TOO Observations on the Habits of the RooJx. 



Art. II. Observations on the Habits of the Roolc. 

 By Charles Waterton, Esq. 



Last year I partly promised [V. 241.] that, on some dis- 

 mal winter's evening, I would sit me down, and write the 

 history of the rook, llie period has now arrived. Nothing 

 can be more gloomy and tempestuous than the present aspect 

 of the heavens. The wind is roaring through the naked 

 branches of the sycamores, the rain beats fiercely on the 

 eastern windows, and the dashing of the waves against the 

 walls of the island warns us that one of November's dark and 

 stormy nights is close at hand ; such a night, probably, as 

 that in which Tam O'Shanter unfortunately peeped into Kirk 

 Allowa}^ Foreigners tell us that on these nights Englishmen 

 are prone to use the knife, or a piece of twisted hemp, to calm 

 their agitated spirits. For my own part, I must say that I 

 have an insuperable repugnance to such anodynes ; and, were 

 a host of blue devils, conjured up by November's fogs, just 

 now to assail me, I would prefer combating the phantoms 

 with the weapons of ornithology, rather than run any risk of 

 disturbing the economy of my jugular vein, by a process 

 productive of very unpleasant sensations, before it lulls one 

 to rest. 



According to my promise, I will now pen down a few re- 

 marks on the habits of the rook, which bird, in good old 

 sensible times, was styled frugilegus. It is now pronounced 

 to he prcjedatonus. Who knows but that our great ones in 

 ornithology may ultimately determine to call it up to the house 

 of hawks ? 



If this useful bird were not so closely allied to the carrion 

 crow in colour and in shape, we should see it sent up to the 

 tables of the rich, as often as we see the pigeon. But pre- 

 judice forbids the appearance of broiled rook in the lordly 

 mansion. If we wish to partake of it, we must repair to the 

 cottage of the lowly swain, or, here and there, to the hall of 

 the homely country squire, whose kitchen has never been 

 blessed by the presence of a first-rate cook, and whose yearn- 

 ings for a good and wholesome dish are not stifled by the 

 fear of what a too highly polished world will say. 



There is no wild bird in England so completely gregarious 

 as the rook; or so regular in its daily movements.' The ring- 

 doves will assemble in countless nmltitudes, the finches will 

 unite in vast assemblies, and waterfowl will flock in thousands 

 to the protected lake, during the dreary months of winter: 

 but, when the returning sun spreads joy and consolation over 

 the face of nature, their congregated numbers are dissolved, 



