MIGRATORY SPRING FLIGHT. Itt! 
minority, start in the middle of the afternoon and 
with a mad rush sweep over and around bodies of 
water, rise higher and higher, and push forward over 
the imaginary frost line, impelled by that instinctive 
guidance inherent in all migratory birds—to reach 
that goal Nature ordained for their nesting and the 
procreation of their species. On they travel, line after 
line, all fully disciplined, all old birds, not those 
novices who learned the dangerous and _ insidious 
snares and pitfalls which befell them upon their first 
journey, when as young birds they obeyed the man- 
dates of Nature and, guided by their elders, left the 
icebound lakes, sloughs and rivers of the cold, dreary 
North for sunny climes and more congenial fields 
where food profusely abounded. 
Darkness calls no halt, no change, save the wheel- 
ing in and out as some fresh bird takes the lead and 
iets the weary one fall back to the rear. All through 
the night one hears the rustling wings, soft chatter- 
ings from one to the other (particularly among the 
pintails), perhaps commands passed along the line, 
uotes of encouragement or explanatory geographical 
teachings concerning the territory over which they 
are then passing. Ever and anon the leader falls 
back to the rear, the line wavers, a new bird rushes 
from the rear to the front, fans the way for his com- 
panions and with waving wings cleaves the air, render- 
ing the progress of the others easier. Miles upon 
miles are passed. Suddenly a large piece of open 
water looms up in the distance, or sheets of ice con- 
taining water holes are seen; with a whirling sweep 
they rush downward, toward it, quickly circle, drop 
into the water, if the opening be large enough, or 
