These men, by the way, used to be most determined poachers, and, on account of their mode of life, even if detected and chased, they could escape by means of their barges. They were chary, however, of venturing inside a sixteen feet wall, and after a while ceased from troubling. Such a work was necessarily very expensive, costing at least ten thousand pounds. It was too large a sum to be paid at once, and Waterton would not run in debt. So, every year, he put aside as much money as could be spared for the wall, went on building until the money was expended, and then stopped the work, and waited until the following year to continue it. The wall was three miles in total length, and inclosed an area of two hundred and fifty-nine acres.

The value of this wall was shown by the fact that the very year after it was finished the herons came and established themselves within it. At my last visit in 1863, there were nearly forty nests.

How should they know that a wall could protect them against man? It was no obstacle to them, and how they could have known, as they evidently did, that it was an obstacle to mankind is one of the yet unsolved problems which puzzle students of zoology. Moreover, they knew that those few specimens of humanity who came within the wall would do them no harm. I have often been in the heronry, with the blue fragments of broken eggs lying on the ground, and seen the herons going to and from their home with perfect unconcern. Even on the ground, the herons had no fear of man. Provided that a man approached them slowly and quietly, he could come close enough to see their eyes, and even to notice the reflection of the rippling water upon their grey plumage.

Not only in the heronry, but in other parts of the park near the water, the birds would allow themselves to be

approached quite closely, so that their peculiar habits could be watched. I was able to secure slight sketches of the characteristic, and almost grotesque attitudes assumed by the heron, and have selected three as examples.

1

2

3

Fig. 1 shows the bird in a position which, in common with the flamingo, stork, and other long-legged wading birds, it is fond of assuming. It doubles its legs under the body, thrusts the feet forward, sinks its head upon its shoulders, so as to conceal the long neck, and remains so motionless and so unlike a heron that it might easily be passed without notice.

Fig. 2 shows the heron standing on one leg at rest. By moving cautiously round the bird, I succeeded in getting a back view, so as to show the perfect balance of the body on the single leg (Fig. 3).

Waterton had a special love for the heron, and frequently alludes to the services which it renders to the owners of fish-ponds.

"Formerly we had a range of fish-ponds here, one above the other; covering a space of about three acres of ground. Close by them ran a brook, from which the waterrats made regular passages through the intervening bank into the ponds. These vermin were engaged in neverceasing mischief. No sooner was one hole repaired than another was made; so that we had the mortification to see

the ponds generally eight or ten inches below water-mark. This encouraged the growth of weeds to a most incommodious extent, which at last put an end to all pleasure in fishing. Finding that the 'green mantle from the standing pool' was neither useful nor pleasant, I ordered the ponds to be drained, and a plantation to be made in the space of ground which they had occupied.

"Had I known as much then as I know now of the valuable services of the heron, and had there been a good heronry near the place, I should not have made the change. The draining of the ponds did not seem to lessen the number of rats in the brook; but soon after the herons had settled here to breed, the rats became extremely scarce; and now I rarely see one in the place, where formerly I could observe numbers sitting on the stones at the mouth of their holes, as soon as the sun had gone down below the horizon. I often watch the herons on the banks of some other store-ponds with feelings of delight; and nothing would grieve me more than to see the lives of these valuable and ornamental birds sacrificed to the whims and caprices of man."

A portion of one of these now dry fish-ponds may be seen in the illustration of the "Grotto," on page 68. On such a rich soil as that afforded by the bed of an old fishpond, the trees grew with great rapidity, and the spot is now a singularly picturesque one, with bold effects of light and shade, and shelter from the wind and sun.

The next important work was the extension of the moat, a long and costly operation.

The present house is comparatively modern, standing well clear of the water. But, the original house extended to the water on the south side, and was a fortified building of sufficient strength to justify a siege under Cromwell's personal direction.

Unfortunately, Waterton's father destroyed this historical building to make room for the present house, and almost the only relic of this fortification is the old gateway, with its central tower and flanking turrets, and said to be more than a thousand years of age.

The gate itself is of very thick oak planking, pierced with loopholes for musketry, and bearing tangible evidences

of the siege in the shape of many bullet marks. In the left portion of the gate there is a ball still remaining, which is distinguished by an iron ring round it bearing an inscription to the effect that it was fired by Oliver Cromwell himself. That he took an active part in the siege is well known, but it is difficult to identify any individual bullet which he

fired.

The tradition further states that the shot was fired at the lady of the house, who gallantly conducted the defence herself. The reader may be interested to hear that her defence was successful.

The sketch, representing the Gateway in its present condition, was taken on the opposite side of the water, from a spot close to the tall and lightning-shattered poplar-tree, shown on the right hand of the illustration on p. 36. The chief interest of this view lies in the gateway itself. Just behind it is an odd-looking tower, which was built by Waterton for the use of starlings, and the place is enclosed on the north by a thick and closely-clipped hedge of yew. The heavy masses of ivy which fall in thick clusters from the turrets and which serve as a refuge for many birds, have given to the structure the name of Ivy Tower, by which it is often mentioned in the Essays.

While still very young, I was familiar with the Ivy Tower from Waterton's Essays. They mostly appeared in Loudon's Magazine of Natural History, and as that valuable publication was taken in at the Ashmolean Society of Oxford, where I lived, I used to watch impatiently for each successive number, in the hope that it might contain an article from Waterton's pen. Thus, the gateway, the lake, the heronry, the starling towers, the fallen millstone, the shattered poplar, the holly hedges and the wooden pheasants, were all known to me, and when at last I had the privilege of visiting Walton Hall, there was not one of those spots that I did not joyfully recognize.

In the old times, the only approach to the mainland was by a drawbridge, opening on to the gateway, which was then three stories high. This has long been destroyed, and at present the approach is made by a light iron bridge, rather to the right of the gateway. This bridge is not shown in the sketch.