74 THE RING OF NATURE 



has somewhat the same remark to make, and the 

 marsh tit sings I cannot remember what, words 

 that doubtless sound like English nonsense, but 

 which convey a very good message of praise for 

 all that makes life worth living. The long-tailed 

 tit has a hymn of which no one can catch all the 

 notes any more than any artist can catch all the 

 tints and turns of his beauty as he flits racket- 

 tailed across the blue sky or sportfully chases his 

 tiny wife in and out among the yew branches. 

 They will be nesting in the blackthorn half a mile 

 from the nearest hen-roost, but they will line and 

 quilt their nest with thousands of the softest feathers 

 they can pick up when no one is by to see. The 

 actual number of feathers counted in one nest by 

 ' the accurate M'Gillivray ' was 2379. 



There is another kind of music in the raucous 

 ' kyarrh ' of the carrion crow, which one can hear 

 further than the songster can be seen as he balances 

 on a tall elm or swoops up and down in the presence 

 of his more retiring partner. His call is obviously 

 harsher than the ' caw ' of contentment that comes 

 from the innocent rookery where one bird of each 

 pair keeps a very watchful eye on the nest while 

 the other is foraging for sticks or lining material. 

 A third member of the crow tribe, the rosy plum- 

 aged, blue-winged jay, brings the ' caw ' down to a 

 ' squawk,' and a fourth, the magpie, debases it to 

 a chatter that rings wonderfully across the sloping 

 field whose hedges of hawthorn are greening so 

 brightly under the influence of early April. 



