THE CARRION CROW. 291 



on the wing, you hear this bird announcing the approach of morn, 

 ivith his loud hollow croaking, from the oak to which he had resorted 

 the night before. He retires to rest later than the rook ; indeed, as 

 far as I have been able to observe his motions, I consider him the 

 first bird on wing in the morning, and the last at night, of all our non- 

 migrating diurnal British birds. 



When the genial voice of spring calls upon him to prepare for 

 the continuation of his species, the carrion crow, which, up to this 

 period, has been wary, shy, and cautious, now, all of a sudden, seems 

 to lose these qualities; and, regardless of personal danger, sometimes 

 makes his nest within a hundred yards of the habitation of man, upon 

 a tree, at once the most conspicuous and exposed. To us, who know 

 so little of the economy of birds, this seems a strange phenomenon ; 

 nor can any penetration of which we may be possessed enable us to 

 comprehend the true meaning of this change from timidity to bold- 

 ness, from distance to proximity, from wariness to heedlessness, in 

 so many different species of birds. One would suppose that they 

 would be more shy and distant at this interesting period; and, in 

 imitation of the cat, the rabbit, and the fox, conceal as much as 

 possible the place of their retirement. The rook will sometimes build 

 a poor and slovenly nest, but this is never the case with the carrion 

 crow : this bird invariably makes its nest firm and compact. A writer, 

 who signs himself A. B. C., in the Magazine of Natural History (vol. 

 v., p. 590) tells us that some of the nests have such deep beds of wool, 

 moss, and cows' hair, that the eggs seemed quite lost ; and might have 

 given the professor his erroneous idea of their being covered with those 

 substances to keep them warm." Oh, fie ! How is it possible that the 

 eggs should seem quite lost, when the lining on which they lie is so 

 perfectly smooth that they appear as though they were in a basin? 

 Not a single particle of the lining of the nest is ever seen betwixt 

 the eggs and the eye of him who has ascended the tree to take a 

 view of them. I challenge any naturalist to bring proof positive 

 which can invalidate this assertion. Verily, when the professor climbs 

 up to crows' nests this ensuing spring, he will agree with Ovid, that 

 Causa patrociniO) non bona, pejor erit. The carrion crow never covers 

 its eggs on leaving the nest ; they are generally from three to five, 

 and sometimes ever) six, in number wonderfully irregular in size and 



