220 RAMBLES OF A NATURALIST. 
and extended neck, evidently enjoying what is denominated. 
stretch, Their tall forms are mirrored in the glassy lake. 
They are silent and still. Perchance a distant boatman: 
hails us. Perchance the word backshish is borne on the air 
with such bawling that the cautious Flamingos, fearful even 
in their security, are put up. Then what a delicious scene 
arrests the eye, as the black-pointed wings unfold and reveal: 
the intense red scapularies, which, hidden before, appeared 
to be cream-colour, pale by comparison with their bright- 
ness now. They take several steps in the air,* half flying, 
half walking, and wholly awkward, for twenty yards or 
more; and then gathering themselves together: they grad- 
ually let their long legs trail out behind. If a small troop, 
they perhaps fly away in Indian file; but if a large one, 
they go off in one bright mass, the vivid tints of which are 
visible afar off, and which no man who has seen it will ever 
forget. When the naturalist has got over his ecstacies he 
had better go to the mud where they were standing, as if, 
as is most probable, they have been preening themselves, 
he will be rewarded by some exquisite feathers. 
It has been well said that the salt lakes in the north 
of Africa are the Flamingos’ home. On the great waters 
of Egypt they breed so abundantly, that a birdstuffer at 
Alexandria told me that he got 200 eggs from Mariotis at 
one raid. What splendid opportunities might here be 
afforded to anyone sufficiently sun-proof to work out the 
imperfectly-known details of their nidification, and to fill: 
up the blanks in our knowledge with regard to the posture 
which the sitting bird assumes and other points. 
Up the Nile, travellers will very likely not see one. We 
only saw a few. They were between Cairo and Minieh, and 
were young birds. At the Faioum we did not see any at 
® See Mr. Macgregor’s picture of them taking wing on lake Men- 
zaleh, (The Rob Roy on the Jordan, p. 80.) 
