164 By Leafy Ways. 



dove, will not touch the eyrie of the raven. Stories 

 are even now told, with bated breath, of the fate which 

 befell men, still remembered in the village, who had 

 dared to rob the nest or shoot the birds. 



The services of the rook are now generally recog- 

 nised. His hands are not altogether clean in the 

 matter of newly-sown grain or potatoes, but he is an 

 angel of light by the side of his cousin the crow, who, 

 according to the popular account, only takes to killing 

 grabs when eggs are scarce and it is not the season 

 for chickens. 



But the magpie is the Ishmaelite of the race. If 

 his hand is not against every man, every man's hand 

 is certainly against him. He knows it well. He 

 builds himself a mighty fortress in the top of some 

 tall fir tree, or in the heart of an ancient blackthorn, 

 and he bars the approaches with outworks of thorns 

 jmd sticks until the whole tree bristles like a hedgehog. 

 He is a bold and barefaced bandit, of whose ill-deeds 

 most raisers of poultry have to complain. 



The jay, however, is not far behind in evil reputa- 

 tion, both in the farmyard and the cover. He is 

 a handsome bird ; indeed, we have few to match him ; 

 and that is no doubt another reason why he is so 

 seldom spared. Now that the fashion seems to have 

 been firmly set against the wearing of wings and 

 feathers that long-lingering relic of barbaric adorn- 

 ment the poor jay may have more chance in the 

 struggle for existence. 



