RAPE OF THE SQUABS. 159 



that something untoward had occurred; but on 

 entering the clump the whole truth flashed upon 

 nie at once : splinters of short, brittle boughs, 

 on which the climber had attempted to rest his 

 feet as he ascended the tree, lay around, mingled 

 with portions of the lining, which was composed 

 of the hair of the fallow deer. Could the robber 

 have taken all the young birds? So to put an 

 end to suspense, I mounted to the nest, clutched 

 one of the branches immediately beneath it, 

 raised myself up, and eagerly peeped into the 

 interior. Empty ! Not a bird, not a feather 

 within it ! Nothing but deer-fur and fledge-dust ! 

 What was to be done? If even one squab had 

 been left, there would still have been room for 

 hope that the attempt to protect the raven in his 

 native haunts might possibly not have turned 

 out, as now, an apparent failure. Another week 

 elapsed, during which all inquiries — and they 

 were many and searching — after the lost ones 

 were unattended with success. I now visited 

 the clump every day, but my ears were no longer 

 gladdened by the welcome bark of the parent 

 birds. Ring-doves and starlings roosted in the 

 branches of the trees, and even the spiteful jack- 

 daw, who had hitherto kept at such a respectful 

 distance, now chattered among the boughs, as if 

 he could not resist the temptation of having a 



