118 MISCELLANEOUS NOTICES. 



to sit erect as it is generally figured. When it walks it is nearly erect, 

 with a waddling gait. — H. Reynolds, Thetford, Norfolk. 



The Cry of the Rook. — The cry of the Rooks at the different seasons 

 of the year, and on different occasions, can scarcely fail to be noticed even 

 by the most indifferent observer. In "The Naturalist" for November, 

 the Rev. P. 0. Morris inquires thus: — "Do not my country readers agree 

 with me that the cawing of the Rooks in September and October has quite 

 a different so and from the note of the same birds in the winter or spring 

 months? Whether it be the fineness of the air, at this the finest season 

 of the year, that causes the effect, or whether the voice of the bird is 

 itself different, certain it is, that to me at least, the effect is that I 

 have just spoken of, and the sound most musical." Mr. Aird, a true poet 

 of nature, in his rural poem of "Frank Sylvan," takes notice of their 

 harvest call thus: — 



"Has not the rook a harvest cry? A slight 

 Percussive breathing through her usual note, 

 Somewhat analogous to the Irish brogue? 

 A chuckle? that's too strong; we'll call it, then, 

 The halitus of a spirit crowding through 

 Her fuller voice, like thanks for God's good corn? 

 Is this a fancy or is this a fact? 



No doubt many are familiar with the cry of the Rooks during the breed- 

 ing season, a cry which ever awakens in us pleasant associations of boyish 

 days, when roaming amidst the fresh green woods of early spring, watching 

 with delight the battles between the industrious and pilfering rooks; and 

 again that curious croak or danger-signal given by the sentinel perched 

 on the top of some high tree, to warn his neighbours that are industrious, 

 feeding on the corn-fields below; then we have that clamorous cry which 

 indicates a change in the weather; when, to quote from Mr. Aird, — 



"High in the airy firmament, a troop 

 Of maddest revellers, see them wheeling round; 

 And oft with sidelong flight slant down the sky 

 They go; and oft with clanging wings, the one 

 Depending as if broke, swooping they fall 

 Near to the ground, then upwards shoot again: 

 They scream, they mix, they thwart, they eddy round 

 And round tumultuous, till all Heaven is filled 

 With a wild storm of birds! By this they show 

 Prescience of windy blasts." 



But the finest cry is that joined in by all the "blackening train!" far up 

 in the "pure ether," as they "thick urge their weary flight, and seek the 

 closing shelter of the grove." This may be called their evening hymn. 



