"No, rather, I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, Necessity's sharp pinch." King Lear, Act ii. Sc. 4. Mr. Collier, taking into consideration the last line, "To be a comrade with the wolf, and howl Necessity's sharp pinch." And this seems more likely to be the correct reading. Albeit, in support of the former version, the following passage in Lucrece has been adduced : "No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries." It is not to be supposed that Shakespeare was always a firm believer in the popular notions respecting animals and birds to which he has made allusion. In many cases he had a particular motive in introducing such notions, although possibly aware of their erroneous nature, and he evidently adopted them only to impart an air of reality to the scenes which he depicted, and to bring them home more forcibly to the impressionable minds of his auditors, to whom such "folks-lore" would be familiar. This is notably the case as regards the owl, and no one can read the first scene in the second act of Macbeth, or the fourth scene in the first act of Henry VI. (Part II), without feeling the impressive effect produced by the introduction of a bird which is held in such detestation by the ignorant, but which naturalists have shown to be not only harmless, but useful. But- "The owl, night's herald, shrieks,-'tis very late." Venus and Adonis. And, therefore, with Boyet, in Love's Labour's Lost (Act Το CHAPTER IV. THE CROWS AND THEIR RELATIONS. a superficial observer of nature, there may appear to be a much greater resemblance between the Raven, the Crow, the Rook, and the Jackdaw, than we find to be actually the case. At the same time, so different to them in outward appearance are the Jay and Magpie, that it may appear extraordinary to class them all together. Nevertheless, while each, of course, has its distinguishing characters, all are included in the first section of the family of crows. The Raven (Corvus corax), from his size and character, naturally takes the lead. Go where we will over the face of the wide world, the well-known hoarse croak of the raven is still to be heard. He was seen perched on the bare rocks, looking over the dreary snows of the highest points visited in the Arctic Expeditions. Under the burning sun of the equator he enjoys his feast of carrion. He was discovered in the islands of the Pacific Ocean by Captain Cook; and in the lowest Southern or Antarctic regions, other travellers have found him pursuing his cautious predatory life, just as in England.* From the earliest times the raven, with his deep and solemn voice, has always commanded attention, and superstitious people have become impressed with the idea that there is something unearthly in his nature and ominous in his voice. By the Romans this bird was consecrated to Apollo, and regarded as a foreteller of good or evil. Through a long course of centuries this character has clung to him; and even to this day, there are many who believe that the raven's croak predicts a death. No wonder, then, that Shakespeare has taken advantage of this wide-spread belief, and has introduced the raven into many of the solemn passages of his Plays, to carry conviction to the minds of the people, and render his images the more impressive. He frequently alludes to "the ill-boding raven: "It comes o'er my memory, As doth the raven o'er the infectious house, Boding to all." Othello, Act iv. Sc. I. Sc. 2), Thersites, in Troilus and Cressida (Act v. + An excellent dissertation on the organ of voice in the raven will be found in the second volume of Yarrell's British Birds," 3rd ed. p. 72 " Would I could meet that rogue Diomed; I would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would bode.” In the play of Henry VI. Suffolk vainly endeavours to cheer up the King, who has swooned on hearing of Gloster's death, saying: "Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!" But the King, likening his message to the ill-boding note of a raven, replies : "What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me? Henry VI. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2. After Balthazar has sung his well-known song, "Sigh no more, ladies," (Much Ado, Act ii. Sc. 3,) Benedick observės to himself, "An he had been a dog that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him and I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it." : Willughby thought that the so-called night-raven" was the bittern. Speaking of the curious noise produced by the latter bird, he says:-" This, I suppose, is the |