138 THE BIRDS OF ESSEX. 



long a number of years the same Raven's nest was tenanted. The birds appeared 

 to build the new nest on the top of the old one, until the bulk of the whole would 

 almost equal that of the body of a large cart." 



The Rev. J. C. Atkinson writes (36. 86) : 



"The chosen tree soon comes to be called the ' Raven-tree.' One such accu- 

 mulation of nests 1 knew, as a boy, in Essex, and after a stiff climb succeeded in 

 reaching it. I did it in jeopardy, however, for the Ravens were very bold, and 

 every moment I expected they would assail me, in spite of the short bludgeon I 

 had suspended to my wrist. The appearance below the nest of the farmer in whose 

 fields the Raven-tree grew, decided the question — perhaps he frightened the Ravens 

 as well as threatened me ; perhaps they knew he came as their protector — anyhow 

 I did not get my egg, although I had actually had it in my hand." 



Mr. Atkinson informs me that this " Raven-tree " stood in Great Wigborough 

 parish, about three-quarters of a mile N.E. from the church. Mr. J. H. Hills of 

 Prested Hall, Peering, informs me that a large elm there, known as " the Raven- 

 tree " was occupied up to about 1840. He occasionally saw Ravens about for some 

 twenty-five years later, but not building. Mr. Hope has occasionally heard its 

 croak in the summer months, and has seen fresh birds on the coast about the mid- 

 dle of September. Mr. Kerry says it is very rare round Harwich, though he has 

 seen two at Dovercourt. 



The following graphic account of the storming of a Raven's nest, near Earl's 

 Colne, was communicated to Mr. Seebohm by Mr. Edmund Capper (45. i. 536) : 



" It was a splendid day in March, warm for the time of year, as we wandered 

 through the preserves, crossed some fields, and entered the copse in which we 

 understood the Ravens had built their nest. It was just such a spot as one could 

 have fancied a Raven might have selected for its home — a large, well-preserved 

 copse, with densely thick undergrowth, together with little patches of open glade 

 in which were a few tall elms and other trees. On the afternoon of our visit, it 

 was intensely silent ; the sun was bright in the heavens and only the cooing of 

 the Ring Doves and the whirring of the Pheasants and other game, served to 

 give evidence of animal life in the wood. We silently entered, creeping along 

 the glen up to its centre ; but, so little did we see of the objects of our search, that 

 we began to fear that we had missed the right plantation ; when, all at once, 

 we came to a little clearing in the middle of the copse, and there, straight before 

 us, on the top of an immense elm, was the Raven's nest. The hen slipped off 

 the moment we emerged from the undergrowth, and we did not see heragain ; but 

 the cock instantly flew down towards us, with a menacing bark, to give us battle. 

 We were well acquainted with his complacent priik, pritk, as he used to sail 

 over the valley [of the Colne] in his daily rambles ; but this was an angry hoarse 

 growl. The nest had been frequently robbed, and he had grown bold from ex- 

 perience. 



" We were soon at the foot of the tree, and, throwing a line over the lowest 

 available bough, were soon in a position whence we could ascend further, aided by 

 our hands and feet. The nest was at an immense height. As we drew nearer to 

 it, the Raven became bolder, and we had to stop occasionally to menace him. At 

 times he must have been within a few yards of us, sailing from one tree to another, 

 and darting at us as he passed. At last we reached the nest — a large structure of 

 twigs of many years' accumulation, very compact and very difficult to reach round, 

 it was built almost at the top of the tree, in a fork at the end of a bough, and in 

 a position not very safe to hold on by. With care, cap between our teeth to keep 

 our friend off, we got one hand over the nest and could just balance ourself suffi- 

 ciently to look over its edge. There, to our delight, on the lining of sheep's 

 wool and fine fibre, rather deep down, lay three fresh eggs, just like the ones in 

 the second figure of Hewitson's third edition. By great care and by keeping the 

 bird at bay with our handkerchief, we succeeded in getting them safely down. We 

 slowly retired as we came, the cock bird tearing off the twigs and driving us before 

 him, with ruffled feathers, savage barks, and short menacing sallies ; and it was 

 not until we were at some little distance from his nesting-place that we really felt 



