The raven is a sly bird, and has not many friends. He will steal from you, if he can. He can crow like a cock, mew like a cat, and bark like a dog; and sometimes he will imitate the sound of the rattle with which the farmer tries to frighten him away from the corn.

The raven, like the parrot, can learn to talk a little. He is even capable of learning a little Latin. Dr. J. Franklin's raven, which was named Jocko, pronounced the word aqua (water) distinctly; but he much preferred wine to water. Sad to say, Jocko was a toper.

"One day," says the doctor, "my housekeeper placed a glass of red wine on the table: in an instant the bird plunged in his beak, and began sucking up the wine, drop by drop. The housekeeper, fearing he would break the glass, took it away; but at this Jocko was very angry, and tried to peck at her face.

"If three glasses are placed on the table,—one of water, another of beer, and the third of wine,—Jocko will leave the first two, and will pay his respects only to the glass of wine."

The raven has a strong memory, great prudence, and some capacity for reasoning. The keen watchfulness with which he will regard a man armed with a gun has often been noticed.

A traveller in the arctic regions relates that he once saw some ravens outwit a dog. While the dog was at his dinner, they would make him angry, and entice him away in pursuit of them; and, when they had led him some distance, they would fly quickly back, and snatch up the best bones, before he could prevent it.

That was hardly honest, was it? The raven, you see, does not set a good example. He drinks wine, he fights, and he steals. But I suppose he knows no better, and has not been taught, like you and me, that to do such things is very wrong.