THE HERON'S HAUNT. 103 



what rare bird among the more cultivated 

 parts of England ; but just hereabouts we get 

 a sight of one not infrequently, for they still 

 breed in a few tall ash trees at Chilcombe 

 Park, where the lords of the manor in 

 mediaeval times long preserved a regular 

 heronry to provide sport for their hawking. 

 There is no English bird, not even the swan, 

 so perfectly and absolutely graceful as the 

 heron. I am leaning now breathless and 

 noiseless against the gate, taking a good look 

 at him, as he stands half-knee deep on the 

 oozy bottom, with his long neck arched over 

 the water, and his keen, purple eye fixed 

 eagerly upon the fish below. Though I am 

 still twenty yards from where he poises 

 lightly on his stilted legs, I can see distinctly 

 his long pendent snow-white breast feathers, 

 his crest of waving black plumes, falling loosely 

 backward over the ash-grey neck, and even 

 the bright red skin of his bare legs just below 

 the feathered thighs. I dare hardly move 

 nearer to get a closer view of his beautiful 



