THE ROMANCE OF NATURAL HISTORY. 



If we make our way by the starlight of the 

 early morning to such a forest-pond as this, arriv- 

 ing silently and cautiously at its margin, before 

 the light of the advancing dawn has yet struggled 

 into the little inclosure, and take our station be- 

 hind the shelter of a leafy bush, we shall discern 

 that the spot is instinct with life. A loud clang- 

 ing cry is uttered, like the note of a child's trum- 

 pet, which is immediately taken up in response 

 from the opposite side of the pool. Then a whir- 

 ring of wings, and much splashing of water. 

 More of the loud clangours, and more splashing ; 

 and now the increasing light enables us to discern 

 a dozen or a score of tiny black objects sitting on 

 the surface, or hurrying to and fro. They look 

 like the tiniest of ducks, but are jet black ; some 

 are sitting on the points of the projecting snags ; 

 and, by their erect attitude, we readily recognise 

 that they are grebes. 



Now it is light enough to see clearly, and the 

 suspicious birds do not yet seem to be aware of 

 our presence. Yonder, on the branch of a half- 

 submerged tree, is a great dark mass, and a little 

 bird sitting in it ; it must surely be her nest. We 

 must examine it. 



Yet, stay ! What is that serpent-like object that 

 so quietly sits on yonder overhanging bough? Is 

 it indeed a black snake reposing, with elevated 

 neck, upon the horizontal limb? It moves I It is 

 a bird I The lithe and slender neck is thrown 

 round, and we see the head and beak of a bird, 

 which begins to preen and arrange the plumage of 

 a black body, which is squatted close to the 

 bough. Mark that sudden start I The neck is 

 elevated to the utmost; the head is raised in an 

 attitude of attention ; and the bird remains in the 

 most absolute stillness. It was that leaf that we 

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