[Contents]CHAPTER XXTHE RAVEN“Their black plumage and similarity of shape make us mistake all sorts of birds for crows. Let us begin with one of these, the raven. This bird is of good size, being about as large as our domestic rooster, and it has a hoarse cry, uttered slowly,—craa, craa, craa. It is the raven that has won such a reputation with children from that famous fable about the raven and the fox.”RavenRaven“Yes, I know,” Emile hastened to interpose; “you mean the one that begins, ‘Master Raven, perched on a tree, held a piece of cheese in his beak.’ Where do you suppose he got that cheese?”“History remains silent on that important question, but my opinion would be that he stole it from some window-sill where the farmer’s wife had put out some newly made cheese to dry in a little wicker basket.”“The fox says good morning to Mr. Raven, and[155]praises his plumage,” continued Emile; “and he goes on: ‘How trig and trim you are, how handsome you look to me!’ And so on and so forth. How could the raven help having a swelled head after such flattery?”“That fox was certainly a cunning rogue. To make sure that the bird will listen, instead of beginning with flattery that might have aroused his intended victim’s suspicions (for the bird was not altogether lacking in common sense), he began by praising what is really not without merit. On a near view the raven is seen to be not by any means of a dead black; it shows glints of purple and blue on the back, and a flickering greenish tinge on the stomach, the total effect being that of some highly polished metal. At the first flattering words you may be sure the raven cast a complacent glance at its costume and, seeing it brilliant with blue, purple, and green, found it quite as rich as the fox declared it to be. So now the bird was well prepared—ready for the fulsome flattery that was to follow. The fox would have it believe the offensive odor clinging to it from eating so much carrion to be the aroma of musk, and its hoarse croaking to be melodious warbling. But just there was the difficulty, to make it croak and thus open its mouth, which held the cheese.”“And if that voice of thineCan match thy plumage fine,Thou art the very phenix of all the woods around,”quoted Emile.[156]“Yes, that’s it,” said Uncle Paul. “Do you see how the sly rascal is making headway? He would have the raven believe itself a singer, mistake its raucouscraa, craafor the note of the nightingale. Had he begun with any such extravagant compliment, he would have defeated his own ends; but he very cleverly led up to this supreme flattery and, to pique the raven’s foolish vanity still further, gave a doubtful tone to his admiration. ‘I know,’ was what he seemed to the bird to say, ‘that your voice is widely celebrated; but what I am not so sure of is whether it matches your splendid plumage, whether you can really sing in a manner worthy of so magnificent a costume. I must hear you, and if your vocal performance equals your outward appearance, then you will indeed prove yourself to be the paragon of birds, the very phenix of these forests.’ ‘Ah, you doubt it?’ said the raven to itself; ‘well, then, listen to this operatic trill:craa, craa, craa.’ ”Emile again took up the fable:“And so to prove it couldIts boastfulness make good,It opened wide its beak and thus let fall the cheese,Which Master Fox did seize——”“Not so fast!” his uncle interrupted him. “Master Fox could not have gone on talking with the cheese in his mouth; he could not have pointed the moral in that neat little lesson with which the fable ends. I can see him putting his paw on the prize while he licks his chops and looks tauntingly at[157]the shamefaced bird. ‘My good sir,’ he says, ‘let me call your attention to the fact that you are a conceited nincompoop.’ ”“He doesn’t call the bird Mr. Raven any more, now that he’s got hold of the cheese,” Emile observed.“No; to call him that was all very well in the beginning; it flattered the bird. But now the fox makes fun of his dupe and calls him ‘my good sir’ in a tone of patronizing condolence. To express pity for those we have cajoled and deceived—is not that the very perfection of roguery? There we have, most assuredly, a fox that will make his way in the world. Read in La Fontaine, the incomparable story-teller, the abominable tricks Master Reynard plays later on the goat, the wolf, and many others; or, better, wait a while and we will read them together next winter before the open fire. For the present we will leave the raven of the fable and try to learn something about the real raven’s manner of living.“Ravens do not flock together as crows do, but live alone or in pairs on rocky heights and in the tallest trees. The society or even the near neighborhood of its fellows is unbearable to a raven. With angry peckings it drives away from its chosen district any of its kind that may try to establish themselves there, even though they may have been born in the same nest. If the intruder is merely a bird of passage, it is conducted with menacing demonstrations to the frontiers of the domain and is jealously[158]watched until it disappears in the distance. Crows, social creatures, are treated in the same way. The raven asks to be left alone, quite alone, on its bare rock, and woe to the ill-advised intruder that disturbs its solitude! It builds its nest in the topmost branches of a solitary tree or, still more to its liking, in some fissure that offers itself in the perpendicular face of a rocky precipice. The nest is made of sticks and roots on the outside, and of moss, hair, rags, and fine grasses within.”“I should like to know,” said Jules, “what ravens’ eggs are like.”“Birds’ eggs are usually remarkable for their beauty, both in shape and in color; and for this reason, if for no other, they merit our attention. But it is no idle or merely ornamental accomplishment to be able to distinguish one from another, to know whether any given egg belongs to a useful species that should be respected or to a harmful species that should not be allowed to breed in the vicinity of our fields and gardens. With this end in view I have already told you the characteristic marks of the eggs of our principal birds of prey, some of which eggs should be destroyed without any consideration, while others should be protected. As this is a matter that interests you, I will continue in the same way and will describe the eggs of those birds that we are still to talk about.“Know, then, that ravens’ eggs are much more beautifully colored than might be expected from the somber plumage of the bird. They are bluish green,[159]with brown spots. This background of bluish green, sometimes lighter and sometimes darker, occurs again, together with the brown spots, in the eggs of crows, magpies, jays, blackbirds, thrushes, and fieldfares, birds that resemble one another closely in their bodily structure, despite their marked differences in size, plumage, and habits. The eggs of certain blackbirds and fieldfares are of a magnificent sky-blue color.“The raven is an omnivorous creature: fruit, larvæ, insects, sprouting grain, flesh, whether in a fresh condition or otherwise, all suit it equally well; but its favorite fare is carrion, which it knows how to find a long way off, guided by sight and smell. Wherever there is a dead animal, there the raven makes its appearance and contends for the loathsome quarry with dogs. The habit of gorging itself with this infected food gives it a repulsive odor. For lack of dead prey—the sort most acceptable to its tastes, its great appetite, and its cowardice—the raven hunts such live prey as young hares and young rabbits, and other small and destructive rodents. It pilfers from birds’ nests both eggs and new-born birds, a succulent banquet for its young; and it even has the boldness to carry off little chickens from poultry-yards. Without offering the slightest plea in its favor, I leave the raven to the hatred it has always incurred by reason of its funereal plumage, its forbidding aspect, its sinister croaking, repulsive odor, filthy greed, and savage disposition.”[160]
[Contents]CHAPTER XXTHE RAVEN“Their black plumage and similarity of shape make us mistake all sorts of birds for crows. Let us begin with one of these, the raven. This bird is of good size, being about as large as our domestic rooster, and it has a hoarse cry, uttered slowly,—craa, craa, craa. It is the raven that has won such a reputation with children from that famous fable about the raven and the fox.”RavenRaven“Yes, I know,” Emile hastened to interpose; “you mean the one that begins, ‘Master Raven, perched on a tree, held a piece of cheese in his beak.’ Where do you suppose he got that cheese?”“History remains silent on that important question, but my opinion would be that he stole it from some window-sill where the farmer’s wife had put out some newly made cheese to dry in a little wicker basket.”“The fox says good morning to Mr. Raven, and[155]praises his plumage,” continued Emile; “and he goes on: ‘How trig and trim you are, how handsome you look to me!’ And so on and so forth. How could the raven help having a swelled head after such flattery?”“That fox was certainly a cunning rogue. To make sure that the bird will listen, instead of beginning with flattery that might have aroused his intended victim’s suspicions (for the bird was not altogether lacking in common sense), he began by praising what is really not without merit. On a near view the raven is seen to be not by any means of a dead black; it shows glints of purple and blue on the back, and a flickering greenish tinge on the stomach, the total effect being that of some highly polished metal. At the first flattering words you may be sure the raven cast a complacent glance at its costume and, seeing it brilliant with blue, purple, and green, found it quite as rich as the fox declared it to be. So now the bird was well prepared—ready for the fulsome flattery that was to follow. The fox would have it believe the offensive odor clinging to it from eating so much carrion to be the aroma of musk, and its hoarse croaking to be melodious warbling. But just there was the difficulty, to make it croak and thus open its mouth, which held the cheese.”“And if that voice of thineCan match thy plumage fine,Thou art the very phenix of all the woods around,”quoted Emile.[156]“Yes, that’s it,” said Uncle Paul. “Do you see how the sly rascal is making headway? He would have the raven believe itself a singer, mistake its raucouscraa, craafor the note of the nightingale. Had he begun with any such extravagant compliment, he would have defeated his own ends; but he very cleverly led up to this supreme flattery and, to pique the raven’s foolish vanity still further, gave a doubtful tone to his admiration. ‘I know,’ was what he seemed to the bird to say, ‘that your voice is widely celebrated; but what I am not so sure of is whether it matches your splendid plumage, whether you can really sing in a manner worthy of so magnificent a costume. I must hear you, and if your vocal performance equals your outward appearance, then you will indeed prove yourself to be the paragon of birds, the very phenix of these forests.’ ‘Ah, you doubt it?’ said the raven to itself; ‘well, then, listen to this operatic trill:craa, craa, craa.’ ”Emile again took up the fable:“And so to prove it couldIts boastfulness make good,It opened wide its beak and thus let fall the cheese,Which Master Fox did seize——”“Not so fast!” his uncle interrupted him. “Master Fox could not have gone on talking with the cheese in his mouth; he could not have pointed the moral in that neat little lesson with which the fable ends. I can see him putting his paw on the prize while he licks his chops and looks tauntingly at[157]the shamefaced bird. ‘My good sir,’ he says, ‘let me call your attention to the fact that you are a conceited nincompoop.’ ”“He doesn’t call the bird Mr. Raven any more, now that he’s got hold of the cheese,” Emile observed.“No; to call him that was all very well in the beginning; it flattered the bird. But now the fox makes fun of his dupe and calls him ‘my good sir’ in a tone of patronizing condolence. To express pity for those we have cajoled and deceived—is not that the very perfection of roguery? There we have, most assuredly, a fox that will make his way in the world. Read in La Fontaine, the incomparable story-teller, the abominable tricks Master Reynard plays later on the goat, the wolf, and many others; or, better, wait a while and we will read them together next winter before the open fire. For the present we will leave the raven of the fable and try to learn something about the real raven’s manner of living.“Ravens do not flock together as crows do, but live alone or in pairs on rocky heights and in the tallest trees. The society or even the near neighborhood of its fellows is unbearable to a raven. With angry peckings it drives away from its chosen district any of its kind that may try to establish themselves there, even though they may have been born in the same nest. If the intruder is merely a bird of passage, it is conducted with menacing demonstrations to the frontiers of the domain and is jealously[158]watched until it disappears in the distance. Crows, social creatures, are treated in the same way. The raven asks to be left alone, quite alone, on its bare rock, and woe to the ill-advised intruder that disturbs its solitude! It builds its nest in the topmost branches of a solitary tree or, still more to its liking, in some fissure that offers itself in the perpendicular face of a rocky precipice. The nest is made of sticks and roots on the outside, and of moss, hair, rags, and fine grasses within.”“I should like to know,” said Jules, “what ravens’ eggs are like.”“Birds’ eggs are usually remarkable for their beauty, both in shape and in color; and for this reason, if for no other, they merit our attention. But it is no idle or merely ornamental accomplishment to be able to distinguish one from another, to know whether any given egg belongs to a useful species that should be respected or to a harmful species that should not be allowed to breed in the vicinity of our fields and gardens. With this end in view I have already told you the characteristic marks of the eggs of our principal birds of prey, some of which eggs should be destroyed without any consideration, while others should be protected. As this is a matter that interests you, I will continue in the same way and will describe the eggs of those birds that we are still to talk about.“Know, then, that ravens’ eggs are much more beautifully colored than might be expected from the somber plumage of the bird. They are bluish green,[159]with brown spots. This background of bluish green, sometimes lighter and sometimes darker, occurs again, together with the brown spots, in the eggs of crows, magpies, jays, blackbirds, thrushes, and fieldfares, birds that resemble one another closely in their bodily structure, despite their marked differences in size, plumage, and habits. The eggs of certain blackbirds and fieldfares are of a magnificent sky-blue color.“The raven is an omnivorous creature: fruit, larvæ, insects, sprouting grain, flesh, whether in a fresh condition or otherwise, all suit it equally well; but its favorite fare is carrion, which it knows how to find a long way off, guided by sight and smell. Wherever there is a dead animal, there the raven makes its appearance and contends for the loathsome quarry with dogs. The habit of gorging itself with this infected food gives it a repulsive odor. For lack of dead prey—the sort most acceptable to its tastes, its great appetite, and its cowardice—the raven hunts such live prey as young hares and young rabbits, and other small and destructive rodents. It pilfers from birds’ nests both eggs and new-born birds, a succulent banquet for its young; and it even has the boldness to carry off little chickens from poultry-yards. Without offering the slightest plea in its favor, I leave the raven to the hatred it has always incurred by reason of its funereal plumage, its forbidding aspect, its sinister croaking, repulsive odor, filthy greed, and savage disposition.”[160]
CHAPTER XXTHE RAVEN
“Their black plumage and similarity of shape make us mistake all sorts of birds for crows. Let us begin with one of these, the raven. This bird is of good size, being about as large as our domestic rooster, and it has a hoarse cry, uttered slowly,—craa, craa, craa. It is the raven that has won such a reputation with children from that famous fable about the raven and the fox.”RavenRaven“Yes, I know,” Emile hastened to interpose; “you mean the one that begins, ‘Master Raven, perched on a tree, held a piece of cheese in his beak.’ Where do you suppose he got that cheese?”“History remains silent on that important question, but my opinion would be that he stole it from some window-sill where the farmer’s wife had put out some newly made cheese to dry in a little wicker basket.”“The fox says good morning to Mr. Raven, and[155]praises his plumage,” continued Emile; “and he goes on: ‘How trig and trim you are, how handsome you look to me!’ And so on and so forth. How could the raven help having a swelled head after such flattery?”“That fox was certainly a cunning rogue. To make sure that the bird will listen, instead of beginning with flattery that might have aroused his intended victim’s suspicions (for the bird was not altogether lacking in common sense), he began by praising what is really not without merit. On a near view the raven is seen to be not by any means of a dead black; it shows glints of purple and blue on the back, and a flickering greenish tinge on the stomach, the total effect being that of some highly polished metal. At the first flattering words you may be sure the raven cast a complacent glance at its costume and, seeing it brilliant with blue, purple, and green, found it quite as rich as the fox declared it to be. So now the bird was well prepared—ready for the fulsome flattery that was to follow. The fox would have it believe the offensive odor clinging to it from eating so much carrion to be the aroma of musk, and its hoarse croaking to be melodious warbling. But just there was the difficulty, to make it croak and thus open its mouth, which held the cheese.”“And if that voice of thineCan match thy plumage fine,Thou art the very phenix of all the woods around,”quoted Emile.[156]“Yes, that’s it,” said Uncle Paul. “Do you see how the sly rascal is making headway? He would have the raven believe itself a singer, mistake its raucouscraa, craafor the note of the nightingale. Had he begun with any such extravagant compliment, he would have defeated his own ends; but he very cleverly led up to this supreme flattery and, to pique the raven’s foolish vanity still further, gave a doubtful tone to his admiration. ‘I know,’ was what he seemed to the bird to say, ‘that your voice is widely celebrated; but what I am not so sure of is whether it matches your splendid plumage, whether you can really sing in a manner worthy of so magnificent a costume. I must hear you, and if your vocal performance equals your outward appearance, then you will indeed prove yourself to be the paragon of birds, the very phenix of these forests.’ ‘Ah, you doubt it?’ said the raven to itself; ‘well, then, listen to this operatic trill:craa, craa, craa.’ ”Emile again took up the fable:“And so to prove it couldIts boastfulness make good,It opened wide its beak and thus let fall the cheese,Which Master Fox did seize——”“Not so fast!” his uncle interrupted him. “Master Fox could not have gone on talking with the cheese in his mouth; he could not have pointed the moral in that neat little lesson with which the fable ends. I can see him putting his paw on the prize while he licks his chops and looks tauntingly at[157]the shamefaced bird. ‘My good sir,’ he says, ‘let me call your attention to the fact that you are a conceited nincompoop.’ ”“He doesn’t call the bird Mr. Raven any more, now that he’s got hold of the cheese,” Emile observed.“No; to call him that was all very well in the beginning; it flattered the bird. But now the fox makes fun of his dupe and calls him ‘my good sir’ in a tone of patronizing condolence. To express pity for those we have cajoled and deceived—is not that the very perfection of roguery? There we have, most assuredly, a fox that will make his way in the world. Read in La Fontaine, the incomparable story-teller, the abominable tricks Master Reynard plays later on the goat, the wolf, and many others; or, better, wait a while and we will read them together next winter before the open fire. For the present we will leave the raven of the fable and try to learn something about the real raven’s manner of living.“Ravens do not flock together as crows do, but live alone or in pairs on rocky heights and in the tallest trees. The society or even the near neighborhood of its fellows is unbearable to a raven. With angry peckings it drives away from its chosen district any of its kind that may try to establish themselves there, even though they may have been born in the same nest. If the intruder is merely a bird of passage, it is conducted with menacing demonstrations to the frontiers of the domain and is jealously[158]watched until it disappears in the distance. Crows, social creatures, are treated in the same way. The raven asks to be left alone, quite alone, on its bare rock, and woe to the ill-advised intruder that disturbs its solitude! It builds its nest in the topmost branches of a solitary tree or, still more to its liking, in some fissure that offers itself in the perpendicular face of a rocky precipice. The nest is made of sticks and roots on the outside, and of moss, hair, rags, and fine grasses within.”“I should like to know,” said Jules, “what ravens’ eggs are like.”“Birds’ eggs are usually remarkable for their beauty, both in shape and in color; and for this reason, if for no other, they merit our attention. But it is no idle or merely ornamental accomplishment to be able to distinguish one from another, to know whether any given egg belongs to a useful species that should be respected or to a harmful species that should not be allowed to breed in the vicinity of our fields and gardens. With this end in view I have already told you the characteristic marks of the eggs of our principal birds of prey, some of which eggs should be destroyed without any consideration, while others should be protected. As this is a matter that interests you, I will continue in the same way and will describe the eggs of those birds that we are still to talk about.“Know, then, that ravens’ eggs are much more beautifully colored than might be expected from the somber plumage of the bird. They are bluish green,[159]with brown spots. This background of bluish green, sometimes lighter and sometimes darker, occurs again, together with the brown spots, in the eggs of crows, magpies, jays, blackbirds, thrushes, and fieldfares, birds that resemble one another closely in their bodily structure, despite their marked differences in size, plumage, and habits. The eggs of certain blackbirds and fieldfares are of a magnificent sky-blue color.“The raven is an omnivorous creature: fruit, larvæ, insects, sprouting grain, flesh, whether in a fresh condition or otherwise, all suit it equally well; but its favorite fare is carrion, which it knows how to find a long way off, guided by sight and smell. Wherever there is a dead animal, there the raven makes its appearance and contends for the loathsome quarry with dogs. The habit of gorging itself with this infected food gives it a repulsive odor. For lack of dead prey—the sort most acceptable to its tastes, its great appetite, and its cowardice—the raven hunts such live prey as young hares and young rabbits, and other small and destructive rodents. It pilfers from birds’ nests both eggs and new-born birds, a succulent banquet for its young; and it even has the boldness to carry off little chickens from poultry-yards. Without offering the slightest plea in its favor, I leave the raven to the hatred it has always incurred by reason of its funereal plumage, its forbidding aspect, its sinister croaking, repulsive odor, filthy greed, and savage disposition.”[160]
“Their black plumage and similarity of shape make us mistake all sorts of birds for crows. Let us begin with one of these, the raven. This bird is of good size, being about as large as our domestic rooster, and it has a hoarse cry, uttered slowly,—craa, craa, craa. It is the raven that has won such a reputation with children from that famous fable about the raven and the fox.”
RavenRaven
Raven
“Yes, I know,” Emile hastened to interpose; “you mean the one that begins, ‘Master Raven, perched on a tree, held a piece of cheese in his beak.’ Where do you suppose he got that cheese?”
“History remains silent on that important question, but my opinion would be that he stole it from some window-sill where the farmer’s wife had put out some newly made cheese to dry in a little wicker basket.”
“The fox says good morning to Mr. Raven, and[155]praises his plumage,” continued Emile; “and he goes on: ‘How trig and trim you are, how handsome you look to me!’ And so on and so forth. How could the raven help having a swelled head after such flattery?”
“That fox was certainly a cunning rogue. To make sure that the bird will listen, instead of beginning with flattery that might have aroused his intended victim’s suspicions (for the bird was not altogether lacking in common sense), he began by praising what is really not without merit. On a near view the raven is seen to be not by any means of a dead black; it shows glints of purple and blue on the back, and a flickering greenish tinge on the stomach, the total effect being that of some highly polished metal. At the first flattering words you may be sure the raven cast a complacent glance at its costume and, seeing it brilliant with blue, purple, and green, found it quite as rich as the fox declared it to be. So now the bird was well prepared—ready for the fulsome flattery that was to follow. The fox would have it believe the offensive odor clinging to it from eating so much carrion to be the aroma of musk, and its hoarse croaking to be melodious warbling. But just there was the difficulty, to make it croak and thus open its mouth, which held the cheese.”
“And if that voice of thineCan match thy plumage fine,Thou art the very phenix of all the woods around,”
“And if that voice of thine
Can match thy plumage fine,
Thou art the very phenix of all the woods around,”
quoted Emile.[156]
“Yes, that’s it,” said Uncle Paul. “Do you see how the sly rascal is making headway? He would have the raven believe itself a singer, mistake its raucouscraa, craafor the note of the nightingale. Had he begun with any such extravagant compliment, he would have defeated his own ends; but he very cleverly led up to this supreme flattery and, to pique the raven’s foolish vanity still further, gave a doubtful tone to his admiration. ‘I know,’ was what he seemed to the bird to say, ‘that your voice is widely celebrated; but what I am not so sure of is whether it matches your splendid plumage, whether you can really sing in a manner worthy of so magnificent a costume. I must hear you, and if your vocal performance equals your outward appearance, then you will indeed prove yourself to be the paragon of birds, the very phenix of these forests.’ ‘Ah, you doubt it?’ said the raven to itself; ‘well, then, listen to this operatic trill:craa, craa, craa.’ ”
Emile again took up the fable:
“And so to prove it couldIts boastfulness make good,It opened wide its beak and thus let fall the cheese,Which Master Fox did seize——”
“And so to prove it could
Its boastfulness make good,
It opened wide its beak and thus let fall the cheese,
Which Master Fox did seize——”
“Not so fast!” his uncle interrupted him. “Master Fox could not have gone on talking with the cheese in his mouth; he could not have pointed the moral in that neat little lesson with which the fable ends. I can see him putting his paw on the prize while he licks his chops and looks tauntingly at[157]the shamefaced bird. ‘My good sir,’ he says, ‘let me call your attention to the fact that you are a conceited nincompoop.’ ”
“He doesn’t call the bird Mr. Raven any more, now that he’s got hold of the cheese,” Emile observed.
“No; to call him that was all very well in the beginning; it flattered the bird. But now the fox makes fun of his dupe and calls him ‘my good sir’ in a tone of patronizing condolence. To express pity for those we have cajoled and deceived—is not that the very perfection of roguery? There we have, most assuredly, a fox that will make his way in the world. Read in La Fontaine, the incomparable story-teller, the abominable tricks Master Reynard plays later on the goat, the wolf, and many others; or, better, wait a while and we will read them together next winter before the open fire. For the present we will leave the raven of the fable and try to learn something about the real raven’s manner of living.
“Ravens do not flock together as crows do, but live alone or in pairs on rocky heights and in the tallest trees. The society or even the near neighborhood of its fellows is unbearable to a raven. With angry peckings it drives away from its chosen district any of its kind that may try to establish themselves there, even though they may have been born in the same nest. If the intruder is merely a bird of passage, it is conducted with menacing demonstrations to the frontiers of the domain and is jealously[158]watched until it disappears in the distance. Crows, social creatures, are treated in the same way. The raven asks to be left alone, quite alone, on its bare rock, and woe to the ill-advised intruder that disturbs its solitude! It builds its nest in the topmost branches of a solitary tree or, still more to its liking, in some fissure that offers itself in the perpendicular face of a rocky precipice. The nest is made of sticks and roots on the outside, and of moss, hair, rags, and fine grasses within.”
“I should like to know,” said Jules, “what ravens’ eggs are like.”
“Birds’ eggs are usually remarkable for their beauty, both in shape and in color; and for this reason, if for no other, they merit our attention. But it is no idle or merely ornamental accomplishment to be able to distinguish one from another, to know whether any given egg belongs to a useful species that should be respected or to a harmful species that should not be allowed to breed in the vicinity of our fields and gardens. With this end in view I have already told you the characteristic marks of the eggs of our principal birds of prey, some of which eggs should be destroyed without any consideration, while others should be protected. As this is a matter that interests you, I will continue in the same way and will describe the eggs of those birds that we are still to talk about.
“Know, then, that ravens’ eggs are much more beautifully colored than might be expected from the somber plumage of the bird. They are bluish green,[159]with brown spots. This background of bluish green, sometimes lighter and sometimes darker, occurs again, together with the brown spots, in the eggs of crows, magpies, jays, blackbirds, thrushes, and fieldfares, birds that resemble one another closely in their bodily structure, despite their marked differences in size, plumage, and habits. The eggs of certain blackbirds and fieldfares are of a magnificent sky-blue color.
“The raven is an omnivorous creature: fruit, larvæ, insects, sprouting grain, flesh, whether in a fresh condition or otherwise, all suit it equally well; but its favorite fare is carrion, which it knows how to find a long way off, guided by sight and smell. Wherever there is a dead animal, there the raven makes its appearance and contends for the loathsome quarry with dogs. The habit of gorging itself with this infected food gives it a repulsive odor. For lack of dead prey—the sort most acceptable to its tastes, its great appetite, and its cowardice—the raven hunts such live prey as young hares and young rabbits, and other small and destructive rodents. It pilfers from birds’ nests both eggs and new-born birds, a succulent banquet for its young; and it even has the boldness to carry off little chickens from poultry-yards. Without offering the slightest plea in its favor, I leave the raven to the hatred it has always incurred by reason of its funereal plumage, its forbidding aspect, its sinister croaking, repulsive odor, filthy greed, and savage disposition.”[160]