taller than the male, and of more massive build, and in olden times, when falconry was the fashion and the Peregrine was the favourite of kings, she was called the Falcon and her less powerful mate the Tiercel, because he is, roughly, one-third smaller. We found this dominance of the female a marked feature of their domestic life, so that suffragettes could not choose a bird more suited to them as a totem, for the Falcon is nearly always away hunting, while the Tiercel stays at home and minds the babies.
In the feathered world there are many different races, and as occupation stamps men into different classes, so is it possible to trace their likenesses among birds. The eagle has from time immemorial been looked upon as the king of birds, and the Peregrine is of the blood royal. There has been a movement of late to dethrone the eagle and replace him by the raven, who is undoubtedly the brainiest of them all. His family are the great legal fraternity among birds; nimbleness of wit mingled with audacity characterise them all, so that the very first time that I observed the hoodie crow at home I was struck with his laughable resemblance to a barrister in wig and gown. There was the same keen eye for the shortcomings of others, and the general look of mental superiority to ordinary folk. Possibly it was his sidling jump and hoarse chuckle while punishing the careless gull by taking her unguarded egg that sounded like an ill-timed jest during the administration of justice; but anyhow, the raven tribe do not appeal to me as kings. There is a want of dignity about them which is immediately apparent when you see the wild Peregrine at close quarters. For here you have the embodiment of quiet majesty. His quiet dignity, or the haughty stare with which he surveys the world from his stronghold, or the quick scowl with which he looks at something that displeases him, may not convey the deep craft of the raven, but they indicate something nobler—absolute fearlessness, with a quiet reserve of power that enables you to realise that this is the bird whose swoop is the terror of the bird-world; the bird that shoots down like a bolt from the blue, kills in mid-air with one blow from its talons and, binding to a bird as heavy as itself, is well on its way home to its eyrie and its whimpering young before the shower of scattered feathers has had time to reach the
