The Least Bittern 



awkward enough. Or if you persist in dashing after the stranger, having 

 noted his exact whereabouts, see him as he stretches to an incredible 

 length, and stiffens to the semblance of a reed-stalk, — slender, immov- 

 able, the very counterpart of any of his sere and lifeless companions. 

 In this position, if you avoid betraying your recognition by a too knowing 

 gaze at the bird's eye, you may even get close enough to seize him in 



Taken at Los Banos 



NEST AND EGGS OF LEAST BITTERN 



Photo by the Author 



the hands. The bird apparently realizes what a sorry figure he cuts on 

 the wing, and flies only as a last resort. Even when he wants to make 

 a reconnaissance, instead of taking a turn a-wing, he climbs carefully 

 up some upright stalk, wren-fashion, and squints furtively over the tops 

 of the reeds. 



Amused criticism, however, turns to admiration when we note the 

 marvelous dexterity with which the bird threads the lawless mazes of a 

 cat-tail swamp. Now plashing softly through a shallow, now scrambling 

 nimbly over opposing vegetation, he can soon quit dangerous territory if 

 he will. 



But the Least Bittern is a bird of the night. When evening falls, he 



IQ2I 



