WINTER SHIFTS. 



279 



To my great regret it rose to the surface and 

 floated pathetically down the beck — quite dead. 



I have on one or two occasions released mem- 

 bers of this species apparently entangled beyond 

 the power of escape in thick bushes, but I never 

 once saw the trailing roots under which the bird 

 dived stir in a way to suggest anything struggling 

 beneath them. 



It is difficult to conceive how our vast flocks 

 of rooks exist when the earth is as hard as rock 

 and no friendly ploughshare turns a clod from 

 Land's End to John o' Groat's. At such times 

 they feel the pangs of hunger most acutely, and 

 fly uneasily to and fro, racked by a continual 

 war between want and wariness. It is quite 





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