100 CORNISH CHOUGHS. 



are as right and true as though ground together on a grinding- 

 stone. This rather militates against the theory that a bird with 

 a broken beak is unable to rectify matters ; but probably the 

 material of which beaks are composed, varies much with the 

 nature of the work required from them, and so one bird may be 

 able to wear down the overlapping part of a broken bill while 

 the opposite part is renewing itself by growth, though another 

 bird may not be able to do the same thing. 



Everyone has seen a chough, if only in a museum ; and 

 therefore knows the beautiful glossy black of the adult plumage, 

 the long wings crossed over the back and extending beyond the 

 the squared tail, the long slender red legs and the brilliant red 

 curved bill. It is perhaps needless to remark that the usual 

 museum attitude is eminently unlike that generally assumed 

 in real life. The beak and legs of the birds of the year are 

 tawny orange ; and do not assume the sealing wax red colour 

 until after their first moult. 



But only those who have kept them, know their marvellous 

 docility. You may train a falcon, whether eyass or haggard, 

 [i.e., young bird or wild-caught adult] to sit on your wrist, and 

 come down to the lure, with infinite labour; but to a chough 

 brought up from the nest, it comes quite natural to be at one 

 moment flying high in air — it may be, hotly pursued by a 

 party of rooks, and leading them a merry dance, since being 

 long winged birds, choughs hold the rooks, crows, and jackdaws 

 very cheap, inasmuch as these baser creatures can never come 

 near enough to injure them — and the next, to come in at the open 

 window, alight on the table, or jump on one's knee, and sit 

 there any length of time, absolutely still, while its head and 

 back are stroked with the hand, or a pen : combining the 

 complete confidence of a cat or a dog, with the wild freedom 

 of the swallow. No other bird with which I am acquainted, thus 

 unites the perfection of tameness with the limitless impetuosity of 

 unreclaimed nature. It is a pretty sight when walking a mile 

 or two away from home, to hear the clear ringing call, and see 

 two black specks in the sky, come down in long undulating 

 sweeps, with wings alternately closed and spread, and alight at 



