* A Great Frequenter of the Church. 1 133 



Here, a few lapwings run up and down, or sail 

 across the sky with melancholy cries. 



There, is even a flock of gulls driven inland by 

 the rough weather, their white plumage contrasting 

 strongly with the dark dress of their companions. 



And, scattered over the broad field, a troop of jack- 

 daws forage busily among the furrows. 



One is at work so near that you can even see the 

 white iris of his eye and the grey patches in his coat. 

 But he has caught sight of you as you crouch behind 

 the wall. He rises with a warning cry. 



The timid doves vanish swiftly on their sounding 

 wings. 



The rooks rise all at once and drift slowly away 

 with loud and solemn caw. 



The jackdaws, hastily collecting in a troop, chatter 

 gaily as they fly, and, with rapid beat of their dark 

 wings, make for the ravine whose rugged steeps are 

 just visible over the shoulder of the hill. 



Jackdaws are fond of building in the rocks, whether 

 inland or by the sea, and one cannot help being 

 struck with the picturesqueness of the spots they fix 

 on for their dwellings. 



Their breezy haunts, high up in these grand old 

 cliffs, are overgrown with a very jungle of trees of 

 every shade, that wreathe their arms about the rifted 

 crags. From their homes in these cool recesses the 

 birds look out hundreds of feet sheer down to the 

 winding road below. 



