THE RAVEN. §3 



get within shot of an old Raven. I have more than once been only a few 

 yards from one while it was sitting on its eggs, having attained this proximity 

 by creeping cautiously to the overhanging edge of a precipice; but the 

 moment the bird perceived me, it would fly off apparently in much confu- 

 sion. They are so cunning and wary, that they can seldom be caught in a 

 trap; and they will watch one intended for a fox, a wolf, or a bear, until one 

 of these animals comes up, and is taken, when they will go to it and eat the 

 alluring bait. 



While at Little Macatina Harbour, on the coast of Labrador, in July 1833, 

 I saw a Raven's nest placed under the shelvings of the rugged and fearful 

 rocks that form one side of that singular place. The young were nearly 

 fledged, and now and then called loudly to their parents, as if to inquire why 

 our vessel had come there. One of them in attempting to fly away fell into 

 the water. It was secured, when I trimmed one of its wings, and turned 

 it loose on the deck along with some other birds. The mother, however, 

 kept sailing high over the schooner, repeating some notes, which it seems 

 the young one understood, for it walked carefully to the end of the bowsprit, 

 opened its wings, and tried to fly, but being unable, fell into the water and 

 was drowned. In a few days the rest of the family left the place, and we 

 saw no more of them. Some of the sailors who had come to the harbour 

 eight years in succession, assured me that they had always observed the 

 Ravens breeding there. My whole party found it impossible to shoot one 

 of the old ones, who went to the nest and left it with so much caution, that 

 the task of watching them became irksome. One afternoon I concealed 

 myself under a pile of detached rocks for more than two hours. The young 

 frequently croaked as I was waiting there, but no parent came; so I left the 

 place, but the next moment the female was seen from the deck of the Ripley. 

 She alighted in the nest, fed her young, and was off again before I could 

 reach within shooting distance. It was at this place that I observed how 

 singularly well those birds could travel to and from their nest, at a time 

 when I could not, on account of the fog, see them on wing at a greater 

 distance than twenty or thirty yards. On the 29th of the same month, 

 young Ravens were seen in flocks with their parents; but they were already 

 very shy. 



I found a nest of this bird at a narrow part of the Lehigh in Pennsylvania, 

 in a deep fissure of the rocks, not more than twenty feet above the water, 

 the security afforded by which had probably been considered as equivalent 

 to that which might have been gained by a greater height of rock. The 

 nest, in fact, hung over the stream, so that it was impossible to reach it 

 either from above or from below. Many years ago, I saw another placed 

 immediately beneath the arch of the Rock Bridge in Virginia. It was 



