WATCHING ROOKS 287 



of them seem similarly influenced at or about the 

 same moment of time. In fact, they often act as 

 though an actual wind had swept them in this or 

 that direction — when this cannot have been the case, 

 I hasten to add. 



"February 10th. — A hard black frost, bitterly, bit- 

 ingly cold. At 5.30 A.M. I steal into the dark 

 plantation, and silently take my place at the foot of 

 one of the tall, sighing trees. Softly as I try to move, 

 I disturb some of the sleeping birds, who make heavy 

 plunges amongst the trees, or beat about, for a little, 

 through 'the palpable obscure' above them. But, 

 leaning against the trunk, I am now rock-still, and 

 soon they settle down again, though 'talking' — 

 some nervous inquiry — continues a little, breaking 

 out first here and then there, around where I sit. I 

 soon notice, however, that these outbursts have no 

 relation to my whereabouts, but take place over the 

 whole plantation, and I come to the conclusion that 

 they have nothing to do with the late disturbance, 

 which is now, evidently, forgotten. The night, in fact, 

 is passing, and the rooks are beginning to be rooks. 

 Such noises in the utter darkness, amidst the shroud- 

 black firs, sound ghostly, and may, perhaps, have 

 given rise to the idea of the night-raven. In the 

 winter, it must be remembered, it is night, practically, 

 for some time after the peasantry of any country are 

 up and about ; nor can I conceive of any sounds more 

 calculated to give rise to superstitious ideas than 

 some of those I hear about me. In the real night, 

 too, a belated peasant might easily get a note or 

 two from some awakening rook, and, both by virtue 

 of time and place, and the actual quality of the 



