white spot on his back as the first cause. Jim has learned now that if he wishes 

 any comfort in life he must flock by himself. There is no doubt in the minds 

 of his fellow crows that white-spotted Jim is a freak. They keep him always at 

 the distance of a big field's width, and any attempt on his part to approach nearer 

 is met by assault. 



The first time that I saw my friend Jim he was rounding the edge of a belt 

 of timber and making for a plowed field in ^^ hich four other crows were feeding. 

 From their position they could by no chance have seen his back, and! yet they 

 seemed to know that the approaching bird was branded and a pariah. The feed- 

 ing crows rose as one bird, met Jim half-way, and chased and bufifeted him back 

 into the woods. It was in this hurried retreat that Jim's white spot showed 

 prominently and told better than words the story of his persecution. Is it not pos- 

 sible that the crows felt that their brother's marked peculiarity would attract 

 undue attention to them in case he were admitted to comradeship? 



I met Jim during two seasons when the other crows were paired and keeping 

 house. He was unquestionably leading a bachelor existence. Twice I saw other 

 crows go out oi their way to attack him, but despite his unhappy and lonely lot 

 he clings tenaciously to life and only recently I have seen him foraging for food 

 in the northern Illinois cornfields. 



There is no love in my heart for the English sparrow. I have seen his per- 

 secution of our native birds until I cannot summon up a particle of sympathy for 

 him, no matter into what straits he may come. I confess to a secret rejoicing 

 every time a predatory shrike strikes a sparrow and trusses him for breakfast. 

 The Britisher has a busy time all winter dodging the butcher-bird, and even after 

 the enemy has gone to its northern home the sparrow trembles at passing shadows. 

 I was idly watching a flock of sparrows one summer day feeding at the edge 

 of the Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. Suddenly every individual in the flock 

 crouched close to the ground, and then all rose like a feathered entity and made 

 for shelter. No sparrow nor gathering of sparrows ever made a quicker move- 

 ment that did that flock. The journey from the ground to the thickness of an 

 evergreen tree standing in the grounds of a private residence, was made in arrow 

 flight time. It is probable that no feathered gathering ever had a better apparent 

 reason for adjourning than did that bunch of city sparrows. Coincident with the 

 sight of their scurrying there fell upon my ear a dismal cry from above. It was a 

 half croak, half file rasp, a sort of disaster- foreboding wail. Then a shadow 

 swept over the ground, and a look upward showed me a big red and gray parrot 

 making a lumbering flight in full and awful cry from the back piazza of a third- 

 story flat. The sparrows probably have family traditions of all sorts of feathered 

 horrors. It is doubtful, however, if a search of the archives of their remote 

 ancestors would show anything descriptive of more terror of voice, beak, and 

 plumage than that which had just broken on their sight and hearing. Small 

 wonder is it that the sparrows took to the woods. The parrot lighted in a tree 



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