478 REPTILES AND BIRDS. 
pause, a man seems to knock at the gate; if it is opened, enter 
Jacob, who runs about the room, and finally mounts on the table. : 
Unfortunately, Jacob was a thief, and that was not his least fault—— 
spoons, knives, forks, even plates, disappeared, with meat, bread, 
salt, pieces of money, especially if new; he carried off everything, 
and hid all in some secret hole or corner. A washerwoman of the 
neighbourhood was accustomed to dry her linen near our window, 
fixing the clothes on the line with pins ; the bird would labour with 
a perseverance truly wonderful to detach these, the woman chasing 
him off with bitter maledictions about her fallen linen ; but he would 
only fly over into his own garden for safety, where he would indulge 
in a few malicious croakings. One day I discovered, under some 
old timber, Jacob’s hiding-place. It was full of needles, pins, and 
all manner of glittering objects.” 
Mr. Charles Dickens was partial to keeping ravens in his youth; 
and has related some of his experiences in the preface to “ Barnaby 
Rudge.” He had two great originals. ‘‘ The first was in the bloom 
of his youth when he was discovered in a humble retreat in London 
and given tome. He had from the first, as Sir Hugh Evans says of 
Anne Page, ‘good gifts,’ which he improved by study and attention 
in a most extraordinary manner. He slept in a stable—generally 
on horseback—and so terrified a Newfoundland dog by his preter- 
natural sagacity, that he has been known, by the mere superiority of 
his genius, to walk off unmolested with the dog’s dinner from before 
his face. He was increasing in intelligence and precocity when, in 
an evil hour, his stable was newly painted. He observed the work- 
men closely, saw that they were careful of their pigments, and 
immediately burned to possess some of them. On their going to 
dinner, he ate up all they left behind, consisting of a pound or two 
of white lead. Alas, this youthful indiscretion terminated in 
death ! 
“Whilst yet inconsolable for the loss, another friend of mine,” 
adds Mr. Charles Dickens, “discovered an older and more gifted 
raven at a village inn, which he prevailed upon the landlord to part 
with for a consideration. ‘The first act of this sage was to administer 
to the effects of his predecessor, by disinterring all the cheese and 
halfpence he had buried in the garden—a work of immense labour 
and research, to which he devoted all the energies of his mind. 
When he had achieved this task, he applied himself to the acquisi- 
tion of stable language, in which he soon became such an adept that 
he would perch outside any window and drive imaginary horses all 
day long, with great skill in language. Perhaps I never saw him at 
