five or six. They look snow-white, and are then hard to tell from Spoonbill or Egret; but they ought not to be mistaken for the first-named bird, for, being Herons, they fly as all Herons do, with head tucked in, whilst the Spoonbill flies with extended neck. This is a real resident bird. Captain Shelley says it breeds in August in large colonies in the sont trees, and that, in addition to being useful to the poor cattle, it is of the greatest use to Egypt, as it wages war on the locusts that would otherwise devastate the green crops and all growing things.
I regret, however, that every year, according to the best evidence, this bird is less and less seen. Twenty-five years ago it was to be met with, off and on, everywhere, and in the Delta it was absolutely one of the commonest of birds. The cause of its lessening numbers is not certain, but when it is recalled that it is a form of Egret, and that from Egrets come “aigrettes,” one solution is apparent. Against that view, however, in common justice, I must say that I have no scrap of evidence that these birds are at all largely persecuted in Egypt, and they are, as already said, a resident bird. Some undoubtedly migrate north; it may be they never return, and so the annual decrease. Of the decrease there is no doubt, and I have been told that now the natives—the men who till the soil and benefit by its products—openly say that certain insect pests the much-valued cotton suffers from nowadays is due, in their opinion, to the reduced number of “little white birds” who used to come in flocks, by hundreds, and search and find and devour these same insect pests.
THE NIGHT HERON
Nycticorax griseus
Upper plumage dark to black, with blue-green reflections; two long plumes from head; white wings and tail grey; under-parts a grey buff-white; eyes crimson; young are dull grey and brown, mottled and spotted. Total length, 21 inches.
THIS is a really common bird, but being nocturnal it is not very often noticed. Many a sont or palm tree that people walk under may have four or five sitting so quietly among the branches that they are not observed; but towards evening—before the sun has actually dropped behind the horizon—they begin to waken up; and curious “squawk, squawk” calls, then flappings about as they move from branch to branch, will be heard, till, as the afterglow begins, they all start mounting into the air and taking great circles round and round, or away in a bee-line to some favourite feeding-ground, where they remain all night, and return at dawn to their roosting-places. In some trees in the garden of the old Luxor Hotel, there is, as I write in 1909, a colony—two of the trees they roost in hang over the very carriage roadway up to the station,—noisy and bustling for three months of the year, yet they remain in this old-time haunt undisturbed by all the changes that have taken place in this ancient town. Twenty-seven years ago I saw them there, but I have met people who declare there never was a time known when Night Herons did not frequent this spot. There is a certain seat on the front where one enters the hotel grounds, that is under some Lebekh trees these Herons love, and I was early in the season horrified to hear that the order had gone out to shoot all those that were there, as they sometimes soiled the monstrous hats that the ladies were wearing. I appealed in vain to the management—“They had had so many complaints,” etc.—it must be, and was. I never dared ask how many were shot; and I really do not see why the ladies could not take their hats off, or else put up parasols. Anyhow, just because of women’s hats, an historic colony of these interesting birds in a very remarkable situation has been in danger of being driven away. This Heron is not nearly so big as our own familiar bird, and is rather squat and dumpy in shape, but he is a fascinating, rather weird-looking creature. Occasionally, one or two stray as far as Great Britain; but here in Egypt it
