242 Corvidce. 



99. MAGPIE (Pica caudata). 



Exceedingly handsome, with bright burnished plumage, and 

 of very graceful form, the Magpie must claim our admiration, 

 however we may find fault with its mischievous, cunning, greedy 

 character. To see it flit from tree to tree at a distance (and it 

 is too shy to suffer a near approach), one might imagine its 

 colours to be simply black and white, and even then we must 

 admire its elegant figure; but to come upon it suddenly, and 

 have a clear view of it in the golden sunshine, one can but 

 marvel at the reflections of green and purple and blue which 

 shine with metallic brilliancy on its dark plumage, wondrously 

 contrasted with the purest white; its long graduating tail too, 

 which it will sometimes spread like a fan, at other times move 

 up and down, is another ornament, and adds much to its grace- 

 fulness. It seems always on the alert for an enemy, and by its 

 loud continuous chattering, gives general warning when danger 

 is near. 



The Pie gained the name of J/a#pie from the French word 

 inagot, implying ' a caprice,' ' a whim,' a ' quaint little fellow or 

 figure, or fancy,' an appellation which the Pie appears to have 

 obtained from its drolleries.* At all events this bestowal of a 

 pet name on the Pie, as on the daw and others mentioned above, 

 is a proof of the warm feeling of regard which was once felt in 

 England towards the Magpie, though now it is generally detested 

 and ruthlessly destroyed. So it is refreshing to find in a letter 

 from the Rev. W. Butt that ' Minety is a most wonderful place 

 for Magpies. I should never have believed any country could 

 so abound in them. You might see in the winter six or eight 

 at a time, and the trees are full of their nests.' Though so 

 common in some few wooded districts, it is rarely to be met with 

 on our downs, and its poaching egg-stealing propensities make it 

 no favourite with the gamekeeper. I am happy, however, to say 

 that the plantations which surround my garden at Yatesbury, 

 being a quiet and safe asylum where no gun is fired, and where 

 Hindley's ' Tavern Anecdotes,' p. 235. 



