British birds

Black with purple and green reflections; beak and feet coral-red. Length, sixteen inches.

It is melancholy to think that this interesting and extremely handsome bird has been diminishing in numbers for a long period, and is now become so rare that, unless strong measures to secure its protection be at once taken, its eventual extinction in this country must be regarded as merely a question of time. Formerly it bred in many inland localities in England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland; but from all its ancient nesting-cliffs in the interior of these countries it has long vanished, and, like the raven, which has also fallen on evil days, is now only found in a few spots on the rock-bound coasts where high, precipitous cliffs afford it some chance of hatching its eggs and continuing the species for a few years longer.

A few pairs are still found breeding each year on the coast of Cornwall, where it was formerly abundant, and on this account was called the Cornish chough. It also breeds in limited numbers in a few other situations:—at Lundy Island, the rocks of the Calf of Man, on the coast of Wales, and at Islay and a few other situations on the coast of Scotland.

In size, flight, language, habits, and general appearance, the chough comes nearest to the jackdaw, but is a much handsomer bird, its uniform intense black plumage and long, curved, coral bill, and red legs and feet, giving it a distinguished and somewhat singular appearance. Its cry, uttered both when perched and on the wing, differs only from that of the daw in its more ringing and melodious sound. The flight is easy and buoyant, and the birds are fond of aërial pastimes, similar to those of the jackdaw, during which the members of the company pursue one another in play, and frequently tumble down from a great height through the air as if disabled. They feed inland, often going long distances from the cliffs they inhabit to seek their food, like rooks, in the meadows and pasture-lands. They also follow the plough to pick up the worms and grubs, like the rook and black-headed gull, and are said to eat carrion, berries, and grain. On the sands and rocks they feed on the animal refuse left by the tides.

The chough, like the daw, lives always in communities; the two species may often be found breeding near each other and associating in flocks. The nest is placed in a hole or crevice in the rocks in the least accessible part of the cliff. It is built of sticks and twigs, and lined with grass, fur, wool, and other soft substances. Four to six eggs are laid, in ground-colour white, faintly tinged with blue or yellowish, and spotted and blotched with various shades of grey and pale brown.

Jay.
Garrulus glandarius.

Crest greyish white streaked with black; a black moustache from the corners of the beak; general plumage reddish grey, darker above; primaries dingy black; secondaries velvet-black and pure white; inner tertials rich chestnut; winglet and greater coverts barred with black, white, and bright blue; upper and under-tail-coverts pure white; iris bright blue; beak black; feet dark brown. Length, thirteen and a half inches.

The jay is nearly equal to the daw in size, and has a variegated and beautiful plumage, and when seen flying across an open sunlit space is nearly as conspicuous as a magpie. But among the dense foliage of the woods and thickets he inhabits it is as difficult to see a jay as a wood-wren; and it is doubtless owing to this fact, and to his extreme wariness and cunning, that he still survives in many parts of England where the magpie has now been extirpated, although both species are pursued by gamekeepers with the same stupid and deadly animosity. In Scotland he is said to be decreasing more rapidly than in England, probably because the Scotch are more thorough than the Southrons, especially in the process of stamping out: in Ireland it is found only in the southern half of the island, where it is somewhat scarce.

The most striking characteristic of the jay is its tireless energy, and a liveliness of disposition and alertness almost without a parallel among British birds; even the restless, prying, chattering magpie seems a quiet creature beside it; and as to the other corvine birds, they are by comparison a sedate family. Like the magpie, he is an excitable and vociferous bird, and has a curious and varied language. When disturbed in his woodland haunts he utters a scream that startles the hearer, so loud and harsh and piercing is it. Richard Jefferies well describes it as being like the sound made in tearing a piece of calico. He also has a lower, monotonous, rasping note, which he will continue uttering for half an hour at a time when his curiosity or suspicion has been excited. In the love season he utters a variety of sounds by way of song, and as they resemble the notes of the starling, sparrow, and other birds, he is supposed to be a mocker. In captivity he can be taught to speak a few words; but it is possible that the various sounds composing his vocal performance in the woods are his own.

In spring he becomes somewhat social, and unites in noisy parties; at other times he is solitary, or lives with his mate.

Owing to an excessively wary and suspicious habit, engendered by much persecution, it is difficult to observe him narrowly for any length of time. In the woods and plantations, few and far between, where jays are not persecuted, and do not associate the human figure with a sudden shower of murderous pellets, he will allow a nearer approach, and it is then a rare pleasure to study him on his perch. He does not, as a rule, rest long in one place, and when perched is of so active and excitable a temper that he cannot keep still for three seconds at a stretch. The wings and tail are raised, and depressed, and flirted, the crest alternately lowered and elevated, the head turned from side to side, as the wild, bright eyes glance in this or that direction. If he should by chance place himself where a stray sunbeam falls through the foliage on him, lighting up his fine reddish brown plumage, variegated with black and white and beautiful blue, he shows as one of the handsomest birds that inhabit the woodlands.

The jay makes his nest in a bush or sapling at no great height from the ground; the lower branch of a large tree is sometimes made choice of, where the nest is well concealed by the close foliage; a thick holly or other evergreen is also a favourite site. The nest is built of sticks and twigs, sometimes mixed with mud, and the cup-shaped cavity is lined with fine roots. Four to seven eggs are laid, pale greyish green in ground-colour, thickly freckled, and spotted all over with pale olive-brown. The young birds follow their parents for some weeks after leaving the nest.

The jay is omnivorous, but in summer feeds mainly on slugs, worms, grubs, and insects of all kinds; in this season he devours berries and fruit—plums, cherries, also peas and currants; and in autumn, nuts, beech-mast, and acorns. He also plunders the smaller birds of their eggs and young, and is said to carry off pheasant and partridge chicks. He is a keen mouser, and after killing a mouse with two or three sharp blows on the head, strips the skin off before devouring it. Like the nuthatch and some other species, he has the habit of concealing the food he does not want to eat at once.

Magpie.
Pica rustica.

Head, throat, neck, and back velvet-black; scapulars and under plumage white; tail much graduated, and, as well as the wings, black, with lustrous blue and green reflections; beak and feet black. Length, eighteen inches.

In spite of his evil reputation, the magpie is regarded by most persons who are not breeders of pheasants with exceptional interest, and even affection. He has some very attractive qualities, and is one of that trio of corvine birds—pie, chough, and jay—from which it is difficult to single out the most beautiful. The most conspicuous he undoubtedly is, in his black and white plumage; and his figure, with its long, graduated tail, is also the most elegant. In his habits there is abundant variety, and in sagacity he is probably unsurpassed by any member of the corvine family, which counts so many wily brains. His excessive cunning and rapid rate of increase have probably served to save him from the fate that has overtaken the hen harrier and marsh-harrier, and many another beautiful member of the British avifauna. As it is, he has been almost extirpated throughout a large part of England and Scotland. In Ireland, however, he is still a common species, but, oddly enough, he is not indigenous to that country. It is believed that he first appeared there about, or a little more than, two centuries and a half ago. How he got there is not known. According to Yarrell, there is a widespread belief in Ireland that the magpie was imported into that island by the English out of spite.

The magpie is as singular in his motions, gestures, and flight as he is beautiful in colour and elegant in form. On the wing he appears most conspicuous when the white webs of the quills are displayed. The wings are very short, and the flight is slow and somewhat wavering, and at every three or four yards there is an interval of violent wing-beats, during which the black and white of the quills mix and become nearly grey. High in the air he has a most curious appearance; as a rule he flies low, passing from tree to tree, or along the side of a hedge. He seeks his food on the ground, and his movements are then utterly unlike those of any other ground-feeder. His manner of running and hopping about, flinging up his tail; his antics and little, excited dashes, now to this side, now to that, give the idea that he is amusing himself with some solitary game rather than seeking food. Richard Jefferies has given so accurate and vivid a picture of the bird in his ‘Wild Life in a Southern County’ that I cannot refrain from quoting it in this place. ‘To this hedge the hill-magpie comes; some magpies seem to keep entirely to the downs, while others range the vale, though there is no apparent difference between them. His peculiar uneven, and, so to say, flickering flight marks him out at a distance, as he jauntily journeys along beside the slope. He visits every fir-copse and beech-clump in his way, spending some time, too, in and about the hawthorn hedge, which is a favourite spot. Sometimes in the spring, when the corn is yet short and green, if you glance carefully through an opening in the bushes, or round the side of the gateway, you may see him busy on the ground. His rather excitable nature betrays itself in every motion: he walks, now to the right a couple of yards, now to the left in quick zigzag, so working across the field towards you; then, with a long rush, he makes a lengthy traverse at the top of his speed; turns, and darts away again at right angles; and presently up goes his tail, and he throws his head down with a jerk of the whole body, as if he would thrust his beak deep into the earth. This habit of searching the field, apparently for some favourite grub, is evidence in his favour that he is not so entirely guilty as he has been represented of innocent blood. No bird could be approached in that way. All is done in a jerky, nervous manner. As he turns sideways, the white feathers show with a flash above the green corn; another moment, and he looks all black.’

In disposition the magpie is restless, inquisitive, excitable, and loquacious. Where he is greatly persecuted by gamekeepers—as, indeed, is the case almost everywhere in England—he grows so wary that, in spite of his conspicuous colouring, it would be almost impossible to get a glimpse of him, were it not for his outbursts of irrepressible excitement and garrulity. The sight of a stoat, fox, or prowling cat will instantly cause him to forget the more dangerous keeper and his gun, and to fill the coppice with cries of alarm. The feathered inhabitants of the wood hurry from all sides to ascertain the cause of the outcry, and assist in driving out the intruder. But the keeper, too, hears; this is the opportunity he has been long watching and waiting for; and if he approaches the scene of excitement with due caution, poor beautiful Mag, dead, and shattered with shot, will soon be added to his festering trophies.

The usual sound emitted by the magpie is an excited chatter—a note with a hard, percussive sound, rapidly repeated half a dozen times. It may be compared to the sound of a wooden rattle, or to the bleating of a goat; but there is always a certain resemblance to the human voice in it, especially when the birds are unalarmed, and converse with one another in subdued tones. But it is more like the guttural voice of the negro than the white man’s voice. Their subdued chatter has sometimes produced in me the idea that I was listening to the low talking and laughing of a couple of negroes lying on their backs somewhere near. It is well known that this bird can be taught to articulate a few words.

The magpie is a notable architect, and as a rule builds his nest in a tall tree in or on the borders of a wood; sometimes in a low, isolated tree or large bush, or in the centre of a thick hedge. It is large, and formed of sticks and mud, with a hollow in the centre, plastered with mud and lined with fibrous roots; over this solid platform and nest a large dome of loosely interwoven thorny sticks is built, with a hole in the side just large enough to admit the bird.

Magpies pair for life, and the nest may serve the birds for several years, a little repairing work being bestowed on it each spring. The eggs are usually six in number, but in some cases as many as nine are laid. In colour they are pale bluish green, very thickly spotted and freckled with olive-brown, and faintly blotched with ash-colour.

The magpie may be easily tamed; even the wild birds, when not persecuted, become strongly familiar with man, and come about the house like fowls. In a state of nature he subsists on grubs, worms, snails, slugs, and various insects, and will eat any kind of animal food that offers, not excepting carrion; he also devours young birds and eggs, and is fond of ripe fruit. He is supposed to be a deadly enemy of the poultry-yard, and a stealer of pheasant and partridge chicks; but it is certain that his depredations have been greatly exaggerated.

Jackdaw.
Corvus monedula.

Crown and upper parts black with violet reflections; back of the head and nape grey; iris white; under parts dull black. Length, fourteen inches.

It is hard to pronounce which of our indigenous corvine species is the most interesting. They are all wonderful birds; and to those who have made pets of, and studied them, and know them intimately as most of us know our dogs, they appear to excel other feathered creatures in the quality of mind, just as thrushes, larks, and warblers do in that of melody, and as terns and others of the more aërial kinds excel in graceful motions. If the jackdaw is not the first of his family in intelligence, he is certainly not behind any of them. In beauty he does not compete with the three species already described—chough, jay, and pie—and at a distance is only a lesser rook or carrion crow in appearance; but there is a peculiar look about this bird when seen closely that engages and holds the attention more than mere beauty or grace. When he is sitting in repose, his head drawn in and beak inclining downwards, and turns his face to you, it does not look quite like a bird’s face: the feathers puffed out all round make the head appear preternaturally large, and the two small, bright, whitish grey eyes set close together in the middle have an expression of craft that is somewhat human and a little uncanny.

The jackdaw is one of the birds that the gamekeeper wars against without ruth, shooting and trapping them in the breeding season, especially when they are occupied in feeding their young, and can be seen and easily shot in their frequent journeys to and from the nesting-tree. But the jackdaw is not so easy to extirpate as some of its congeners. He is probably just as common as he ever was, while the chough is rapidly dying out, and crow and jay and pie are yearly diminishing in numbers, and the raven, driven from its inland haunts, clings to existence in the wildest and most inaccessible parts of the coast. The reason of this is that the jackdaw is more adaptive than the other species. He has been compared in this respect to the house-sparrow, for he can exist in town as well as country, and readily adapts himself to new surroundings. The variety of sites he uses for breeding purposes shows how plastic are his habits. He breeds apart from his fellows, like the carrion crow; or in communities, like the rook and chough. He builds in hollow trees in parks and woods, in rabbit-burrows, in ruins, church-towers, and buildings of all kinds; and in holes and crevices in cliffs, whether inland or facing the sea, where he lives in company with the rock-pigeon and the puffin. ‘At Flamborough,’ Seebohm says, ‘the jackdaws are very abundant. A republican might call them the aristocracy of the cliffs. Like the modern noble, or the monks of the Middle Ages, they contrive to eat the fat of the land without any ostensible means of living. They apparently claim an hereditary right in the cliffs; for they catch no fish, and do no work, but levy blackmail on the silly guillemots, stealing the fish which the male has brought to the ledges for the female, upsetting the egg of some unfortunate bird who has left it for a short time, and devouring as much of its contents as they can get hold of, when the egg is broken, on some ledge of rock or in the sea.’

The social disposition of the jackdaw, and its friendliness towards other species of its family, is no doubt favourable in the long run to it; for by mixing with the rooks, both when feeding and roosting, he comes in for a share of the protection extended to that bird in most districts. There is also a sentiment favourable to the jackdaw on account of its partiality for churches and castles: the ‘ecclesiastical’ daws are safe and fearless of man while soaring and playing round the sacred buildings in villages and towns; when they go abroad to forage, and are not with the rooks, there is danger for them, and they are, accordingly, wary and shy of man.

At all seasons the jackdaw loves to consort with his fellows, and to spend a portion of each day in aërial games and exercises: the birds circle about in the air, pursuing and playfully buffeting one another, and tumbling downwards, often from a great height, only to mount aloft again, to renew the mock chase and battle and downward fall. They are loquacious birds, and frequently call loudly to one another, both when perched and when flying; the usual call-note has a clear, sharp, querulous sound, something like the yelping bark of a small dog.

The nest is a rude structure made with sticks, dry grass, leaves, wool, and other materials heaped together, and is large or small according to the situation; when in a church-tower or hollow tree an enormous quantity of material is sometimes used to fill up the cavity. The eggs are four to six in number, and vary much in size, shape, and markings. They are very pale blue, varying to greenish blue, in ground-colour, and are spotted and blotched with blackish brown and olive-brown, with pinkish grey under-markings.

The jackdaw is omnivorous, but subsists principally on worms, grubs, and insects, which it picks up in the pastures where it feeds in company with rooks and starlings. In spring it will eat the newly sown grain, in autumn devours acorns and beech-mast, and in winter will stoop to carrion.

In captivity the jackdaw makes a clever and amusing pet, and may be taught to repeat a few words.

Carrion Crow.
Corvus corone.

Black with green and violet reflections; iris dark hazel; lower part of the beak covered with bristly feathers. Length, nineteen inches.

The common, black, or carrion crow so closely resembles the rook in form, size, and colouring as to be indistinguishable from it when seen at a distance. Viewed nearer it is seen to have the base of the beak clothed with feathers, instead of naked and grey, as is the case in the more common bird. The young rook may, however, be mistaken for a crow even when very near, as its face is feathered like the crow’s. In voice the two birds differ, that of the crow being louder and very much harsher—more like the raven’s croak than the familiar hoarse, but not disagreeable, caw of the rook. In summer he may be identified by his solitary habits. He has a very much worse reputation than the species he so nearly resembles: both game-preserver and farmer regard him as a pest, and he is said to be the most persecuted bird in this country. But somehow, in spite of all that is done to extirpate him utterly, he manages to keep a pretty strong hold on life, although he is not common. He inhabits all of the British Islands, chiefly England and Wales; in the central and northern parts of Scotland, and in Ireland, he is rarely met with, his place in those countries being taken by the hooded crow. When not engaged in breeding the crow is to some extent gregarious, and is also social, associating both in the fields and at roosting-time with rooks and jackdaws. And it is probable that this habit has been of great advantage to him, and may even have saved the species from extermination, for while among the rooks he easily passes for a rook. That he is exceptionally sagacious, and very careful to keep out of reach of his deadly human enemies, goes without saying; he is a member of a family ranking high in intelligence; and being so large and conspicuous a bird, his life is one of incessant danger. In selecting a site for his nest his intelligence is sometimes at fault. Not only is the nest a large structure, but, with a strange fatuity, the bird will at times build in a conspicuous place near a house. On the coast he is, like the raven and jackdaw, a nester in cliffs; inland he usually builds in or on a large tree, and if the nest is allowed to remain he will use it for several years. The nest is a large platform, made of sticks, weeds, pieces of turf, and other materials, with a hollow in the centre neatly lined with fine grass, wool, hairs, and feathers. The eggs are four to six in number, in ground-colour pale bluish green, spotted and blotched with various shades of olive-brown, with purplish grey underlying blotches.

When there are young to feed the crow is exceedingly active; he is then most destructive to young pheasants and other game, and is a troublesome neighbour to the poultry. Young and weakly birds are dropped upon and picked up with astonishing adroitness and rapidity. He will pounce upon and carry off any small and easily conquered animal to satisfy his nestful of voracious young. At other times he is omnivorous: a carrion-eater like the raven, and devourer of dead stranded fish and other animal refuse cast up by the sea; in the pastures he searches for worms and grubs with the rooks; and when occasion offers he feeds on grain, berries, walnuts, and fruit. He appears to have a greater appetite than most species: he is said to be the first bird astir in the morning, and from dawn until sunset he is engaged incessantly in seeking food.

His flight resembles that of the rook, but is somewhat heavier.

Hooded Crow.
Corvus cornix.

Head, throat, wings, and tail black; the rest of the plumage ash-grey; iris brown. Length, nineteen and a half inches.

This bird, which is also known as the hoodie, Royston crow, grey or grey-backed crow, and by other names, is now regarded by some of our first authorities on such subjects as a form of the carrion crow. In England and Wales it is very rare. In Ireland, where the black crow is almost unknown, it is common; it is also found throughout Scotland and the Western Islands as a resident breeding species. In winter, hooded crows visit the east coast of England in large numbers, and are specially abundant on the Lincolnshire coast, where they feed on shellfish and animal refuse left by the tide on the extensive mud flats. These seaside crows that wait on the tide come to us from the north of Europe, and leave our shores in spring.

Excepting in the matter of colour—one bird being wholly black and the other grey on the back and under parts—the black and grey crows are identical in size, language, and in all their habits, and what has been said of the carrion crow applies to the present species.

Rook.
Corvus frugilegus.

Black with purple and violet reflections; base of the beak, nostrils, and region round the beak bare of feathers, and covered with a white scurf; iris greyish white. Length, eighteen inches.

The rook is common throughout the British Islands, and is our best-known large land bird, being everywhere the most abundant species, as well as the most conspicuous, owing to his great size, blackness, gregariousness, and habits of perching and nesting on the tops of trees, and of feeding on open grass spaces, where it is visible at a long distance. Without being a favourite of either the gamekeeper or the farmer, he is, in a measure, a protected species, the rookery being looked on as a pleasant and almost indispensable appanage of the country-house. It was not always so. In former times the rook was regarded as a highly injurious bird, and in the reign of Henry VIII. an Act of Parliament was passed to ensure its destruction. But this is ancient history. The existing sentiment, which is so favourable to the bird, probably had its origin centuries back in time, and the rook has everywhere come to regard the trees that are near a human habitation as the safest to build on. It is surprising to find how fearless of man he is in this respect, while retaining a suspicious habit towards him when at a distance from home. I recall one rookery on a clump of fir-trees so close to a large house that, from the top windows, one can look down on the nests and count the eggs in many of them; yet for miles round the area is a well-wooded park, where the birds might easily have found scores of sites as well or better suited to their requirements.

The birds usually return to the rookery in February, and in March, or even earlier if the weather should prove mild, they begin to repair the old nests and build new ones. The nests are placed on the topmost branches of the tree—elm, oak, birch, or fir; but an elm-tree is generally made choice of. The tree to suit the rook must be tall—if possible, the tallest tree in the place—for it is the instinct of the bird not only to have his house far out of reach of all possible terrestrial enemies, but so placed that a wide and uninterrupted view of earth and sky may be obtained from it. As things now are his winged enemies do him little hurt, but it was not always so. In the next place, the branches must afford a suitable foundation to build on: they must be strong, and forked, so as to hold the fabric securely during high winds and sudden violent storms; furthermore, there must be a clear space above or at the side, to enable the bird to approach and leave it without striking against the surrounding boughs. It is a well-known fact that rooks will desert a rookery when the trees are decaying, even when, to a human eye, they appear sound. The most probable explanation which has yet been offered of this fact is, that a considerable amount of pliancy in the branches is necessary for the safety of the nest; for if the branches do not yield and sway to the force of the wind, the nest is in danger of being blown bodily out of its place: in the decaying tree the upper branches become too stiff, from the insufficient supply of sap.

The building and repairing time is one of great and incessant excitement in the rookery; and it is curious to note that birds of such a social disposition, and able to live together in concord at all other times, are at this period extremely contentious. As a rule, when one bird is abroad foraging for sticks, his mate remains on guard at the nest. Among these watchers and the birds that are leaving and arriving there is much loud cawing, which sounds like ‘language,’ in the slang sense of the word; and it might appear that they were all at strife, and each one fighting for himself. But it may be observed that a majority of the birds respect each other’s rights, and never come into collision, and that there are others, in most cases a very few, who depart from these traditions, and are, like freebooters, always on the watch to plunder sticks from their neighbours’ nests, instead of going afield to gather them. The presence of these objectionable members of the community may account for some of the curious episodes in the life of the rookery—as, for instance, the fact that all the birds will sometimes combine to persecute one pair, and demolish their nest again and again as fast as it is made.

The nest, when completed, is a large structure, two feet or more in diameter, made of sticks, and lined with dry grass. The eggs are four to six in number, and are bluish green, spotted and blotched with greyish purple and dull brown.

During incubation the male assiduously feeds his sitting mate, and occasionally changes places with her; and after the young are out of the shells both parents are engaged incessantly in collecting food for them. From early morning until dark they may be seen flying to and from the rookery, on each return journey carrying a cluster of worms and grubs in the mouth.

When the young are fully fledged they are seen perching awkwardly on the branches near the nest, occasionally making short, tentative flights, and apparently anxious to go forth into that wide green world spread out beneath their cradle and watch-tower. They are, happily, ignorant of the doom that awaits them; for the time is now near when the blood-tax must be levied on the community—the price which is paid for protection; and, the young only being eatable, the slaughter must fall on them. As a rule, a few of the young escape death, as, when the shooting begins, and the old birds rise in haste to scatter in all directions, a few of the most advanced young birds that are already strong on the wing follow their parents to a place of safety.

After the breeding season, which is usually over at the beginning of June, the rookery is forsaken; in some cases the birds disappear, and do not return until the next spring; more often they pay an occasional visit to the rookery, and some rookeries are visited almost daily by the birds. But for the rest of the year their roosting-place is elsewhere, often at a considerable distance. In districts where rooks are abundant there is generally one great roosting-place, where the communities inhabiting the country for many miles around are accustomed to congregate at the end of each day. As the evening draws near the birds begin to arrive from two, or three, or more directions, in detachments or long, loose trains, flying steadily, at an equal height above the ground. Where they settle the tree-tops are black with their numbers; and as fresh contingents pour in the noise of the cawing grows louder and more continuous, until it is in volume like the sound of a surging sea. At intervals large numbers of birds rise up, to hang like a black cloud above the trees for some minutes, but as the evening darkens they all finally settle down for the night; still, in so vast an assemblage there are always many waking individuals, and a noise of subdued cawing may be heard throughout the hours of darkness. With the returning light there is a renewal of the loud noise and excitement, as the birds rise up and wheel about in the air before setting out on their journey to their distant feeding-grounds.

Raven.
Corvus corax.

Black with purple reflections; tail black; iris with two circles, the inner grey, the outer ash-brown. Length, twenty-five inches.

The raven has the reputation, true or false, of being one of the longest-lived birds; certainly it is one of the hardiest, and capable of adapting itself to the greatest extremes of temperature. Its range in the northern hemisphere extends from the regions of ‘thick-ribbed ice’ to the damp, hot woods and burning coasts of Southern Mexico and Central America. The tropical jaguar may help it to a meal at one extremity of its range, the polar bear at the other. Compared to such diversities of climate and of other conditions, those of the British Islands are as nothing. From the Isle of Wight and the southern coast to the northern extremity of Scotland, and beyond, to ‘utmost Kilda’s lonely isle,’ the raven has lived in what, to a bird of his grit, must have been a very pleasant garden with a mild and equable temperature throughout the year. Formerly he was a fairly common bird in all parts of our island, and it is probable that some protection was accorded to him by owners of large estates, in spite of his evil reputation, on account of some such sentiment as now exists with regard to the rook. A pair of ravens in a woodland district, Seebohm says, ‘was often considered the pride and pest of the parish.’ But the sentiment, if it existed, was not strong enough, and the constant persecution of the bird by its two principal enemies, the gamekeeper and the shepherd, joined by a third during the present century in the ‘collector,’ has gradually driven it from all, or well-nigh all, its ancient inland haunts, and it now exists in its last strongholds, the rugged iron-bound sea-coast on the northern coasts of Scotland and the neighbouring islands. A few—a very few—pairs are still to be met with on some of the cliffs on the south and south-west coasts of England, and on the Welsh coast; but even in the rudest and most solitary localities inhabited by it the bird can keep its hold on life only by means of a wariness and sagacity exceeding that of most other wild and persecuted species.

Like most of the members of its family, the raven is omnivorous, feeding indiscriminately on grubs, worms, insects, grain, fruit, carrion, and animal food of all kinds. Being so much bigger and more powerful than other crows, with a larger appetite to satisfy, he is more rapacious in his habits, and bolder in attacking animals of large size. He will readily attack a small lamb left by its dam, and pick out its eyes; but, as a rule, his attacks on lambs and sheep are confined to the very young and to the sickly or dying. He also attacks hares, rabbits, and birds of various kinds, when he finds them ailing or wounded by shot. He is fond of eggs, as well as of nestlings, and plunders the nests of the sea-birds that inhabit the cliffs in his neighbourhood. But the greatest part of his food consists of dead animal matter cast up by the sea, and carrion of all kinds: a dead sheep will afford him pasture for some days, and keep him out of mischief—for he can be hawk or vulture as occasion offers.

In appearance the raven is a larger rook or carrion crow; he is a fine bird, and his large size, the uniform blackness of his plumage, and his deep, harsh, and human-like, croaking voice, strongly impress the imagination. But the effect produced on the mind by the raven is, doubtless, in part due to the bird’s reputation, to its ancient historical fame, its large place in our older literature, and to the various sombre superstitions connected with it. When feeding on a carcase his appearance is not engaging: there is a lack of dignity in his sidling or ‘loping’ motions, and savage haste in tearing at the flesh, with a startled look round after each morsel. When disturbed from his repast the slow, cumbrous, flapping flight as he rises strongly reminds you of the vulture. He makes a nobler figure when soaring high in the air, or along the face of some huge beetling cliff that fronts the sea; for then his flight has power and ease as he falls and rises, playing, like a giant chough or jackdaw, with his mate.

The raven pairs for life, and uses the same nest year after year. A pair or two may still breed in a tree somewhere in Scotland or in the north of England, but, in almost all cases, the bird now makes his nest on a ledge of rock on some cliff on the sea-coast. It is a rude, bulky structure, formed of sticks and heather, and lined with grass and wool. The eggs are four to six in number, bluish green in ground-colour, more or less thickly spotted and marked with dark olive-brown.

The raven is the earliest bird to breed in this country: the nest-building begins in January, and the eggs are laid in February or March.

Besides the eight species described, a ninth member of the corvine family has been included among British birds; this is the nutcracker (Nucifraga caryocatactes), a very irregular straggler to our shores from northern Europe.

Skylark.
Alauda arvensis.

Upper parts varied with three shades of brown, the darkest of which lies along the shaft of each feather; a faint whitish streak over the eye; throat white; under parts yellowish white tinged with brown; the throat and sides of neck with dark brown lanceolate spots, which form a gorget just above the breast. Length, seven inches and a quarter.

The skylark is so universally diffused in these islands, and so abundant, well known, and favourite a species, that anything beyond a brief and prosaic account of its habits would appear superfluous. His image, better than any pen can portray it, already exists in every mind. A distinguished ornithologist, writing of the sparrow, declines to describe its language, and asks his reader to open his window and hear it for himself. In like manner, I may ask my reader to listen to the lark’s song, which exists registered in his own brain. For he must have heard it times without number, this being a music which, like the rain and sunshine, falls on all of us. If someone, too curious, should desire me not to concern myself with the images and registered sensations of others’ brains, but to record here my own impressions and feelings, I could but refer him to Shelley’s ‘Ode to a Skylark,’ which describes the bird at his best—the bird, and the feeling produced on the listener. Some ornithologist (I blush to say it) has pointed out that the poet’s description is unscientific and of no value; nevertheless, it embodies what we all feel at times, although we may be without inspiration, and have only dull prose for expression. It is true there are those who are not moved by nature’s sights and sounds, even in her ‘special moments,’ who regard a skylark merely as something to eat with a delicate flavour. It is well, if we desire to think the best that we can of our fellows, to look on such persons as exceptions, like those, perhaps fabled, monsters of antiquity who feasted on nightingales’ tongues and other strange meats.

The skylark inhabits open places, and is to be met with on pastures, commons, downs, and mountain slopes; but he prefers arable land, and is most abundant in cultivated districts. In winter his song may be occasionally heard in mild weather; in February it becomes more frequent, and increases until the end of March, when it may be said that his music is at full flood; and at this high point it continues for several months, during which time successive broods are reared. A more inexhaustible singer than the lark does not exist; and when we consider how abundant and widely diffused the bird is, the number of months during which he is vocal, and the character of the song—a rapid torrent of continuous sound—it is almost possible to believe that the melody from this one species actually equals in amount that from all the other song-birds together.

The nest, made in April, is a slight hollow in the ground in a cornfield, or among the grass of a meadow, or any open place, and is composed of dry grass and moss, lined with fine grass and horsehair. The eggs are four or five in number, greyish white, spotted and clouded with greenish brown. Two or three broods are reared.

In September the skylarks begin to assemble in flocks and shift their ground. At this season they migrate in large numbers; but many remain throughout the year, except in the more northern districts. Large flocks of migrants from the Continent also appear during the winter months.

In winter the lark feeds chiefly on seeds; in summer he is an insect as well as a seed eater.

Woodlark.
Alauda arborea.

Upper parts reddish brown, the centre of each feather dark brown; a distinct yellowish white streak above the eye, extending to the back part of the head; under parts yellowish white streaked with dark brown. Tail very short. Length, six and a half inches.

In appearance the woodlark is a lesser skylark, with a shorter tail in proportion to the body, and no apparent difference in colour, except that the spots on the breast and the pale streak over the eye are more conspicuous. It ranks with the six or eight finest British songsters, but is the least known of all. The tree-pipit, sometimes called woodlark, is a much better known songster. When the woodlark is seen and heard he is taken by most people for the skylark. The mistake is easily made, the song having the same character, and is a continuous stream of jubilant sound, delivered in the same manner; for the woodlark, too, soars, ‘and soaring, sings.’ He differs from the skylark in his manner of rising: that bird goes up and up, not quite vertically, but inclining now to this side, now to that, with intervals of suspension, but still as if drawn heavenwards by an invisible cord or magnet; the woodlark ascends in circles, and finally does not attain to so great a height. He also sings on his perch on a tree, and rises from the tree to sing aloft, and in this habit he is like the tree-pipit. Although the woodlark’s song resembles that of the larger bird in character, there is more sameness in the flow of sounds, and it is not so powerful; on the other hand, the sounds are sweeter in quality. Of the two, he is the more constant singer, and may be heard in mild weather throughout the autumn and winter months. His usual call is a melodious double note.

The woodlark is very local in its distribution; it is nowhere common, and its range in this country is a somewhat limited one. In the north of England it is very rare, and in Scotland it has only once been observed breeding. In Ireland it breeds in some localities. It inhabits wooded parks and the borders of woods and commons, and grass-lands in the vicinity of trees and hedgerows; for although it feeds, roosts, and nests on the ground, it must, like the tree-pipit, have trees to perch on; and, like that bird, it has a favourite perch, where it may be confidently looked for at any hour of the day during the spring and summer months.

The nest is placed in a slight hollow in the ground, under a bush, or sheltered by grass and herbage, and is formed of dry grass and moss, and lined with finer grass and hair. The eggs are four or five in number, buffish or faint greenish white in ground-colour, freckled and spotted with reddish brown, with purple-grey under-markings. Three, and even four, broods are said to be reared in the season.

In autumn and winter the woodlarks unite in families or small flocks, and at this season they have a partial or internal migration, the birds that breed in the northern counties moving south. In the southern and south-western counties they remain stationary, and it is observed that during a spell of mild weather in winter these small flocks break up, but re-form at the return of cold.

Besides the two indigenous larks, we have as rare stragglers the following four species: the crested lark (Alauda cristata), an inhabitant of Europe and Asia; the short-toed lark (Calendrella brachydactyla), from southern Europe; the white-winged lark (Melanocorypha sibirica), a Siberian species, obtained once in England; and the shore-lark (Otocorys alpestris), an irregular winter visitor from North Europe, Asia, and America.

Swift.
Cypselus apus.

Sooty brown; chin greyish white; tarsi feathered; bill, feet, and claws shining black. Length, seven and a half inches.

The swift arrives in this country about the end of April or early in May, and from that time onwards, throughout the spring and summer months, day after day, from morning until evening, he may be seen overhead, in twos, threes, and half-dozens, pursuing his mad, everlasting race through the air. Even as late as ten o’clock in the evening, or later, when his form can no longer be followed by the straining sight, his shrill, exulting cry may be heard at intervals, now far off, and now close at hand, showing that the daylight hours of these northern latitudes are not long enough to exhaust his wonderful energy. It has even been supposed by some naturalists that, when not incubating, he spends the entire night on the wing. This is hard to believe; but if we consider his rate of speed, and the number of hours he visibly spends on the wing, it would be within the mark to say that the swift, in a sense, ‘puts a girdle round the earth’ two or three times a month. Year after year the swifts return to the same localities to breed, and there are few towns, villages, hamlets, or even isolated mansions and farmhouses in the British Islands where this bird is not a summer guest. The bunch of swifts to be seen rushing round the tower of every village church are undoubtedly the same birds, or their descendants, that have occupied the place from time immemorial; and it is probable that the annual increase is just sufficient to make good the losses by death each year. It is hard to believe that a life so strenuous can last very long, and impossible to believe that birds so free of the air are subject to many fatal accidents. A spell of intense frost is very fatal to them in spring, but the cold is their only enemy in this country.

The black swift, or ‘develing,’ or ‘screecher,’ as he is sometimes named, with his exceedingly long, stiff, scythe-shaped wings, still ‘urging his wild career’ through the air, is a figure familiar to everyone. And his voice, too, is a familiar sound to every ear. It is usually described as a harsh scream. Wild and shrill and piercing it certainly is, but it varies greatly with the bird’s emotions, and is at times a beautiful silvery sound, which many would hear with delight if uttered by the song-thrush or nightingale.

The swift breeds in holes in church-towers and in houses, its favourite site being under the eaves of a thatched cottage; it also nests in crevices in the sides of chalk-pits and sea-cliffs, and sometimes in hollow trees. A slight nest of straw and feathers, made to adhere together with the bird’s saliva, is built, and two eggs are laid; they are oval in form, white in colour, and have rough shells. One brood only is reared in the season, and the birds depart at the end of August, but stragglers may be met with as late as October.

The white-bellied swift (Cypselus melba) is known in England as a rare straggler from Central and Southern Europe. A still rarer straggler from Eastern Siberia, where it breeds, is the needle-tailed swift (Acanthyllis caudacuta); of this species not more than two or three specimens have been obtained in this country.

Nightjar.
Caprimulgus europæus.

Ash-grey spotted and barred with black, brown, and chestnut; first three primaries with a large white patch on the inner web, the two outer tail-feathers on each side tipped with white. Length, ten and a quarter inches.