NATURE NEAR LONDON 



pipe. They would rather lounge there in the bit- 

 terest northeast wind that ever blew than do a 

 single hour's honest work. Blackguard is written 

 in their faces. The poacher needs some courage, 

 at least ; he knows a penalty awaits detection. 

 These fellows have no idea of sport, no courage, 

 and no skill, for their tricks are simplicity itself, nor 

 have they the pretence of utility, for they do not 

 catch birds for the good of the farmers or the 

 market gardeners, but merely that they may booze 

 without working for the means. 



Pity it is that any one can be found to purchase 

 the product of their brutality. No one would do 

 so could they but realise the difference to the cap- 

 tive upon which they are lavishing their mistaken 

 love, between the cage, the alternately hot and 

 cold room (as the fire goes out at night), the close 

 atmosphere and fumes that lurk near the ceiling, 

 and the open air and freedom to which it was born. 



The rooks only came to the dust-heap in hard 

 weather, and ceased to visit it so soon as the ground 

 relaxed and the ploughs began to move. But a 

 couple of crows looked over the refuse once during 

 the day for months till men came to sift the cinders. 

 These crows are permanent residents. Their ren- 

 dezvous is a copse, only separated from the furze 

 by the highway. 



They are always somewhere near, now in the 

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