THE ROOK. 171 
plastered with mud, lined with turf, straw, roots, and sometimes moss, dead 
leaves, and feathers. The eggs number from three to five and vary considerably 
both in form and colouring, exhibiting similar forms to those of the Carrion- 
Crow; they are, however, noticeably smaller. The ground-colour varies from 
pale blue to green, and is lighter or darker in different nests; the spotting is 
olive-brown, fine and sparse or coarser and thickly distributed over the entire 
surface and sometimes with a few larger deep brown blotches or streaks. 
Of the eggs figured on our plate, figs. 241 and 242 are from my own 
collection, and 243 and 244 from that of Mr. A. B. Farn. 
When the young first leave the nest they are awkward and weak on their 
legs, sitting huddled on a branch with their heads well down between their 
shoulders; as the wind sways the branch they tip forwards, and have to open 
their short wings to recover their balance; but, after daily short excursions 
from branch to branch, they gradually gather strength and confidence, until 
finally they are able to accompany their parents to the fields and get their 
first lesson in finding food for themselves. 
To those who have not noticed the methods by which the various species 
of Crows are taught by their parents, I cannot do better than recommend the 
admirable account given by Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller in her fascinating book 
entitled ‘‘ Little Brothers of the Air.”’* The accuracy of this lady’s observations 
will be at once recognized by all who have carefully studied the habits of birds. 
The authoress’ plea for the Crow, at the end of that chapter of her book, 
though true in a measure of our Rook, could not be used in defence of the 
Carrion or Hooded Crows; she says:—‘‘A Crow parent on a foraging ex- 
pedition is a most unwelcome visitor to the farmer with young chickens, or the 
bird-lover interested in the fate of nestlings. Yet when I saw the persecuted 
creature in the character of provider for four hungry and ever clamorous mouths, 
to whose wants she is as alive as we are to the wants of our babies, I took a 
new view of Crow depredations, and could not see why her children should not 
have a chicken or a bird for breakfast, as well as ours. Poor hunted Crow, 
against whom every man’s hand is raised! She feels, with reason, that every 
human being is a deadly enemy thirsting for her life, that every cylinder pointed 
upwards is loaded with death, that every string is a cruel snare to entangle and 
maim her—yet whose offspring, dear as ours to us, clamour for food. How 
should she know that it is wrong to eat chickens; or that robin babies were 
made to live and grow up, and Crow babies to die of starvation? The farmer 
ignores the millions of insects she destroys, and shoots her for the one chicken 
* Published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston and New York. 
