NATURAL HISTORY. 



When a bird or a wild animal is killed, that is the end of it. If photographed, it may still live and its educational 



and scientific value is multiplied indefinitely. 



THE GREAT BLUE HERON. 

 The name great does not mean heroic, 

 for few birds are so shy as the heron ; 

 but in Alabama we have several species of 

 herons. The most common are the great 

 blue heron, the lesser blue heron, and 2 

 species that seems to be a cross between the 

 lesser blue and the white herons. There 

 are many swamps in Alabama and herons 

 are common in some localities. As the 

 smaller bird\s are fond oif the cypress 

 swamps, where the "knees" and under- 

 growth hide them, it is hard to get data 

 as to their private lives. The great blue 

 heron I have often watched as he was fish- 

 ing. He is a fish hog, yet he is such a pa- 

 tient, persevering one that I am tempted 

 to claim pardon for him. He uses only 

 the proper equipment on his expedititons 

 and this is his livelihood. 



On the Tennessee river in Northern Ala- 

 bama small game abounds. In season 

 ducks, geese, teals and herons are numer- 

 ous. The herons are often over 4 feet 

 long and their wings stretch out to a good 

 length. From a hilltop I .have often 

 watched one of these birds standing in a 

 shoal waiting for some unwary or helpless 

 fish to come washing over. Then, like a 

 lightning flash, the heron straightens his 

 neck, down goes his long, sharp beak into 

 the water, and the game is hoisted aloft, 

 fluttering, but helpless. A moment more 

 finds Mr. Heron again in a silent medita- 

 tion, head on breast, the picture of stupor 

 and dejection; but a fish soon wakes him. 

 His keen eyes pierce the muddy waters and 

 his long, muscular neck is too quick. He 

 will stand for hours at a time in one 

 place. The kingfisher sits on a dead 

 branch above and flashes down every now 

 and then. The sun climbs up or goes 

 •down in the heavens, but Mr. Heron 

 •stands seriously, silently, in the same place. 

 Night comes, the katydids begin their 

 chatter, Mr. Heron rises slowly and grace- 

 fully, his long legs and clean feet tucked 

 up and sticking out behind. He flies si- 

 lently, each motion of his wings denoting 

 a ' serious thoughtfulness, each turn of his 

 head a careful, watchful character. 



I have never had the honor to visit the 

 gentleman in his home, and must let some 

 one else tell of his domestic life. He 

 looks somewhat henpecked, but I may be 

 mistaken. It would pay one to go through 

 the wooded regions of Alabama before the 

 lumbermen destroy the homes of our game 

 birds and animals. The lover of nature, 

 of the picturesque, of silence, of weirdness, 



463 



would find enough to please him, to satisfy 

 his tastes. The canebrakes, the cypress 

 swamps, the pine woods, the hush and 

 stillness impress us that we are near to 

 Nature as nothing else can. Let our blue 

 heron plead for his home. Let the squir- 

 rel, the fox and all the others beg for a 

 corner, a hole in the ground. Must our 

 herons fish in streams made muddv by 

 sewage? Must our woodcock live in bare, 

 barren hills? Where are our silent, hushed 

 sloughs and swamps going? Must we 

 change the old poem from "Woodman, 

 spare that tree," to "Millmen, spare that 

 county"? Let some one act before it is 

 too late. 



Thos. H. Williamson, Kyle, W. Va. 



AN UNFORTUNATE CLASS. 

 "They seeing see not ; and hearing they 

 hear not, neither do they understand." 



Undoubtedly you know the kind of 

 "theys" I have in mind.. Those who hear 

 only "noises" when they go into the woods, 

 class all smaller life as "bugs," refer to the 

 cricket's cheerful chirps as "squeaks," and 

 insist that you are trying to stand on your 

 head when you are merely looking for 

 some insect friend under the corner of a 

 big rock. 



The class I mean are to be received with 

 a sigh of resignation only. It seems in- 

 credible that such people can keep alive 

 without the sympathy which' friendship with 

 nature can give us. Human friends are 

 well meaning, but there is a line beyond 

 which they can not come. We shrink from 

 telling them our disappointments or bright 

 dreams, and only can they catch a hint of 

 our thoughts as they see our countenances 

 off guard. But how different when we go 

 out among the trees with the solid hills 

 near and a clear sweep of sky. Even if 

 it is only a winter day and wood life is dor- 

 mant, with a few deep breaths and half 

 closed eyes we drift out of ourselves into 

 that blissful state where we have no name, 

 no identity, and are just nature's children, 

 listening to her and letting her take the 

 tiredness out of body and mind. 



Can the "theys" ever refresh themselves 

 in this way? No, never; not even if thev 

 had trinocular vision and ears attuned to 

 the faintest sounds. Their imagination 

 takes no part in the photographing work of 

 their eyes, and the impingment of sound 

 waves on their ear drums results in their 

 hearing noises, and noises only. 



"Neither do they understand"; that is it. 



