I came into it, two dead rooks were lying, and I had also picked up a dead one in the larger roostingplace. The keeper said it had been 'turned out,' which was vague, and then, more definitely, that rooks sometimes died of old age. It seems not impossible, or even improbable, that in these violent whizzings of a great number of rooks together, amongst closely growing trees, and in the gloom of evening fading slowly into night, accidents may, sometimes, occur. The rooks, I should say, in their violent whizzing darts and dashes, shot down, sometimes, to about half the height of the trees, and were, in general, right in amongst them. This wonderful scene of bird excitement, lasted, I should think, about ten minutes, in full action, but grew fainter as the trees became more and more packed with birds, till, at length, all were settled. Every tree held several. On two slender ones—not pines but birches—just in front of me, and but a step or two off, there must have been more than twenty. The noise and clamour, during the whole time, was tremendous."
It is not always that rooks dash thus madly to rest. Here—on the very next evening and at the same place—is another type of the home-coming.
"March 5th.—A little after 5.30, a hooded crow flies into the clump of pines. Whether it stays there for the night, with the rooks, I cannot tell, but it does not seem to me improbable. I have seen single birds of the former species flying amidst large bands of the latter, and they are constantly together in the fields, where they behave, in regard to each other, very much as though they were of the same species.
"At 6.10, which is later than the first batch of rooks
