THE RAVEN. 267 
THE RAVEN. 
Sepe sinistra cava predixit ab ilice cornix. ~ Virg. 
It is now about three and twenty years since the 
last raven which frequented this neighbourhood 
either lost its life for supposed offences against the 
game-laws, or found it expedient to retire to some 
distant part, where it could live unmolested, and 
rear its brood in safety. Not far from hence, in 
the middle of a wood, there was a large oak tree, 
the bole of which, by its thickness and its towering 
height, had set every idling boy at defiance, time 
out of mind. Ona huge limb of this giant son of 
earth, a pair of ravens annually renewed their nest, 
and reared a brood of young. At last, in evil hour, 
a restless village cobbler got a scheme into his head 
to plunder the establishment; and he forthwith 
engaged the blacksmith to make him some iron 
spikes, which were to be affixed to his feet, in order 
to facilitate his ascent into the tree. With this 
provision, one Sunday morning, of all other days in 
the week, the ragged rascal bent his unhallowed 
steps towards the tree which contained the raven’s 
nest. By means of the spikes, he was enabled to 
overcome the difficulties hitherto deemed insur- 
mountable, by every passing vagabond, who had cast 
a longing eye upon the treasure which was lodged 
in the tree. He mounted aloft, and robbed the nest 
of its young. From that unlucky day, the ravens 
were never seen to alight again upon their once fa- 
vourite tree. But they still lingered in the neigh- 
