196 THE ANGLER'S BIRDS. 



parts a muddy grey, both blending exactly with 

 the rotted rushes above and the bare swamp 

 beneath. It must furnish poor sporl with a 

 gun and cannot be very appetising at table. 

 Altogether it is a depressing and low spirited 

 bird, given to freakish flights in the dark just 

 when the solitary angler is picking his way 

 home between the sleeping cattle on the path 

 and the iris clumps at the river bank. These 

 circular flights both of water rails, and coots, 

 can be for nothing but exercise, as they never 

 appear to leave the swamp. 



THE LITTLE GREBE. Imagine what our life 

 would be like, if a Krakatoa eruption, a 

 Naini-tal landslip, a San Francisco earthquake, 

 or a fire of Chicago, were weekly occurrences 

 or contingencies. Yet the daily life of a Little 

 Grebe (or Dabchick) may offer any of these 

 diversions. A weed-cutting machine may tear 

 its home up by the roots, or a flood carry it 

 down through a hatch hole ; to say nothing of 

 the hourly terrors of dogs, pike, hen-harriers 

 or water rats. 



The desperate and self sacrificing courage of 

 this bird, displayed at any moment, puts all 

 human exploits of bravery in the shade. To 

 pause when flushed by a spaniel, gather four 

 tiny chicks under its wings, and then dive off 

 the nest with them, is as ordinary an action as 

 a man stepping aside to avoid a motor car. 



The normal existence of half the animal 

 world appears to be sudden death or starvation 

 with interludes of the keenest enjoyment. 



