62 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



Near New York, a day in March — I have found 

 it varying from March 8 to March 12 — is "crow 

 day." Now the winter roosts apparently break 

 up, and all day flocks of crows, sometimes thou- 

 sands upon thousands of them, pass to the north- 

 ward. If the day is quiet and spring-like, they 

 fly very high, black motes silhouetted against the 

 blue, — but if the day is a "March day," with 

 whistling, howling winds, then the black fellows 

 fly close to earth, rising just enough to clear 

 bushes and trees, and taking leeward advantage 

 of every protection. For days after, many crows 

 pass, but never so many as on the first day, when 

 crow law, or crow instinct, passes the word, we 

 know not how, which is obeyed by all. 



For miles around not a drop of water may be 

 found; it seems as if every pool and lake were 

 solid to the bottom, and yet, when we see a large 

 bird, with goose-like body, long neck and long, 

 pointed beak, flying like a bullet of steel through 

 the sky, we may be sure that there is open water 

 to the northward, for a loon never makes a mis- 

 take. When the first pioneer of these hardy birds 

 passes, he knows that somewhere beyond us fish 

 can be caught. If we wonder where he has spent 

 the long winter months, we should take a steamer 

 to Florida. Out on the ocean, sometimes a hun- 

 dred miles or more from land, many of these birds 

 make their winter home. When the bow of the 

 steamer bears down upon one, the bird half 





