Birds and their nests

by Mary Howitt

THE MAGPIE.

You have here a living portrait of the Magpie, sitting, so to speak, on his own door-sill, and contemplating it with rather a sentimental air, perhaps rather with tender admiration; and as to his dwelling, it is, we must confess, a wonderful structure—a half-timbered edifice, so to speak, walled-round and roofed-in, with its front-door and all complete.

The magpie is one of our most beautiful as well as most amusing and characteristic birds. He is cousin to the jackdaw, and has, like him, odd ways of his own. In all countries where he is found, he is just the same. An old Greek poet, who lived two thousand years ago, speaks of him as a great mimic, and such an inordinate talker, that, in his own satirical humour, he pretends to believe that magpies were originally a family of young ladies, in Macedonia, who were noted for the volubility of their tongues. Handsome he is, as well as talkative, and very droll and mischievous.

Being such, we need not wonder that his nest is very original. He likes to place it in a secure angle of branches, on some lofty tree, as we see it here, fifty feet or so from the ground; and prefers to have it on a tree bare of branches to a considerable height, knowing that it is then more inaccessible. He is wise in all this, for its bulk being so large it is discernible to a great distance. As magpies, however, are found almost everywhere, and in some parts of the country, the north of Scotland for instance, where there are no trees, the poor magpie is then obliged to build in a bush, and do the best he can. In such a case, in Norway, he was known to barricade his nest with thorny branches, brought thither by himself for that purpose, till it was next to impossible for the domicile to be invaded. A cat could not get to it, and a man only with hedging-mittens on his hands, and by help of a bill-hook.

Like the rook, the magpie inhabits the same nest for several years, perhaps for the whole of his life, putting it into repair every year before he again needs it for family use—like a wealthy country family taking possession of their ancestral mansion in the spring.

And now, turning to our picture, we find our magpie in excellent circumstances. Every thing has gone well with him. Here he is, and I will have the pleasure of giving you a bit of every-day magpie life, as sketched by that true pen-and-ink artist, the author of “British Birds.” Our scene opens a few minutes before the time indicated in our picture:—

MAGPIE AND NEST. [[Page 116.]

A Search for Food.

“There, on the old ash-tree, you may see a pair, one perched on the topmost twig, the other hopping on the branches below, keeping up an incessant chatter. How gracefully she, on the topmost twig, swings in the breeze! Off she starts, and directs her flight to the fir-woods opposite, chattering all the way, seemingly to call her mate after her. But he prefers remaining behind. He is in a brown study, or something of that kind, as we can plainly see. Now, having spied something below, he hops downwards from twig to branch, and descends to the ground. His ash-tree, you must understand, grows close to, and in part overshadows, a farmyard; so now he is on ground which, as is customary in such places, is not over clean; therefore, lifting up his tail to prevent it being soiled or wet, as the farmer’s wife might hold up her Sunday gown, and raising his body as high as possible, he walks a few paces, and, spying an earth-worm half out of his hole, drags it forth by a sudden jerk, breaks it in pieces, and swallows it. Now, under the hedge, he has found a snail, which he will presently pick out of its shell, as an old woman would a periwinkle. But now something among the bushes has startled him, and he springs lightly upwards, chattering the while, to regain his favourite tree. It is a cat, which, not less frightened than himself, for both are intent on mischief, runs off towards the barn. The magpie again descends, steps slowly over the grassy margin of the yard, looking from side to side, stops, listens, advances rapidly by a succession of leaps, and encounters a whole brood of chickens, with their mother at their heels. If she had not been there he would have had a delicious feast of one of those chickens; but he dare not think of such a thing now, for, with fury in her eye, bristled plumage, and loud clamour, the hen rushes forward at him, overturning two of her younglings, and the enemy, suddenly wheeling round to avoid the encounter, flies off to his mate.