the unusually hard weather of the winter of 1904. 

 Three of them from the woodlot came begging of 

 me, and lived on my wisdom, not on their own. 



Consider the ravens, that neither sow nor reap, 

 that have neither storehouse nor barn, yet they are 

 fed, but not always. Indeed, there are few of our 

 winter birds that go hungry so often, and that die in 

 so great numbers for lack of food and shelter, as the 

 crows. 



After severe and protracted cold, with a snow- 

 covered ground, a crow-roost looks like a battlefield, 

 so thick lie the dead and wounded. Morning after 

 morning the flock goes over to forage in the frozen 

 fields, and night after night returns hungrier, weaker, 

 and less able to resist the cold. Now, as the dark- 

 ness falls, a bitter wind breaks loose and sweeps 

 down upon the pines. 



List'ning the doors an' winnocks rattle, 

 I thought me on the owrie cattle, 



and how often I have thought me on the crows biding 

 the night yonder in the moaning pines ! So often, as 

 a boy, and with so real an awe, have I watched them 

 returning at night, that the crows will never cease 

 flying through my wintry sky, an endless line of 



103 



