of winter was to be resisted. But their prudent labours were not yet over. Another expedient to lessen the intensity of the frost was now carried out. The hut just finished was about twenty feet long, seventy wide, and ten high; in this four small rooms, or sleeping berths, were formed, and beds of deer-skin placed in each enclosure. Their apartment had no window, as they feared the frost would overpower them if such openings were made, especially as a chimney opening and one door-way were necessarily left. A small hole was made in the roof of the outer shed, through which some light would reach the indwellers as long as the sun remained visible. All was now ready except fuel, and fire was essential. This was soon procured from the timbers of old boats left by the departed ships on the shore; but no serviceable boat was broken up, so rigidly did this devoted crew respect the rights of men they might never again behold. In order to economize fuel, and yet keep up a fire during the hours of sleep, a block of elm was buried each night in a heap of hot ashes, and thus covered up, and there being little draught, it would smoulder for more than twelve hours. By this plan the fire was kept burning without cessation for eight months. In September, when the winter was fast closing round them in storm and darkness, the dread of a failure in provisions seems to have alarmed them. They made a survey of all their stores, and finding the stock rather low resolved to keep to one meal a day, and on Wednesdays and Fridays to observe fasting, or at least to eat nothing except whale-flesh. In the early part of October the sea was frozen over, presenting to their view a boundless icy desert, over which no sounds broke except the wailing of the storm. This singular isolation from the world, and the dread of perishing amid the wintry desolation, affected at times their spirits; but the energy of their natures soon recovered from these melancholy forebodings. They often betook themselves to praying, as if to compensate by intercourse with the unseen world for their separation from the society of men; and imaginative minds will believe that over that ice-girt land the guardian spirits of a higher state kept watch. On the 14th of October the sun sank for the winter below the horizon, leaving them to the glimmer of the long twilight, and the illumination of the moon. In this state two things gave the deserted crew some concern. First, it was feared that all reckoning of time would be lost, as the moon often became invisible; and the long continued gloom brought to their minds the most melancholy feelings. But Pelham, the narrator of their adventures, contrived to keep time most accurately by the following method: first, he kept in his mind the number of the epact, then, by carefully observing the variations of the faint light still left, he registered the moon's age, and thus kept time so exactly, that, when the ships returned in the summer, Pelham was able to name the true day of the month. The skill and industry of the party soon devised the means of keeping a light. From some old lead three lamps were made, ropes untwisted supplied matter for wicks, and train oil was collected in different parts of the shed; but no amount of energy or prudence could devise a shield from the intense frost, which at the beginning of the new year raised blisters on their skin, and so affected the iron in the shed that if touched by the hand a wound was made, like that produced by hot iron. One great essential, fresh water, they procured from the frozen snow, by melting it with heated iron bars. The dread of death by famine became strong in January 1631; the stores, notwithstanding their abstinence, were so diminished that without some fresh supply all must die. No animal ever appeared on the wild frozen plains, nor, whilst the winter reigned in its stern severity, were they to be expected. Thus no prospect of a fresh supply appeared. These patient men had thus to contend not only against the polar cold, but also with the physical weakness resulting from their forced abstinence. Under હૈ these depressing feelings they marked with trembling delight the constant increase of a whitish light on the horizon, which appeared as the herald of the returning sun. One of the most joyful days in their winter's calendar was the 3d of February, on which they beheld the first rays of the sun illuminate the lofty peaks of some snow-covered mountains, the summits of which, as they flashed in the sparkling light, seemed like gigantic beacons raised upon the waste. This sunshine on the snow was to them a more delightful sight than the most gorgeous scenery which ever greeted the eye. While gazing on these beams, so gladdening to their hearts, a bear and her cub were seen on the ice. Instantly the harpoons were seized, and all rushed upon the fierce animals. The bear enraged dashed forward to meet them, but was killed in a few minutes. With haste they dragged their prey into the shed, for the frost was fast benumbing their limbs. The bear furnished a dinner at once, and a supply of food for twenty days. It may appear strange, that, amidst so many privations, the men should have escaped that pest of the old seamen, the fatal scurvy. But it may probably be traced to the fact that they had no salt with them. Had this been in their possession, it is likely they would have used it to prepare their food, and thus living pent up in their close tent, the animal fluids would have become vitiated and the sea-plague have destroyed them.' As it was, the frost alone was sufficient to preserve their food from decay; and thus, though the supply was scanty, it consisted of fresh meat. After the return of the sun, the crisis in the affairs of the men had passed, for though still exposed to bitter cold, the bears began to appear, and by killing these a plentiful supply of food was obtained. Foxes also, and wild fowl were caught in sufficient number to give an [agreeable variety to the diet. The men now began to ascend the hills, and watch the breaking up of the ice at sea, hoping, ere long, to see some whale ship, and once more join in companionship with their fellow-men. The 25th of May saw the close of their anxieties; the day had been stormy, which kept them within the hut, and, whilst preparing to go to prayers, a cry was heard outside, like the hail of sailors. All rushed out, and before them stood part of a boat's crew, belonging to a ship from England. To describe the joy is impossible; those only who have had like deliverance can imagine it. The men who had just arrived went into the winter house, and beheld with amazement the place which had shielded their countrymen from the perils of the winter. The rescued crew, as they gazed upon the walls, blackened with the smoke of their perpetual fire, felt that God alone had prevented that weather-beaten hut from becoming their tomb. There was, however, a black spot amidst the gladness of the day. The Captain who had abandoned these men in the preceding year had also returned, and he, to screen himself from blame, began to revile them, as a set of deserters who had escaped from the ship, and stolen his boat. But this brutal man met with no credit; the men were kindly treated in the other ships, and after reaching England, were liberally rewarded by the Russian company. The whole of this narrative shows what fearful danger human nature is able to combat, when man is true to those principles of reason and religious laws, by the observance of which he alone can become great, or accomplish great results. It may not be uninteresting to state that the narrative of these adventurers was drawn up by one of the crew named Edward Pelham, who filled the office of gunner's mate, and was evidently an intelligent and religious man, by whose directions many of the precautions narrated were adopted. (1) Seven Dutch sailors were persuaded to remain during the winter of 1634, and were left well provided with food, medicine. and clothing; but on the return of their friends in spring, all were found dead. This mortality has been ascribed to the use of salt in preparing their food. NATURAL HISTORY OF BIRDS.-No. IV. THE CORVIDE, OR CROW FAMILY. BIRDS of the crow kind are amongst the most common in Britain, but there are thousands in our cities, and hundreds in the country, unacquainted with the habits of this widely extended family. See a party in holiday time, gazing with wonder at some strange animal in a Zoological exhibition; how eagerly each listens to the exhibitor's tale of marvels, and what a laudable curiosity is manifested, from the old grandfather, who wonders if "it's all true," down to that little boy in plaid frock and muslin trowsers, who believes all, and would believe ten times more. Yet this same wonder-stricken party would evince little interest in the progress of a rook over the great metropolis; that would be a common event, and the uneducated suspect little of the mass of interesting facts linked to the most familiar of natural appearances. It thus becomes necessary to call attention to the commonest matters, the flight of a sparrow, or the habits of a crow, that the wonderful may be detected in the common, and valuable knowledge extracted from familiar things. The last paper concluded the history of Birds of Prey, an order not very familiar to English eyes; the present article contains the account of a family with the appear ance of which we are more acquainted, though perhaps few have attended to its habits, uses, and peculiarities. It is very common to hear people in the country talk of crows. How often is the farmer in a towering passion on account of these said crows, which he perceives from his bed-room window, enjoying their early breakfast off his freshly sown corn, as he supposes. How often do we hear from a neighbouring field the loud prolonged shout of some boy, placed there to frighten off the crows! Tom has for a moment relaxed his watchfulness, has ventured upon a chat with the post-boy in the lane, when down come the determined birds, and Tom's lungs are made to pay the penalty of some desperate bucolic shoutings before the black gentry are fairly driven off. Thus far the crow is known, but little beyond this. Ask a group of farmers, men who have passed their whole time in the country, what birds are included in the crow family? the probability is that few will be able to give an answer. Nor must we blame them for this; they are deep in the mysteries of manure, soils, stock, and grain; and their attention is not often called to the science of Natural History. We here speak of the majority; some make these subjects a part of their daily studies. Amongst the common people the rook and the crow are every day confounded, though the two are quite distinct. What birds then are included in the crow family? Eight species are comprehended under the general term Corvida-the Raven, Carrion Crow, Hooded Crow, Redlegged Crow, the Rook, Jackdaw, Magpie, and Jay; all of which are British birds, and the rarest frequently seen. This large family is sometimes divided into three sections; the first containing the proper crows, the second includes the Magpies, and the third the Jays; a division which we shall not pay much attention to, deeming it sufficient to note the existence of such a classification. The crows are regarded as the most perfect of birds, comprehending in themselves the distinguishing cha racteristics of all the feathered tribes, being powerful on the wing, adapted also for walking, inhabitants of all climates, and capable of subsisting on all kinds of food. It seems, in fact, as if the crow had received some peculiar property from each order of birds, by which it stands in the centre of the feathered kingdom, reflecting the characteristics of the whole. The crow resembles in part the Falconidae when it attacks and kills birds for food; the Vulturidae when it feeds on carrion; the GroundFeeder when it descends in flocks on the ploughed lands; the aquatic birds when it catches and preys on fish; and thus we might proceed, tracing resemblances between the crow family and all the feathered orders. The Corvida are therefore to be ranked high in the bird system, though the farmer with his guns and traps has little respect for the race. But we must now proceed to treat of the different members of this family, and first in order comes the Raven, (Corvus Corax.) for some little thought, and the Raven must be admitted In the last paper the Owl's bad name was a subject beyond doubt into the class of birds having "a bad name." One hardly knows which bird is in worse esteem, Raven or Owl; though probably the former has gathered round him most of vulgar hate. Superstition has got up all the charges against the raven, and truly her croak is worse than his. Sometimes the raven has been charged with predicting death to men, who naturally hate such a prophet. "Ill-omened bird! as legends say, Thou hast the wondrous power to know, The dramatist has embodied such sentiments in some of his finest conceptions, and Shakspeare introduces the bird, to give deeper terror to gloomy themes: "It comes o'er My memory as doth the raven o'er The rustic dame, in less poetic phraseology, vents her bitter hate towards the poor raven. See the bird perched on the branch of some ancient tree near the stile over which lies the dame's path to market. The black-coated bird is happy, but not being much acwith a croak; at once her fears awake; that croak quainted with human society, greets the lady's arrival she deems an omen of evil, whereas it was but the raven's "good day to ye;" and, venting her feelings, we hear her croak in reply," That raven on the left-hand oak, his ill-boding croak bodes me no good." The fortune-tellers and wizards of old used this superstition to promote their own ends, and pretended to a special knowledge of the raven's motions and language, asserting that by his aid a deep insight into futurity could be acquired. The inflections of a Catalani or a Malibran were not more studied by musical amateurs than the tones of the raven by the soothsayers, who are said to have noted seventy-five inflections of his voice. This is a high compliment doubtless to the bird, and speaks much for his ability, though the writer cannot say that he has noticed even half-a-dozen such vocal varieties in the raven. This bird has been highly honoured in some of the ancient British traditions, which record the transmigration of the mighty prince Arthur into the body of a raven, in which form he shall dwell till the approach of the hour for the restoration of his kingly line. Many of the superstitious notions concerning the raven may have their foundation in the fact that the bird's acute scent enables him to detect the presence of dead bodies, where human senses would fail to impart any information. Murderers have thus been discovered, and ignorance has ascribed to the raven supernatural powers. The following account of one of these events is generally put forth as entitled to credit, and it does not contradict any natural law: A gentleman was murdered in his bed at an inn; the body was taken to a river near the house, and, to prevent it from rising, the murderer passed a stake through it, making one end fast in the mud. When this was done a very small part of the stake still appeared above the water. In a few days afterwards some ravens perched near the spot, over which they were constantly flying and croaking. Their numbers increased, and the peasants, alarmned at such an unusual appearance, attempted to drive them away, but the birds persisted in keeping close to a particular part of the river, as if searching for something therein. This induced the people to examine the water, but nothing was seen save the end of the stake. This was drawn up, when to the surprise of the spectators a body rose to the surface. Suspicion became excited; the marks of cart wheels were traced from the river to the inn. The owner was apprehended, and, learning the above particulars, was terror-stricken, and confessed his crime. The ravens were probably at first attracted by the effluvia from the decaying body, and one or two would of course soon attract numbers. Marvellous tales were, however, long afterwards told in the district of the birds' superhuman intelligence. Some few occurrences of this nature would establish for the bird a peculiar name; the next step would be to invest him with a power of foretelling deaths; an opinion which poets would naturally use in their verses. Thus Macbeth, having determined on the murder of the king, is supposed to hear the raven's croak accompany the entrance of the victim; "The raven himself is hoarse, That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements." The aspect of the raven to those who can get a close view is not at all unpleasing. The plumage has even a beautiful appearance when the sun's rays fall on that rich bluish-black which distinguishes the bird. His manner is bold, though mingled with caution, and every movement shows a bird of which it is justly said that "his armour is solid, his spirit unconquerable, and his strength surprising." The best mode of getting near a raven is to lie down on the ground when one is in sight; this will induce the bird to approach in his peculiarly cautious style, that is, by a succession of oblique movements, drawing nearer each hop. The observer may thus obtain a fair view, but let him not allow the raven to approach too near his face, or he may in an instant lose an eye; for it is a custom of this bird to make a sudden dart at the eyes of animais with his long powerful beak, and as, when full-grown, it weighs three pounds, the momentum of the blow produces a deep wound. The raven inhabits high and desolate cliffs, disliking the confinement and closeness of forests, and taught by ages of persecution to keep at a distance from human habitations." They are sometimes, however, found in woods, though the adage "every rock has its raven" indicates their favourite haunts. When a tree is once fixed on, it is rarely abandoned by the birds of their own accord: age after age passes on, but still a raven's nest is there; at length the tree receives the name of "raven's tree." The too near approach of man or the woodman's axe may cause the bird to abandon the home of its ancestors, and in this manner, indeed, many a raven-tree has become tenantless; for the raven being a hardy and enterprising bird, will not submit to inconveniences or insult in his ancient home, but hies him away to another district. His geographical range is, indeed, most ample, and well does he bear the vicissitudes of climate, from the frosts of the arctic circle to the glowing heats of the equator; no bird except the snipe inhabits so large a portion of the earth. There can be no doubt that birds often differ much in quickness, but amongst the most clever we must place the raven. He may be trained to a variety of purposes--to hawk after birds like the falcon, to speak like the parrot, and even to sing popular songs. When tamed he soon makes himself respected and liked by all in the house, cultivating, especially, a friendship with the cook. The cats and dogs fear him, for by repeated assaults he soon compels these rivals to avoid the unpleasant proximity of his beak. Then for exquisite curiosity he is unequalled. No corner is left unexplored; not the highest room is safe from his visits; boxes are peeped into, drawers ransacked, and workbags emptied. The raven may be called a good-tempered bird, having much of comic feeling in his nature; he is nevertheless quick in resenting insult. A tame one had long been on familiar terms with some ducks in his owner's grounds, but one unlucky or restive duck offended the raven's dignity, by seizing a coveted morsel of food, upon which he of the black-coat, looking for a moment as if confounded by the unexpected insolence of the duck, darted upon the offender and strangled him in a few minutes. Sometimes the raven's quickness of temper costs him his life when exercised upon those stronger than himself. Such a fate befel a pet bird in the establishment of a gentleman devoted to ornithological pursuits. The coachman chanced to offend the pugnacious bird, which instantly inflicted a severe bite on one of his fingers. This was more than the angry man could bear, so catching the raven he broke its neck on the spot. The habits of the raven cannot be often observed in his wild state, as the bird is so rare in populous and cultivated districts. In the south of England it may be often found in the open and hilly parts, where it is in fact more numerous than the careless observer, or hasty traveller, would imagine. We must remember that the raven does not thrust himself upon man's notice, rather, indeed, avoiding the observation of his persecutor; yet these birds are sometimes near us when we little suspect their presence. The traveller who is journeying across an open and thinly peopled district towards evening, sometimes comes all at once upon the bird, and frequently observes the raven following, and, as it were, dogging his steps. This often happens in the northern counties, especially in the wilder parts of Yorkshire; in the south the bird is becoming more rare and wary every year. The tall cliffs along the coasts, and especially the rocky line of Flamborough Head, are favourite raven haunts. There the superstitious fisherman oft hears the melancholy croak from some dark overhanging cliff, or listens timidly to the sound as the dark bird flies over his boat. One cause of the decrease of the raven amongst us is the hostility of gamekeepers, who deem the slaughter of one a most meritorious act, entitling them to rise in the good graces of the squire. The keeper is always have reached the age of one hundred years, a range of ready to ascribe a scarcity of game to any cause except | his natural freedom. It is, however, thought that many his own ignorance or errors, and consequently the raven comes in for a due share of charges. He destroys eggs, forsooth, as if he always knew the exact locality of every partridge's and pheasant's nest on the estate; he is also represented as a constant destroyer of young game, as if he were a hawk or an eagle. The raven does at some periods destroy a few birds, but he is not strictly a bird of prey, and has choice of many a good dinner from reptiles of various kinds, insects, seeds, fruits and decaying animal matter. For the last he has a strong liking, and is therefore protected in Egypt like the vulture, in consideration of his services as a cleanser and purifier. The raven has therefore no such desperate liking for game, as the ignorant keepers may suppose; whilst it is capable of destroying vermin which may do much mischief. They are determined foes to rats, which, indeed, some have been trained to hunt. It is recorded that the Bermudas became at one period miserably infested with rats, which were at length reduced without any apparent cause, except that a great number of ravens had appeared in the rat district, and soon after the pest ceased. The inference was that the ravens had destroyed the rats. Certainly a colony of such animals would not flourish long if exposed to the attacks of such voracious and determined birds. The reader will conclude from some of the previous remarks that the raven is as courageous as powerful. He will offer battle to the fiercest bird in defence of his young, and his bravery is often shown in desperate conflicts with rooks, between which birds and ravens endless war is waged. This arises from a liking manifested by the raven for the flesh of young rooks; a taste which the parent birds are not willing to see gratified. He will also attack the puffin, which so few birds will assail, and sometimes succeeds in killing his foe; his prize consisting of the eggs or young. In these fights the great object of the raven is to seize upon the puffin's neck with his powerful bill, in which case he generally gains the battle. Ravens do not flock together, for, though not unsocial when tamed, they dislike much society in their natural state. But under certain circumstances, this habit is somewhat modified, as they have been seen in flocks near some of the great rivers; but this is a clear exception to their usual habits. This bird is of course best studied in the neighbourhood of its nest, where its movements and habits can be constantly noted. Their attachment to their first nesting place secures for the naturalist in its vicinity ample time for observation, as year after year he perceives the same pair busied in their various works. The raven is amongst the basket-making birds; that is, the nest is formed on something like the plan of a basket, being made from sticks fastened together, not however by interweaving, but by plastering with mud. The basket-maker may smile at the pretensions of the raven to rival him in his trade, and certainly the Corvidae have not highly advanced the basket-maker's art. Nevertheless the nest is comfortable enough, for both young and old birds, being tolerably lined with wool and dry vegetable matter. If we look into such a nest before hatching, we shall find, in all probability, four or five dark greenish eggs, covered with numerous dark, irregularly shaped marks. The young of all this family are hatched blind, and present at first a most unattractive sight; when they leave their nest, they are not clothed in the glossy black which adorns the elder birds, a dull brown being then the colour of their coat. The term raven is supposed to come from an old word signifying to tear away, or snatch, and is applied to designate a voracious bird, or one addicted to steal and plunder. The peasants in some parts call it Corby, a name not very remote from the Latin epithet Corvus. These birds are believed to live to a great age, but the usual period is not easily ascertained, as an inference from the age to which the tame bird arrives is no criterion by which to calculate the longevity of the raven in This bird shares with the raven the hatred of mankind, who either resent certain supposed injuries committed by the crow, or dislike the bird from his carrionfeeding habit, a disposition which he has received from the Author of Nature. This hatred has actually gone so far as to provoke the whole legislature of England to take the field against the carrion crow. Such a solemn spectacle was exhibited in the 24th year of Henry VIII., when an act was passed to promote the destruction of the crow. How the unhappy bird managed to survive the storm is a mystery, but weather it he did, as there are now more crows in Britain than in any other European country: a singular triumph of the persecuted over the persecutor. Much of this hostility arises from the notion that the crow eats up the farmer's seed and damages his grass lands. No doubt the crow has a judicious liking for a bit of choice grain when other food fails, but as to his injuring meadows, it is a mistake. What is sometimes seen in these said meadows? Great quantities of grass pulled up and scattered about. "Ah! those thievish, plundering crows," cries the farmer; and away he posts for his best double-barrelled gun, looking daggers at the bold crows as they fly about with incessant caw, caw, caw. Now the fact is, that the crows did pull up the grass-that must be admitted--but every such blade had been previously injured by a grub eating up the roots. The crow knows from experience the localities of these grubs, and detects their presence by pulling at those blades of grass which have a sickly colour; if these are loose, he knows there is a grub at the root, and down goes the beak in search; if the blades are firm, the bird does not pull up such, but proceeds to others. In all this there is positive good to the farmer; the blades which the crows pull up would have died from the operation of the grub:-so far the crow does no harm;--but that same grub would go on to destroy more grass,--this the crow prevents by destroying the lurking pest. For this service he is reviled and shot at! The gamekeeper has also his charge, and here the carrion crow is, we fear, in a bad case. He certainly does linger about preserves, with a most suspicious poacher-like air, in search of young birds and eggs. The latter he carries off in so ingenious a manner that it proves him an adept at the trade. Inserting the tip of his bill into the shell, away he goes, poising the egg as he flies, in a manner most satisfactory to himself and his young. He does also sometimes make sad havoc with unprotected poultry. Waterton resolved to test this propensity, and placed ten ducklings in a pond near to a carrion crow's nest. One by one did the voracious bird swoop them off, till nine had been borne away, when the naturalist, thinking the experiment conclusive, interposed to save the last. No marvel then that the dames of the farmyard give this bird an ugly name. Sometimes quad rupeds are attacked, especially young rabbits. On one occasion, "A person walking near a plantation heard a shrill cry, and on running to see whence it arose, discovered a crow fastening itself on a young rabbit, weighing nearly three quarters of a pound, which was making great efforts to release itself, but in vain; for the crow succeeded in bearing it over two or three fields." On the sea-shore the crow varies his diet by feeding on the fish cast upon the beach by the waves, and also upon muscles and crabs, which it is said he tries to break by dropping them from great heights. These birds are surprisingly fond of ripe cherries, on which they will feed most voraciously, risking all the dangers of the gun to secure such food. As for carrion, this is not often met with by the crow in these times, when the lambs are so carefully tended in the fold, and few parts of a dead animal are left to decay in the open fields. In ruder times, the bird was doubtless fitly named, and then fed much on carrion. This bird is called a voracious feeder, which is true: but then he works hard for his daily fare, being the earliest of our birds on the wing in the morning, and the last at night, excepting the owl. The rook is not a bad riser, but the crow is at work before him. Often is his hollow croak heard when the first faint dawn is on the East, and that sound reaches the cotter when all besides is hushed in the quiet hour of eve. The following lines from a recent publication allude to these late evening journeyings of the crow : "Say, weary bird, whose level flight, Adding another to the hours of care? Bleak,- -on some cliti's neglected tree: Fit hour of rest for thee!" The crows are shy during winter, but become bold at the approach of spring, often venturing within a few yards of human habitations. This change is caused by the desire of procuring food for the young, which are voracious enough to tax the unremitting industry of the parents. The nests are generally built on the old branches of the oak or fir, which trees are preferred by the bird for nesting purposes. The crow has little home-love in it, as the nest once used is never visited again; a remarkable contrast to the local habits of the raven and rook. Though the carrion crows usually keep in pairs through the year, they have a tendency to become gregarious in autumn and winter, when forty or fifty are sometimes seen in a flock. England, France, Spain, Italy, and Germany, and along the south of Europe to the Black Sea. It has also a home in the western hemisphere, if the American carrion crow is included in our calculation; but this bird is not of the same species with our member of the Corvida family. III. THE HOODED CROW, (Corvus Cornix.) This species is not a constant resident with us, but arrives in the autumn and departs in spring: we might thus call it the winter crow. These birds are supposed to come from Norway or Sweden to the south of England, but abound in the northern and western isles of Scotland throughout the year, and were formerly so numerous in those parts that regulations were established and money paid for their destruction. Four or five hundred may sometimes be seen together on these islands, and many are also found in the Scotch Lowlands. The term hooded is applied to this crow from the grey plumage which covers the upper part of the body like a mantle or hood, from which it is called hoody in the Orkneys, and in some parts the grey-backed crow, or dun crow. The old name was Royston crow, as it was supposed to be peculiar to the district round that place. Some have erroneously ascribed the grey coating of the bird to age, and supposed it to be an old carrion crow; this guess has now departed, with a host of kindred fancies which formerly flitted to and fro over the field of natural history. The ignorant amongst the peasantry may still persist in giving the coat of grey to the ancient carrion crow. But though a distinct species, the hooded crow much resembles. the carrion in its habits, feeding upon eggs and young poultry, to which it not unfrequently adds fish, especially muscles and limpets. These last sometimes destroy the crow instead of being themselves destroyed, as when the bird seizes the fish the latter drags the crow under water; a result not in the least surprising when the great tugging force of some limpets is remembered; which often amounts to more than a weight of twenty pounds. Some naturalists have observed a peculiar note uttered by the hooded crow in the quiet of the early morning, a plaintive sound in an ascending minor third, which may be called the bird's morning song. This bird is not considered a true crow, but a link IV. THE RED-LEGGED CROW, (Corvus Graculus).--between such and the starling family; it is, however, classed with the corvidæ, which it resembles in most of its habits. It is often called the Cornish chough, from is not the case, as the bird is found on many parts of a supposition that it was peculiar to that country; this the Irish coast, in the Scottish western islands, and in the hilly parts of France, Switzerland, and Spain. It does not in general depart from the sea-shore, though a few have been seen on Mitcham-common, Surrey, and in some other inland districts. time of Shakspeare, whose allusion favours such a supSome appear to have frequented Dover cliffs in the position. "The crows and choughs that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles." borne in the arms of ancient families in that part of This bird is of some note in Cornish history, as it was England. general colour of the body resembles the raven's bluishIts appearance is singular and striking, for whilst the black, the beak, legs, and toes, are a vermillion red; presenting a beautiful relief to the dark tints of the other parts. The beak is more slender than in the other corvidæ, indicating more peaceful habits than the bill of the raven or rook; hence it is less addicted to attack other birds, preferring to feed on insects, berries, and grain. Its inquisitive habits are equal to those of any crow. Colonel Montague gives an account of a tame red-legged crow kept by one who had abundant opportunities of |