prefers a quiet
and secluded haunt. It loves the little trout streams, with wooded and
precipitous banks, the still ponds and small lakes, ornamental waters
in parks, where it is not molested, and the sides of sluggish rivers,
drains and mill-ponds.

Here in such a haunt the bird often flits past like an indistinct gleam
of bluish light. Fortune may sometimes favor the observer and the bird
may alight on some twig over the stream, its weight causing it to sway
gently to and fro. It eagerly scans the shoal of young trout sporting in
the pool below, when suddenly it drops down into the water, and, almost
before the observer is aware of the fact, is back again to its perch
with a struggling fish in its beak. A few blows on the branch and its
prey is ready for the dexterous movement of the bill, which places it
in a position for swallowing. Sometimes the captured fish is adroitly
jerked into the air and caught as it falls.

Fish is the principal food of the Kingfisher; but it also eats various
kinds of insects, shrimps, and even small crabs. It rears its young in
a hole, which is made in the banks of the stream it frequents. It is a
slatternly bird, fouls its own nest and its peerless eggs. The nesting
hole is bored rather slowly, and takes from one to two weeks to
complete. Six or eight white glossy eggs are laid, sometimes on the bare
soil, but often on the fish bones which, being indigestible, are thrown
up by the bird in pellets.

The Kingfisher has a crest of feathers on the top of his head, which he
raises and lowers, especially when trying to drive intruders away from
his nest.

The plumage is compact and oily, making it almost impervious to water.
The flesh is fishy and disagreeable to the taste, but the eggs are said
to be good eating. The wings are long and pointed and the bill longer
than the head. The voice is harsh and monotonous.

It is said that few birds are connected with more fables than the
Kingfisher. The superstition that a dead Kingfisher when suspended
by the throat, would turn its beak to that particular point of the
compass from which the wind blew, is now dead. It was also supposed
to possess many astonishing virtues, as that its dried body would avert
thunderbolts, and if kept in a wardrobe would preserve from moths the
woolen stuffs and the like contained in it.

Under the name of "halcyon," it was fabled by the ancients to build its
nest on the surface of the sea, and to have the power o