The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding2 owl3,
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me.
COWPER.
In a grove4 of tall oaks and beeches5, that crowns a terrace walk, just on the skirts of the garden, is an ancient rookery, which is one of the most important provinces in the squire6's rural domains7. The old gentleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not suffer one of them to be killed, in consequence of which they have increased amazingly; the tree tops are loaded with their nests; they have encroached upon the great avenue, and have even established, in times long past, a colony among the elms and pines of the churchyard, which, like other distant colonies, has already thrown off allegiance to the mother-country.
The rooks are looked upon by the squire as a very ancient and honourable8 line of gentry9, highly aristocratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached to church and state; as their building so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable groves10 of old castles and manor-houses, sufficiently11 manifests. The good opinion thus expressed by the squire put me upon observing more narrowly these very respectable birds; for I confess, to my shame, I had been apt to confound them with their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, they bear so great a family resemblance. Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and Portuguese12 are among nations, the least loving, in consequence of their neighbourhood and similarity. The rooks are old-established housekeepers13, high-minded gentlefolk that have had their hereditary14 abodes15 time out of mind; but as to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy race, roving about the country, without any settled home; "their hands are against everybody, and everybody's against them," and they are gibbeted in every corn-field. Master Simon assures me that a female rook that should so far forget herself as to consort16 with a crow, would inevitably17 be disinherited, and indeed would be totally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance.
The squire is very watchful18 over the interests and concerns of his sable19 neighbours. As to Master Simon, he even pretends to know many of them by sight, and to have given names to them; he points out several which he says are old heads of families, and compares them to worthy20 old citizens, beforehand in the world, that wear cocked hats and silver buckles21 in their shoes. Notwithstanding the protecting benevolence22 of the squire, and their being residents in his empire, they seem to acknowledge no allegiance, and to hold no intercourse23 or intimacy24. Their airy tenements25 are built almost out of the reach of gunshot; and, notwithstanding their vicinity to the Hall, they maintain a most reserved and distrustful shyness of mankind.
There is one season of the year, however, which brings all birds in a manner to a level, and tames the pride of the loftiest highflyer; which is the season of building their nests. This takes place early in the spring, when the forest trees first begin to show their buds; the long withy ends of the branches to turn green; when the wild strawberry, and other herbage of the sheltered woodlands, put forth26 their tender and tinted27 leaves, and the daisy and the primrose28 peep from under the hedges. At this time there is a general bustle29 among the feathered tribes; an incessant30 fluttering about, and a cheerful chirping31, indicative, like the germination32 of the vegetable world, of the reviving life and fecundity33 of the year.
It is then that the rooks forget their usual stateliness, and their shy and lofty habits. Instead of keeping up in the high regions of the air, swinging on the breezy tree tops, and looking down with sovereign contempt upon the humble34 crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throw off for a time the dignity of a gentleman, and to come down to the ground, and put on the painstaking35 and industrious36 character of a labourer. They now lose their natural shyness, become fearless and familiar, and may be seen flying about in all directions, with an air of great assiduity, in search of building materials. Every now and then your path will be crossed by one of these busy old gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as if troubled with the gout or with corns on his toes, casting about many a prying37 look, turning down first one eye, then the other, in earnest consideration upon every straw he meets with, until espying38 some mighty39 twig40, large enough to make a rafter for his air-castle, he will seize upon it with avidity, and hurry away with it to the tree top; fearing, apparently41, lest you should dispute with him the invaluable42 prize.
After the Straws
Like other castle-builders, these airy architects seem rather fanciful in the materials with which they build, and to like those most which come from a distance. Thus, though there are abundance of dry twigs43 on the surrounding trees, yet they never think of making use of them, but go foraging44 in distant lands, and come sailing home, one by one, from the ends of the earth, each bearing in his bill some precious piece of timber.
Nor must I avoid mentioning what, I grieve to say, rather derogates from the grave and honourable character of these ancient gentlefolk, that, during the architectural season, they are subject to great dissensions among themselves; that they make no scruple45 to defraud46 and plunder47 each other; and that sometimes the rookery is a scene of hideous48 brawl49 and commotion50, in consequence of some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners generally remains51 on the nest to guard it from depredation52; and I have seen severe contests when some sly neighbour has endeavoured to filch53 away a tempting54 rafter that has captivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit any suspicion hastily that should throw a stigma55 on the general character of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think that these larcenies56 are very much discountenanced by the higher classes, and even rigorously punished by those in authority; for I have now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet57 the luckless proprietor58. I have concluded this to be some signal punishment inflicted59 upon him by the officers of the police, for some pilfering60 misdemeanour; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into his house.
I have been amused with another of their movements during the building season. The
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