52 STRA Y FEA THERS FROM MANY BIRDS. 



small. One of these rookeries especially was a great 

 favourite of mine, and I have spent many pleasant 

 hours therein contemplating the ways and doings of my 

 feathered fnends. Every spring-time the small wood 

 where this colony is established becomes a scene of 

 great excitement. There are other rookeries I can call 

 to mind which have long since passed away entirely. 

 The big trees have been felled, houses and streets have 

 taken their place, and the noisy hum of machinery is 

 heard instead of homely caws. Let us pay a visit to 

 the rookery this bright March morning. The tall elms 

 and beeches, still bare and cheerless-looking, bend 

 before the breeze, the big limbs rocking to and fro, and 

 every now and then chafing against each other with a 

 creaking sound. How the wind shrieks and howls and 

 groans through the branches ; how the tall slim ash 

 poles sway before it and' bend like fishing-rods ! What 

 music the blast plays across the network of twigs high 

 overhead, like a hundred organs pealing at once. The 

 tree-tops aie a busy scene of excitement. Nest-build- 

 ing is going on everywhere. See yonder magnificent 

 beech tree whose scarred gray stem is covered with 

 rudely carved letters, figures, and devices. Sixty feet 

 above its gnarled mossy roots amongst the long slender 

 branches a score of Rooks have made their nests. In 

 the elm trees round it dozens of nests in all stages of 

 construction may be seen ; whilst almost every ash 



