A GREAT BIRD-FIQHT. 205 



from pond to pond, from moor to moor. 

 Individuals poach the trout-streams ; while the 

 majority — gaunt, consumptive, and sentinel-like 

 — stand along the channels waiting for the flow. 



When the sun shines the Herons droop their 

 wings and the sand-banks are lit with a bluish- 

 grey haze. As the wind gets up, the birds 

 repose their long necks, depress their crests, 

 and stand upon one leg. But the tides surely 

 flow, and as surely resolve the Stacy-Marks-like 

 group into animation. The Herons fly low over 

 miles of channel. There are flooks and flat-fish 

 to be fought over with the Lesser Black-backed 

 gulls ; there is stealthy wading to be done ; 

 and woe to the fish that comes within range of 

 that formidable pike ! No aim so unerring as 

 that of Heron, no poacher so successful ! And 

 thus, with crest erect and every sense acute, 

 does our angler pursue his solitary trade. 



A hundred Herons live in Hern wood with 

 thousands of their sable neighbours — in amity 

 for the most part, with only occasional feuds. 

 But this was not always so ; for just over a 

 century ago — in 1775 — a memorable fight took 

 place which lasted three days. Hundreds of 

 Rooks were killed, as were scores of Herons. 



