appears, the head being drawn back 

 against the shoulders. At last it sees 

 an unwary minnow swimming lazily 

 along. Slowly and carefully it leans its 

 body forward and downward toward the 

 water, the long legs looking and acting 

 almost like stilts ; still more slowly the 

 head with its long, stout beak moves 

 cautiously toward the water surface, very 

 much like a young turkey seeks to cap- 

 ture a grasshopper. Then suddenly, as 

 if a spring had been set free in its neck, 

 the head is thrust downward until the 

 beak, or more, disappears beneath the 

 surface, but only to reappear immedi- 

 ately with the struggling minnow or sun- 

 fish between its mandibles. 



The prey secured, the bird now walks 

 to an open spot on the bank several feet 



away, if possible, from the water so that 

 the fish cannot flop back into its native 

 element. With a blow or two from the 

 bird's bill the fish is stunned and in an- 

 other moment has started head first down 

 the heron's throat. As the latter stretches 

 its neck, the descent of the fish is plain- 

 ly to be seen until it reaches the body 

 of the bird. If the heron is not yet sat- 

 isfied with its meal, the same perform- 

 ance is repeated until at last it flies to 

 some overhanging limb — usually a dead 

 one — of a tree where it wipes its bill and 

 finally flies away. By the last of August 

 or first of September it has gone on its 

 southern journey, and Indiana knows it 

 no more till spring. 



Hexry H. Lane. 



THE HAND THAT STRUCK THEE DOWN. 



The hand that struck thee down 



Could not have known 

 That thou hadst songs unsung 



And flights un flown. 



But ours will be the loss — 



No more at morn 

 Will sound the reveille 



From thy wee horn. 



Thy form will not be one 



That flits the air. 

 As one that trusts in God 



And knows no care. 



Then when the shadows creep, 



And light grows dim, 

 W^e'll list, but never hear. 



Thy vesper-hymn. 



The hand that struck thee down 



Could not have known 

 That thou hadst songs unsung 



And flights unflown. 



— J. D. LaBarre Van Schoonhoven. 



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