ings at their western border. One of the great barns was the home of scores of 

 domestic pigeons, which fed the greater part of the day in the fields. I afterward 

 learned that the birds played havoc with the newly planted seeds. A detached 

 flock of the pigeons was foraging in the first field not more than twenty yards from 

 the fence. I stood leaning on the topmost rail and watched the birds for a few 

 minutes. They paid no attention to me, but suddenly with a whir they rose and 

 went in headlong flight toward the barn. A shadow swept by me. I looked up, 

 and not thirty feet above a hawk was flying by like an arrow. I was to witness 

 a bit of falconry. The pursuer gained on the pigeons, and just before they had 

 reached the farm-house the hawk struck the last scurrying bird and bore it to 

 earth. There is generally a shotgun at hand for use when a hawk dares to ap- 

 proach a farm house. I fully expected to hear a report, and to have the privilege, 

 if it may be counted one, of looking at a dead bird of prey, but no report came. 

 I afterward found out that no one but myself saw the tragedy, and that had the act 

 been seen it is doubtful if there would have been any shotgun interference. A 

 farm hand said that the pigeons had pulled up all the peas and had eaten much 

 more than their share of the planted corn, and that a few pigeons less would be no 

 loss. A few days later the farmer took a hand at pigeon killing himself, and saved 

 his crops by sacrificing his birds. I never knew what species of hawk it was that 

 had a pigeon breakfast so early that morning. It was one of the smaller kinds, 

 and with that knowledge I was forced to be content. 



In the Skokie marsh there are two distinct sloughs. Locally this word is 

 pronounced "slews." In the middle of each there is a thread of open water, 

 which in the early spring is a stream of some magnitude. The sloughs are the 

 homes of many red-winged blackbirds. In the last two or three years, however, 

 the blackbirds have decreased greatly in numbers, though I am at a loss to find a 

 reason. The lush grasses and the flags ofifer as secure a retreat as before, and 

 civilization has as yet encroached but little upon the red-wing's retreat. This 

 blackbird occasionally gives his friends a surprise. I found his nest one spring 

 day in a damp spot within forty feet of a house in the town of Lake Forest. The 

 Skokie, where his brothers dwelt, was a mile away. A much-traveled street passed 

 within twenty feet of his home, and children played daily under the trees almost 

 within touch of the nest. 



A red-wing took to a treetop as I crossed the bridge over the first slough on 

 that morning's trip. I was still thinking of the hawk and pigeon, and was paying 

 but little heed to the swamp resident, notwithstanding the fact that he was saying, 

 "Look-at-me, look-at-me, look-at-me," as he swung to and fro on his slender perch. 

 He soon forced my attention, however, by taking oflf in full flight after a crow. 

 The red-wing literally rode on the crow's back. I have seen the kingbird perform 

 this feat, but did not know that the red-wing had the spirit for such deeds. It is 

 a mooted question whether or not the life of the crow has in it more evil than 

 good. I was once a stanch champion of the crow's cause, but I have been waver- 

 ing of late in my allegiance. To my mind the most convincing evidence against 



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