of course, and 
fly over. First he put up his head —an 
operation that makes another bird of him — 
and looked in all directions. How could he 
tell what enemy might be lying in wait? 
And having alighted on the other side (his 
manner of alighting is one of his prettiest 
characteristics), he did not at once draw in 
his neck till his bill protruded on a level 
with his body, and resume his labors, but 
first he looked once more all about him. It 
was a good habit to do that, anyhow, and 
he meant to run no risks. If “the race 
of birds was created out of innocent, light- 
minded men, whose thoughts were directed 
toward heaven,” according to the word of 
Plato, then Ardea herodias must long ago 
have fallen from grace. I imagine his state 
of mind to be always like that of our pil- 
grim fathers in times of Indian massacres. 
When they went after the cows or to hoe the 
corn, they took their guns with them, and 
turned no corner without a sharp lookout 
against ambush. No doubt such a condi- 
tion of affairs has this advantage, that it 
makes ennui impossible. There is always 
something to live for, if it be only to avoid 
getting killed. 
