THE RAVEN.
All the members of the Crow tribe have a decided family likeness; and, as a general fact, the relationship can be recognised as long as they belong to the British species. But as there are several foreign birds which bear a decided resemblance to this tribe, though really belonging to other families, it is needful to give a few hints as to the method by which these may be distinguished. The young observer must look first at the beak, then at the wings, and lastly at the legs. In all these birds the beak is strong and conical, arched on the keel, i. e. the ridge along the upper surface, with the sides rather flattened as far as the tip. The nostrils are set at the base of the beak, and hidden by plumes. The wings are never very large, and mostly pointed. The tarsi, i. e. the long, straight leg-bones, are of moderate length, and covered with strong, shield-like scales.
The British representatives of this large family are the carrion crow, the rook, the Royston or hooded or grey crow, the chough, the raven, the jackdaw, the jay, and the magpie.
The Raven, once so plentiful over England, is now nearly extinct, except in some of the wild uncultivated districts, where it still lingers, uttering its hoarse, loud cry, flapping its broad wings, and committing no small havoc among the young or feeble animals that have the misfortune to dwell in its neighbourhood.
To procure a raven is now a difficult task, and can seldom be accomplished except by giving an order to the regular dealers. We do not advise any of our young readers to possess themselves of a raven unless they have ample space for the bird, and are quite certain that it cannot get into any mischief. Either a magpie, a jay, or a jackdaw, seems to be possessed with an incessant spirit of mischief, but the raven seems to have enough for the three, and as it possesses enormous muscular power and irrepressible audacity, it is a peculiarly unsafe inmate of a house or garden.
For our own part, we have been for some months undecided whether we shall have a raven or not. We should greatly like to possess one of these birds, but then we know that he would pull up all our newly-sown seeds, bully our cat, peck the servants’ heels, get into the milk-pail, tear our papers to pieces, and, in short, spoil everything within his reach. We could, of course, chain him up, and clip his wings, or put him into a metal cage, but we think all such proceedings to be needlessly cruel, especially in the case of a bird like the raven, whose instinct teaches it to roam far and wide, and whose opportunities of exercise ought never to be confined to the limited space comprehended by a chain or a cage.
When treated properly, the raven possesses a very mine of amusing and companionable qualities, at all events to those who treat it kindly, and whom it does not suspect of any intention to injure. It is a capital talker, equalling the parrot in that respect, except that the voice is very gruff and low, as if spoken from under a feather bed.
The raven is not long in taking the measure of its companions, and has a supreme contempt for those who display weakness of mind or resources. Nothing seems to make a raven so happy as frightening somebody. He likes to come quietly behind a nervous person, deliver a heavy dab at the ankle with his iron bill, and then walk away as if he knew nothing about the assault. He will frighten dogs half out of their senses, chase the cats, drive the fowls about, and as to the horses, he mostly takes a fancy to them, sitting on their backs, or walking calmly and deliberately among their legs. Indeed the raven always has a great affection for stable life. He likes to saunter in and out of the stalls, to flap his way from one horse to another, to peck at strangers, to patronise the helpers, to be on speaking terms with the grooms, and, we regret to say, has a strange talent for picking up all the evil language which is too often found in and about the stable-yard.
He encourages the presence of dogs and cats, because he always steals their dinners; and if he can find an opportunity of making a sly raid upon the luncheon of a groom, he is sure to seize it. He becomes the patriarch of the yard, and stands by his dignity as such. He won’t die, but lives on, year after year; sees successive generations of horses, grooms, and proprietors pass away, and seems to despise them for not living as long as himself. Time seems to have little power with him. His feathers take a greyer hue when he is a century or two old, but in disposition he remains ever young, malicious, crafty, active, quaint, and voracious.
He will eat anything, and can be taught to devour the most remarkable substances, provided that he thinks them very valuable, and not intended for food. Raw meat is perhaps his favourite diet, and he is greatly pleased with rats, mice, small birds, fat beetles, big grubs or worms, and similar delicacies. But he will eat bread when he cannot get meat; and if he can only be got to believe that the article is extremely valuable, he will make a breakfast on a newspaper or a shirt-collar.
He can be easily induced to swallow even a black-lead pencil or a pocket-handkerchief, by a very simple process. Drop the article as if accidentally, search for it anxiously, go away without seeming to see it, and hardly will your back be turned when the raven will have snatched up the missing article and conveyed it to his storehouse.
If watched from a spot where the observer cannot be seen, he will be noticed to proceed in a very methodical manner. He will first pick up his prize, and walk about solemnly with it in his beak, as if displaying a captured trophy of war. He will then put his foot on it, seize one corner of the paper or handkerchief in his beak, and deliberately tear it into strips, which he will probably swallow. As to the pencil, he pegs at it with the point of his beak at a wonderful pace, making the splinters fly in all directions, and ever and anon looking round, to see that no one is watching him.
Clever as is the raven, and intelligent beyond the wont of birds, his very superiority in this respect often has the effect of rendering him a victim to superior powers. There is scarcely any bird that can be hoaxed more readily than a raven, or that can be “drawn out” with greater ease. Those who humour his ways can make a perfect puppet of him, and induce him to play most undignified antics, without giving him the least idea how thoroughly he is being imposed upon.
Our last advice is that, unless the reader can afford plentiful space for his bird, and assure it a kind treatment, he will act wisely not to attempt to procure a raven. Should, however, he be able to afford it these necessaries of existence, by all means let him procure one of these most amusing birds.
Ravens require scarcely any trouble, and when they have fairly established themselves, will not desert their homes under any circumstances. They ought to be fed once, and once only, per diem, for they will find plenty of insects, worms, and other little delicacies, without giving any trouble. They should always be furnished with a place of retreat into which they can retire whenever they feel tired of the world, and they like the hermitage to be deep, dark, and warm, sheltered from wind and rain, and out of the way of inquisitive eyes.
Finally, a raven is an excellent judge of character, and if he is really appreciated, he will become a firm and faithful friend.
