On the Edge of Spring 



premonitions, that are so sweet and vital 

 a part of this most beloved of seasons. This 

 year (1901) I took my first spring walk on 

 the I Qth day of February. It was just after 

 that long-continued period of extremely cold 

 weather, when for eighteen successive days 

 the mercury hovered about the zero mark. 

 The returning warmth of the sun and genial 

 mildness of the air were especially grate 

 ful, and I was not surprised to find that 

 the sudden, sweet promise of spring had 

 appealed to more legitimate proprietors of 

 the woods and fields than myself. All wild 

 life seemed to be astir, that sunny morn 

 ing. The crows were disporting themselves 

 high in air, in amatory flights, darting over 

 and under one another, and uttering those 

 peculiar cries characteristic of their mating 

 season. It is almost impossible to describe 

 these curious love notes of the crow, so odd 

 and varied are they; but some of them 

 sounded to me like the strident croaks of 

 guinea hens. I doubt if there is any North 

 ern bird that begins its lovemaking and 

 nestmaking as early as our common crow. 

 The crow's love song is anything but mu 

 sical, but it is always sweet to my ears, be- 



