THE CROW. 



137 



There is something proverbially adhesive, as Mr. Water- 

 ton says, in a bad name. Sticking-plaster is nothing to 

 this quality : the latter is soon rubbed off, but the former 

 may remain for years, and even for ages. So it has 

 been with the bird called by our ancestors the carrion 

 crow, to point out most probably the food it was sup- 

 posed to like. But had it a taste of this kind, where 

 can it be indulged ? In former times it doubtless might 

 be, but now-a-days it would look for a meal of flesh in 

 vain. Still it bears the same name, though it searches 

 for food in the pastures, meadows, and corn-fields, with 

 great assiduity. 



If something may be said against the crow, because he 

 will occasionally enter a garden to make a meal, or find a 

 dessert in that object of delight to the young, a cherry- 

 tree, or because the nuts in autumn are the fewer for 

 his visits, let us hear both sides of the case, and remem- 

 ber the destruction he deals out to millions of noxious 

 insects. 



There is, however, the grave charge to be brought of 

 greater thefts than those already noticed. " In 1815," 

 says Mr. Waterton, " I fully satisfied myself of his 

 inordinate partiality for young aquatic poultry. The 

 cook had in her custody a brood of ten ducklings, which 

 had been hatched about a fortnight. Unobserved by 



