836 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



in some stubble-field for food. Suddenly, from some common 

 impulse, the flock rises and moves away on an excursion for 

 perhaps three or four miles. As the Crows rise and start away 

 their noise is, if possible, increased, but gradually dies out as 

 they approach the distant hill, and is quite lost before they 

 disappear to sight on its further slope. When they are gone the 

 wintry field which for an hour has been associated with the 

 noisy birds seems quite desolate. 



But now, as the sun is becoming large over the western hills, 

 we see in almost every direction, singly, in pairs, in small groups, 

 the Crows centreing toward the roosting-ground, and by the time 

 the flock we first observed returns from its excursion it has 

 become decidedly reinforced. Before settling down, the flock 

 may again wander off for two miles or more, but so many new 

 individuals are arriving that a number do not join the main body, 

 but seek the tops of the black oaks as if settling for the night. 

 It is about sunset when these first ones alight, and it is not long 

 before twenty or thirty of the nearest trees on the edge of the 

 woods will each have seven or eight black figures perched upon 

 its topmost branches. 



Just as the sun is sinking below the horizon the flock which 

 wandered away returns, and so many more Crows have joined the 

 force that it has grown to immense proportions. The sunset 

 appears to be the signal for all Crows, individually or in flocks, 

 to centre at the roost. They come then in long streams, irregular 

 in outlines perhaps, but rather constant in numbers, and after 

 sunset the incoming is almost without noise, save the sharp 

 whirring of their wings. 



Audubon says : " They may be seen proceeding to such places 

 more than an hour before sunset, in long straggling lines and 

 in silence, and are joined by the Grackles, Starlings and Reed 

 Birds, while the Fish Crows retire from the very same parts 

 to the interior of the woods, many miles distant from any 

 shores." 



Also Dr. Godman observes that " endless columns pour in from 

 various quarters, and as they arrive pitch upon their accustomed 

 perches, crowding closely together for the benefit of the warmth 

 and the shelter afforded by the thick foliage of the pine. The 

 trees are literally bent by their weight, and the ground is covered 

 for many feet (?) in depth by their dung, which, by its gradual 



