nlight night with a kind of mysterious
gratification. This gray-bearded misanthrope of course is highly
respected by the squire, but the servants have superstitious notions
about him; and it would be difficult to get the dairymaid to venture
after dark near to the wood which he inhabits.

Besides the private quarrels of the rooks, there are other misfortunes
to which they are liable, and which often bring distress into the most
respectable families of the rookery. Having the true baronial spirit of
the good old feudal times, they are apt now and then to issue forth from
their castles on a foray, and to lay the plebeian fields of the
neighbouring country under contribution; in the course of which
chivalrous expeditions they now and then get a shot from the rusty
artillery of some refractory farmer. Occasionally, too, while they are
quietly taking the air beyond the park boundaries, they have the
incaution to come within the reach of the truant bowmen of Slingsby's
school, and receive a flight shot from some unlucky urchin's arrow. In
such case the wounded adventurer will sometimes have just strength
enough to bring himself home, and giving up the ghost at the rookery,
will hang dangling "all abroad" on a bough like a thief on a gibbet; an
awful warning to his friends, and an object of great commiseration to
the squire. But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the rooks have,
upon the whole, a happy holiday life of it. When their young are reared,
and fairly launched upon their native element, the air, the cares of the
old folks seem over, and they resume all their aristocratical dignity
and idleness. I have envied them the enjoyment which they appear to have
in their ethereal heights, sporting with clamorous exultation about
their lofty bowers; sometimes hovering over them, sometimes partially
alighting upon the topmost branches, and there balancing with
outstretched wings, and swinging in the breeze. Sometimes they seem to
take a fashionable drive to the church, and amuse themselves by circling
in airy rings about its spire: at other times a mere garrison is left at
home to mount guard in their stronghold at the grove, while the rest
roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. About sunset the garrison gives
notice of their return; their faint cawing will be heard from a great
distance, and they will be seen far off like a sable cloud, and then
nearer and nearer, until they all come soaring home. Then they perform
several g