THE FAERY YEAR 



gold on the chrysalid of the tortoiseshell butterfly is 

 only imitation gold, chiefly a matter of thin varnish ; 

 but to the actual, the inner life and emotions of the 

 creature we are strangers. 



Under the rookery after sundown, listening to 

 the birds, and watching the wing play, we feel there 

 is that in the scene which no general theory about 

 animal life accounts for. First, we notice the variety 

 of sounds uttered by the birds, some settled and 

 seeking a perch to their liking, or floating on high ; 

 others coming in from neighbouring fields, or 

 splitting off from the main body and flying to 

 clumps of trees apart from the rookery. There 

 seem to be scores of different words in the language 

 of the rook, if some of these differ merely in the 

 tone in which they are uttered. Out of this con- 

 cordia discors emerges distinctly the monosyllable 

 of the jackdaw, a bird which often finds sleeping 

 quarters with rooks. 



Then the figures which for half an hour a large 

 number of the birds, still on the wing, cut before 

 dropping down to roost, aerial hieroglyphics on 

 some evenings there is more than half an hour 

 between the moment when " the clanging rookery " 

 first arrives and the last subdued "cawk " of the last 

 rook to get to sleep. By the time the final figure is 

 cut it is more dark than dusk. One cannot think 

 that these figures are merely the irresolute move- 

 ments of birds, cautious, fearful of perching and 

 sleeping till they have satisfied themselves that no 

 enemy lurks under their roosting quarters. They 

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