SPRING 71 



Never having crops to lose, for that mat- 

 ter, knowing that he eats more insects than 

 corn, the caw of the crow is music to me. 

 It is strong, calm, and confident a voice 

 of nature. So, I take it, is the voice of 

 Reginald McGonigle, who may be regarded 

 as the crow of this neighborhood, since he 

 despoils yards at his pleasure. 



Did I omit the pigeons ? Still, they are 

 not wild. Look at a flight of them : hu- 

 man-like creatures, following each other 

 without question as to the straight, sensi- 

 ble, profitable way. On nearly every morn- 

 ing they are to be seen rising from a stable 

 roof on another street : more than a score 

 of them. They fly over the roofs at a 

 height of sixty to a hundred feet, circling 

 in a ring fifty yards in diameter. After 

 going perhaps twenty times from right to 

 left, a few will spring higher into the air, the 

 rest following, as in " snap the whip," and 

 reverse the motion, so that the flight goes 

 from left to right. Do they get dizzy like 

 green waltzers or romping children ? Af- 

 ter wheeling for a time in the new direction 

 they drop to the roofs, as by general con- 



