236 A Tree Deserted. 



suddenly desert it. There are the old nests still ; but 

 no effort is made to repair them, and no new ones 

 are made. The winds and storms presentl}' loosen 

 the framework, about which no care is now taken, 

 and portions are blown down. Then by-and-by the 

 discovery is made that the tree is rapidly dying. 

 The leaves do not appear, or if the}^ do they wither 

 and turn yellow before midsummer : gradually the 

 branches decay and fall of their own weight or before 

 the wind. 



No doubt if an}'^ one had carefully examined the 

 tree he would have observed signs of decay long 

 before the rooks abandoned it ; but those who pass 

 the same trees day after day for years do not observe 

 minute changes, or, if they do, as nature is slow in 

 her movements, get so accustomed to the sight of 

 the fungi about the base, and the opening in the bark 

 where the decomposing touchwood shows, as to think 

 that it will always be so. At last the rooks desert it, 

 and then the truth is apparent. 



Their nests, being heavy, are not safe on branches 

 up which the strengthening sap no longer rises ; and 

 in addition to the nest there is the weight of the sit- 

 ting-bird, and often that of the other who perches 

 temporarily on the edge. As the branches die they 

 become stiif, and will not bend to the gale : this im- 

 mobility is also dangerous to the nest. So long as 

 the bough 3ields and swa3's gently — not much, but 

 still a little — the strong winds do no injury. When 

 the bough becomes rigid, the broad side or wall of 

 the nest offers an unyielding surface, which is accord- 

 ingly blown away. 



The nests which contain young are easily distiu- 



