THE BITTERN. 347 



ciliated so entirely, that it was his regular custom to resort to 

 the fireside as soon as it grew dark, and spend the evening and 

 night with his two associates, sitting close by them and partaking 

 of the comforts of the warmth. As soon as spring appeared 

 he discontinued his visits to the house, and betook himself to the 

 garden ; but on the approach of winter he had recourse to his 

 old shelter and friends, who received him very cordially. Secu- 

 rity was productive of insolence ; what was at first obtained with 

 caution, was afterwards taken without reserve : he frequently 

 amused himself with washing in the bowl which was set for the 

 dog to drink out of; and while he was thus employed he shewed 

 marks of the greatest indignation if either of his companions pre- 

 sumed to interrupt him. He died in the asylum he had thus 

 chosen, being choaked with something that he had picked up 

 from the floor. 



THE BITTERN, OR MIRE-DRUM. 



Those who have walked in an evening by the sedgy sides of 

 Unfrequented rivers, must remember a variety of notes from dif- 

 ferent water-fowl : the loud scream of the wild-goose, the croak- 

 ing of the mallard, &c. &c. But of all those sounds, there is 

 none so dismally hollow as the booming of the bittern. It is 

 impossible for words to give those who have not heard this even- 

 ing-call an adequate idea of its solemnity. It is like the inter- 

 rupted bellowing of a bull, but hollower and louder, and is heard 



