ditch, awaiting the moment to strike at some unwary fish, 
frog, or water-vole. The moment he discovers that he is 
being watched he will be on the move. He rises heavily, 
almost awkwardly, with flapping wings and outstretched 
neck : his legs dangling down. But no sooner is he well on 
the way than he hauls in his neck till the head is drawn close 
to the body, and straightens out his legs till they extend 
behind him like a pair of streamers. Henceforth his flight 
is easy and graceful enough. This is the bird which was so 
much prized in the old days of “ hawking.”’ The invention 
of the gun ended this most fascinating form of sport. 
Let us turn now, for a little while, from moor and wood 
and fen, to the seashore, and, for choice, to a rock-bound 
coast with towering cliffs. Here you will find a number of 
species which will never be found inland. They love the 
sea, whether it be shimmering in the sun of a blazing June 
day, smooth as a mill-pond, or in a fury of thundering billows, 
lashed by a roaring gale in bleak December. The bottle- 
green shag is one of these. You cannot mistake him. 
Perched on a rock he sits upright, and, in the spring, wears a 
crest upon his head. On the water he floats with the body 
well down, and every few moments disappears with a spring 
into the depths, for his never-ending meal of fish and crabs. 
His flight, just above the water, is strong and rapid. His 
cousin, the cormorant, is a conspicuously larger bird, with a 
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