::::::::»v TWO BIRD- LOVERS IN MEXICO Afe:::-::: 



a living stream of birds, — Mourning Doves, — perhaps 

 already restless with the first hints of the drawing 

 northwai'd, or this might have been their regular even- 

 ing gathering. They came by dozens and scores from 

 far and near in the mesquite, stopping a moment to 

 dip their bills, dove-fashion, deep in the clear waters 

 of the brook, and drinking long and thirstily, then 

 hurlin"- themselves over the barranca wall to some 

 roosting-place, far below the surface of the tableland. 

 And now as the sun's disk silhouettes the upraised 

 arms of an organ cactus on the opposite summit, scat- 

 tered scjuads of another army of birds appear and focus 

 to their nightly rendezvous — the White-necked Ravens 

 of the whole world seem to be passing, so great are 

 their numbers. As far as the eye can see, each side of 

 the canyon gives up its complement of black forms ; 

 one straggling ahead uttering now and then a deep, 

 hoarse-voiced croak. From all the neighbouring coun- 

 try they pour in, passing low before us, one and all 

 disappearing in the black depths of a narrow, boul- 

 der-framed jioro-e. A raven comes circlinof down from 

 above and instantly draws our eye to what we have 

 not noticed before, a vast black cloud of the birds soar- 

 ing above the harranca with all the grace of flight of 

 vultures. The cloud descends, draws in upon itself, 

 and, becoming funnel-shaped, sifts slowly through the 

 twilight into the gorge where the great brotherhood 

 of ravens is united and at rest. 



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