bird, and shot it dead, to the great horror of his companions. The leader of the party, in great anger, addressed the luckless archer—“You have shot the bird of fate, and you shall be shot.” The dauntless man said, “I shot the magpie, it is true, but if it could foretell our fate, why could it not foresee its own?” The archer’s reasoning was good, but I do not know whether people were convinced by logic in those distant times, any more than they are in ours.
I will relate one other tale of the magpie, which I heard upwards of twenty years ago in the parish of Llanwnog, Montgomeryshire.
I was speaking to a farmer’s wife—whose name it is not necessary to give, as it has nothing to do with the tale—when a magpie flew across our view. “Ah!” she ejaculated, “you naughty old thing, what do you want here?” “I see,” said I, “you think she brings bad luck with her.” “Oh, yes,” was the response, “I know she does.” “What makes you so positive,” said I, “that she brings bad luck with her?” My question elicited the following story. My friend commenced:—“You know the brook at the bottom of the hill. Well, my mother met with very bad luck there, a good many years ago, and it was in this way—she was going to Newtown fair, on our old horse, and she had a basket of eggs with her. But, just as she was going to leave the ‘fould,’ a magpie flew before her. We begged of her not to go that day—that bad luck would attend her. She would not listen to us, but started off. However, she never got further than the brook, at the bottom of the hill, for, when she got there, the old mare made straight for the brook, and jerked the bridle out of mother’s hand, and down went the mare’s head to drink, and off went the basket, and poor mother too. All the eggs were broken, but I’m glad to say mother was not much the worse for her fall. But
ever since then I know it is unlucky to see a magpie. But sir,” she added, “there is no bad luck for us to-day, for the magpie flew from left to right.”
The magpie was thought to be a great thief, and it was popularly supposed that if its tongue were split into two with silver it could talk like a man.
The cry of the magpie is a sign of rain. To man its dreaded notes indicated disaster, thus:—
Clyw grechwen nerth pen, iaith pi—yn addaw
Newyddion drwg i mi.List! the magpie’s hoarse and bitter cry
Shows that misfortune’s sigh is nigh.
If this bird builds her nest at the top of a tree the summer will be dry; if on the lower branches, the summer will be wet.
The Owl.
The hooting of an owl about a house was considered a sign of ill luck, if not of death. This superstition has found a place in rhyme, thus:—