The heron is curiously fastidious in its choice of a nesting-place, and, like the rook, prefers the neighbourhood of man, knowing instinctively when it will be protected by its human neighbours. Fortunately for the bird, the possession of a heronry is a matter of pride among landowners; so that even if the owner of a trout-stream happened also to possess a heronry, he would not think of destroying the herons because they ate his trout. In captivity the heron can be tamed; but it is not to be recommended as a pet. It is apt to bestow all its affections on one individual, and to consider the rest of the human race as enemies, whose eyes ought to be pecked out. I was for some time acquainted with such a bird, but took care to keep well out of reach of its terrible beak, which it would dart to an unexpected distance through the bars of its cage. It formerly ran loose in a garden, and was almost slavishly affectionate to the gardener, rubbing itself against his legs like a pet cat, and trying in every way to attract his attention. He had even taught it a few simple tricks, and I have seen it take his hat off his head, and then offer it to him. But just in proportion as it became friendly with the gardener it became cross-grained with the rest of the world, attacking everyone who came into the garden, and darting its beak at their eyes. Its last performance caused it to be placed in confinement. An elderly gentleman had entered the garden on business, when the bird instantly assailed him. Knowing the habits of the heron, he very wisely flung himself on his face for the purpose of preserving his eyes, and shouted for help. Meanwhile the heron, wishing to make the most of its opportunity, mounted upon his prostrate victim, and succeeded in inflicting several severe pecks upon his body and limbs before the gardener could come to the rescue. The peck of a heron’s beak is no trifle, the mandibles being closed, and the blow delivered with the full power of the long neck, so that each blow from the beak is something like the stab of a bayonet, and so strong and sharp is the beak that in some foreign lands it is converted into an effective spearhead. Few people seem to be aware that a large and populous heronry exists in Wanstead Park, on the very outskirts of London. At the end of summer, when the young birds are fledged, the heronry is nearly deserted, but during the early days of spring the heronry is well worth a visit. The great birds are all in full activity, as is demanded by the many wants of the young, and on the ground beneath may be seen fragments of the pale-blue eggs. On an average there are three young ones in each nest, so that the scene is very lively and interesting, until the foliage becomes so thick that it hides the birds and their nests. (_To be continued._) THE ROMANCE OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND; OR, THE OLD LADY OF THREADNEEDLE STREET. BY EMMA BREWER. CHAPTER II.