The Rookery - Page 2

they seem to
acknowledge no allegiance, and to hold no intercourse or intimacy. Their
airy tenements 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 forth their tender and
tinted leaves, and the daisy and the primrose peep from under the
hedges. At this time there is a general bustle among the feathered
tribes; an incessant fluttering about, and a cheerful chirping,
indicative, like the germination of the vegetable world, of the reviving
life and fecundity 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 humble 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 painstaking and industrious 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 prying look, turning down first one eye, then the other, in
earnest consideration upon every straw he meets with, until espying some
mighty twig, 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, apparently, lest you should dispute with him the invaluable
prize.

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 twigs on
the surrounding trees, yet they never think of making use of them, but
go foraging 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