on a Tame Raven.



185



me, I think this may have been because everybody else in the house

was afraid of him. At one time my wife had a favourite Jay,

which was “not all there,” even the two sides of the cranium being

visibly of different sizes. Perhaps this external irregularity did not

materially affect the bird’s mind, for there was nothing inside the

brain-pan, excepting possibly a little turnip or mashed potato. This

Jay went by the name of Squawker, because he was always squawk¬

ing. He used persistently to hop into the Eaven’s house and help

himself to his food, even taking tit-bits out of the Eaven’s own

private larder ; and this he did, not like a cunning thief of a Jay,

but with the stupidity of the man who lights his pipe in a fiery

coal-pit. One day Mrs. Phillipps unfortunately happened to be in

the garden at a time when her pet went blundering in to partake of

the Eaven’s food. Grip growled, and my wife—awfully afraid

of him, but willing to risk her life for her Squawker, who was uncon¬

cernedly stuffing—injudiciously hit Grip with a stick, and rescued

her darling out of the jaws of the Eaven. The following day poor

Squawker, who knew how to do only three things—to squawk, to

stuff, to sleep—again flew into the Eaven’s house while the master

was at home. Grip gave a gentle nip, such a gentle one, for nipping

was not at all in his line :—but with what tears and lamentations

was I received on my return home ! Nevertheless Squawker still

squawked, still stuffed, but mostly slept—for the crown of his head

had been crushed in. I put the poor creature comfortably to bed

in a basket, and the next morning found him stiff and cold, with

his head under his wing; he had had his last squawk, and his last

stuff. I cannot call to mind any other occasion of having found an

adult bird dead with its head under its wing. Again, a carpenter,

who was doing some work in the aviary, thought proper to tease

Grip. Afterwards the carpenter, stepping backwards, came some¬

what near to where Grip was sitting. Only one peck, on the arm

this time ; but it woke up that carpenter. How he took off his

coat with haste, and bared his arm, and ruefully gazed on the

wound! That carpenter had forgotten Grip once; he has never

forgotten him since.


Grip had too much spare time on his beak; and the devil will

always find some work for idle beaks to do. Grip took to plucking



