204 
NATURE NOTES. 
with which they mainly feed their young. There is no tree on 
which all the thrush tribe love so much to sing. And in autumn 
many birds are eager to feed on the acorns ; rooks pick them off 
the trees, doves and pigeons fill their crops full of them, and the 
pheasants come greedily out for them from every covert. 
In the early spring, it is interesting to see how the birds that 
spend all the winter with us — unless, like thrushes, thej' belong 
to those kinds that never use the same nest twice — look up their 
old nests, clear out the accumulations of winter, repair the di- 
lapidations, if the nest admits of repair or, if the storms have 
used the nest badly, forthwith set to work to build a new one. 
All this is clearly visible before the leaves come out, and much 
familiar colloquy accompanies the settlement of this spring- 
cleaning of the birds. At that time we may look up from the 
street and see forty or fifty rooks’ nests standing out upon the 
leafless elms on the top of the hill, and mark the eagerness of 
the parent birds in preparing a home for their young. Last 
winter (1893-4) storms had blown clean away most of the old 
nests ; and in building the new nests it might be marked that 
certain birds seemed to have a recognised right to certain con- 
venient sites. From mounds on the western edge of the park, 
two or three rookeries may be looked down upon, at such times, 
in a more minute way. 
In autumn, the rooks often gather in large flocks, and go 
through complicated evolutions above or among the trees. 
INIingled with them often are some jackdaws, distinguishable by 
smaller size, three times quicker beat of wing, and sharper jack 
or croak. The flock will caw and jack, and wheel and soar to 
a lofty height, and sweep together round and round, and dive 
headlong, all in turn, and seem to throw themselves against 
some favourite tree, now in apparent pairs, and now in an entire 
mass. The movements of the combined rooks and jackdaws, 
sometimes mixed with ambitious starlings, are full of interest. 
The starlings are always noteworthy in their habits. Distin- 
guishable from the blackbirds by their mode of walking — one 
foot before the other alternatel}", instead of hopping with both 
feet at once — they gather in flocks towards autumn, and may 
then be seen on the grass-plots, closely probing every spot for 
grubs with their spear-like beaks. As spring returns, they 
separate in pairs and look up their old nests, and then clear them 
out with much familiar colloquy and prattle, and singing by the 
male of his soft little song. For years, a pair has built in a 
favourite haunt by our own house, and as the male gets his 
heightened colour, the pair seem to be talking to each other as 
the}' look in and greet me when I am dressing ; while often when 
I come home, the brighter male sings to me from a ledge, in the 
last rays of the dying day. The starling has the art to learn the 
notes of other birds ; thus, when the ground is, perhaps, covered 
with snow, I am startled to catch, from tree or housetop, an 
imitation of the clear note of the swallow. 
