strange birds 'destroy the game.' When this error is supported by the undoubted fact that some birds closely allied to those for whom we plead do destroy vast quantities of game, the escape of the innocent from such a tribunal is as impossible as it was for a suspected witch to avoid drowning when her innocence could only be ascertained (and even then doubtfully, because her familiar might have forsaken her) by her actually dying. The case of the kestrel or windhover hawk, one of the most beautiful of our natives, is exactly in point. The food of this bird is grasshoppers, mice, and such other small game, and nothing but absolute want will lead it to feed upon birds. It is a highly useful and perfectly harmless member of winged society, but it bears the sins of the sparrowhawk, that unpitying slaughterer of its weaker brethren. What devastation the sparrowhawk will work in a game preserve, in the breeding season especially, may be learned from the experience of our author, whose keeper found in one nest fifteen young pheasants, four young partridges, five chickens, a bullfinch, two meadow pipits, and two larks, all in a fresh state. The well-known story of a man who, in a time of scarcity, maintained his family for weeks by robbing the larder of a hawk, the nest of which he had discovered, is quite consistent with this abundance of spoil. Mr. Knox does not mention, what we believe would have been found to be the case, that in every instance the legs of the victims are broken by their practised capturers. Now we think it would not be reasonable to expect any ordinary gamekeeper with such facts before his eyes to spare birds which, whilst their habits are altogether different, are yet so like the offending species that it requires some knowledge of natural history to distinguish between their respective female birds. How slowly such long-established prejudices yield, we may learn even from the great propounder of the sole value in natural history of induction from well-proved facts. For

Lord Bacon himself spoke of the birds of paradise that they have in the Indies that have no feet, and therefore they never light upon any place but the wind carries them away."* That great philosopher also found the cause that birds are of swifter motion than beasts,' not in the strength of their muscles, the projecting processes of their bones, and the marvellous provisions for their specific lightness, but in 'the greater proportion of their spirits in comparison of the bulk of their bodies than in beasts.' And again, speaking slightingly of the true cause why birds alone can imitate the human voice, the strength, namely, and peculiar variety of the muscles of the throat, he accounts thus fancifully for the well-known fact:-'I conceive that the aptness of birds is not so much in the conformity of the organs of speech as in their attention; for speech must come by hearing and learning, and birds give more heed and mark sounds more than beasts, because naturally they are more delighted with them and practise them more, as appeareth in their singing. We see also that those that teach birds to sing do keep them waking to increase their attention. We see also that cock-birds amongst singing birds are ever better singers, which may be because they are more lively and listen more.' It is the more curious that Lord Bacou should have attributed this power in birds to the greatness of their attention, because he himself prescribes the use of mathematics to give this special faculty to bird-witted children.'

With such an example before us, is it reasonable to leave it to be determined by wholly uninstructed and often strongly prejudiced men what is and what is not mischievous amongst our native birds? We earnestly entreat those of our readers who have the power, to prevent our being thus robbed of one of the great ornaments of our woods and fields.

Speech concerning undertakers.

† Nat. Hist., Cent. VII.

Nat. Hist., Cent. III.

But, speaking on this subject, we must once more introduce our readers to Mr. Knox in his capacity of guardian of a certain pair of ravens, the clientship of which he had undertaken.

'During ten months out of the twelve you may now find a pair of ravens in Petworth Park; perchance if the sky be clear, you may perceive them soaring aloft at such a height as would almost ensure their escape from observation, were it not for their joyous and exulting barks, which, in spite of the distance, fall distinctly on the ear; or if the weather be wet and gloomy, you may see them perched on the summit of one of the huge hollow oaks in the flat of the park, the crooked and withered branch on which they sit projecting like the horn of some gigantic stag from the dense foliage; or perhaps you may find them concealed in their snug retreat among the evergreen boughs of a clump of Scotch firs near the Tower hill, their favourite haunt during the last five years, and where they now appear to be permanently established. But to return. Their expulsion from this neighbourhood, many years ago, was as follows:

'A pair of these birds had built their nest on a lofty tree in the park, and as a matter of course were discovered by one of the keepers. Suffering them to remain unmolested during the period of their nidification, he waited until, deceived by his Machiavelian policy, the ravens treated his appearance, even when armed, with comparative disregard. Ill did he repay their misplaced confidence! One day, when the period had nearly arrived at which an addition to the family was to be expected, and the eggs were in his opinion "got hard," a rifle-bullet, directed through the bottom of the nest, stretched the female bird lifeless within it; and shortly afterwards, her partner, who had been catering for her at a distance, was saluted on his return with a volley of shot, which laid him quivering at the root of the tree, and completed the success of the functionary, who in those days used to perform among the feathered tribe the triple duties of judge, jury, and executioner.

'Years passed away, and the raven continued unknown in this part of West Sussex, until one day, in March, 1843, when riding in the park, near a clump of tall old beech-trees, whose trunks had been denuded by time of all their lower branches, my attention was suddenly arrested by the never-to-be-mistaken croak of a raven, and the loud chattering of a flock of jackdaws.

'I soon perceived that these were the especial objects of his hatred and hostility; for after dashing into the midst of them, and executing several rapid movements in the air, he succeeded in effectually driving them to a considerable distance from his nest. During this manœuvre the superior size of the raven became more apparent than when viewed alone, and his

power of flight was advantageously exhibited by comparison with that of his smaller congener. The latter, indeed, seemed to bear about the same relation to him, in point of size, that starlings do to rooks when seen together.

'The raven's nest was placed in a fork on the very summit of one of the highest of these trees, while their hollow trunks were tenanted by a numerous colony of jackdaws. Some of the holes through which these entered were so near the ground that I had no difficulty in reaching them when on horseback, while others were situated at a much greater height. These conducted to the chambers in which the nests were placed, and which were generally far removed from the external aperture by which the birds entered their tower-like habitation. On thrusting my whip upwards into many of these passages, I found it impossible to touch the further extremity, while a few cavities of smaller dimensions were within reach of my hand, and contained nests constructed of short dry sticks, some of which were incomplete, while in others one or two eggs had been deposited. The next day I returned to the place on foot, provided with a spy-glass, for the purpose of observation. On my arrival I found that the ravens were absent, and that the jackdaws, availing themselves of this, had congregated in considerable numbers, and were as busily employed about their habitations as a swarm of bees; some carrying materials for the completion of their frail and yet unfinished nests, others conveying food to their mates, and all apparently making the most of their time during the absence of their tormentor. There being no cover or brushwood at hand, and the branches being yet leafless, I was unable to conceal myself effectually; but having sat down at the foot of the tree containing their nest, I awaited the return of the ravens.

'Nearly an hour elapsed before the arrival of the male bird, and I was first made aware of his approach by the consternation which it appeared to spread among the jackdaws. Like most animals under similar circumstances, when conscious of the approach of danger, they rapidly collected their forces on a single tree, keeping up all the time an incessant chattering, each bird shifting its position rapidly from bough to bough, while the raven, who held some food in his beak, satisfied himself on this occasion with two or three swoops into the terrified crowd, and having routed the mob, he approached the tree in which his nest was placed. Before arriving there, however, he evidently became aware of my presence, and dropping his prey, which proved to be a rat, he ascended into the air to a great height in circular gyrations, after the manner of a falcon, where he was soon joined by his consort, and the two birds continued to soar over my head while I remained there, uttering not only their usual hoarse croak, but also an extraordinary sound resembling the exclamation "Oh !” loudly and clearly ejaculated. At first I could hardly persuade myself

that it proceeded from the throat of either of the ravens, but my doubt was soon dispelled, for there was no human being within sight, and after carefully examining one of the birds for some time with my glass, I observed that each note was preceded by an opening of the beak, the distance of course preventing sight and sound from being exactly simultaneous.'

We must interrupt Mr. Knox to remark that, from his surprise at the raven's 'Oh!' he seems to be unacquainted with the extent and variety of Ralpho's vocabulary. It is said by one learned writer that the raven has a hundred different notes:' for this we do not vouch, but we can answer for it that he has a great many, and several most remarkably human. To proceed: our agreeable narrator

says

'In the following year the beech grove was deserted for the fir-clump. I shall never forget my delight on discovering their new retreat near the Tower hill during the spring of 1844. In their new quarters the ravens now reign unmolested, the nest itself being concealed from ordinary observation among the evergreen boughs near the summit of one of the tallest trees, so as to escape the notice of the wayfarers who traverse Upperton Common or pass along the high road which here skirts the ivy-covered park-wall. Nay, even within the precincts, where these birds and their establishments are now held sacred, those who occasionally visit the spot for the express purpose of "having a look at the ravens are generally disappointed, as they mount the steep hill and approach the clump, at seeing nothing of either of the birds, and at the apparent desertion of the place; but they are quickly undeceived. The short and angry barks of the male are just heard as he emerges from the dark boughs; then, if the young have been hatched, he is soon joined by the female, and both continue to soar round the heads of the strangers, gradually increasing their distance until they reach a considerable height, and occasionally varying their hoarse cry with the singular note to which I have already alluded. Their retreat is therefore, as I have said, secure from ordinary observation; but what nest can escape the scrutiny of an Argus-eyed school-boy, especially if his cranium should present a development of the true ornithological bump? Soon after the ravens had taken up their quarters here, a truant youth, wandering over the Common with his empty satchel on his shoulder, caught a glimpse of one of the old birds, marked him down into the clump, and having satisfied himself by an exceedingly rapid process of reasoning that its abode was there, and that the discovery and appropriation of its