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FIELD NOTES (BEING A NATURALIST'S DIARY OF 

 OBSERVATION AND REFLECTION). 



By Edmund Selous. 



1899. 



(Concluded from p. 292.) 



December 13th. — This morning, standing by a small willow- 

 tree, my attention is attracted by a Hooded Crow, which, whiist 

 flying, keeps uttering a series of very harsh, hoarse cries — 

 " are-rr, are-rr, are-rr " — the intonation is much rougher and 

 more unpleasant than that of Rooks. He does not fly right on, 

 and so away, but keeps in approximately the same place, hover- 

 ing about, and still continuing his clamour. I fancy I hear an 

 answer to it from another Hooded Crow in the distance, and then, 

 all at once, a number of Rooks fly up and join him — two small 

 bands, I think, coming from opposite directions, and amalgamat- 

 ing, as they meet round him. I am not quite sure of this — they 

 are there so all at once — but, anyhow, there must be from twenty 

 to thirty Rooks who have come as at a recognized signal ; and, 

 having come, they all hover about in the air, over a space corre- 

 sponding with a fair-sized meadow, the Crow making one of them, 

 and still, at intervals, continuing to cry, the Rooks talking much 

 less. Then, in some few minutes, all are gone, dispersed, again, 

 over the country, nor do any go down where I can see them. 

 What— if anything — is the meaning of this rendezvous? All I 

 can imagine is that when the Rooks heard the repeated cries of 

 the Hooded Crow, they imagined he had found something eatable, 

 and therefore flew up to share in it. Seeing nothing, they hovered 

 about, for a time, over a considerable space, on the look-out, and 

 then gave it up and flew off. I can form no idea, however, of 

 what it was that had excited the Crow, for excited he certainly 

 seemed — it was a sudden burst of " are-ing." He did not go 

 down anywhere, so that it can have had nothing to do with a 



