Starling’s Roosting- Trees. 233 
Viewed from a spot three or four fields away, the 
copse in the evening seems to be overhung by a long 
dark cloud like a bar of mist, while the sky is 
clear and no dew has yet risen. The resemblance to 
a cloud is so perfect that anyone—not thinking of such 
things—may for the time be deceived, and wonder 
why a cloud should descend and rest over that 
particular spot. Suddenly, the two ends of the 
extended black bar contract, and the middle swoops 
down in the shape of an inverted cone, much resem- 
bling a waterspout, and in a few seconds the cloud 
pours itself into the trees. Another minute, and a 
black streak shoots upwards, spreads like smoke, parts 
in two, and wheels round back into the firs again. 
On approaching it this apparent cloud is found to 
consist of thousands of starlings, the noise of whose 
calling to each other is indescribable—the ‘country 
folk call it a ‘charm,’ meaning a noise made up of in- 
numerable lesser sounds, each interfering with the 
other. The vastness of these flocks is hardly credible 
until seen ; in winter the bare trees on which they 
alight become suddenly quite black. Once or twice 
in the summer starlings may be observed hawking to 
and fro high in the air, as if imitating the swallows in 
an awkward manner. Probably some favourite insect 
is then on the wing, and they resort to this unwonted 
method to capture it. 
Beyond the fir trees the copse runs up into a 
corner, where hawthorn bushes, briar, and bramble 
