THE OOLOaiST 



127 



"As I travelled several miles be- 

 low Hardenburgh on the Ohio 

 river across the dry plains, I no- 

 ticed a flock of Passenger Pigeons 

 that flew from northeast to south- 

 west. I was tempted to count the 

 flocks that passed the vision of 

 my eye in an hour. I made a spot 

 with a lead pencil on a piece of 

 paper, but gave it up. I found 

 that in twenty-four minutes I had 

 163 dots, but the masses increased 

 from there on and the sun was 

 darkened. I tried to shoot some 

 with my good rifle but they flew 

 so high that they were not within 

 reach. It is estimated that this 

 flock contained 1,115,136,000 

 Pigeons, and as each one con- 

 sumes daily one-half pint of nour- 

 ishment, the whole flock needed 

 8,712,000 bushels daily." 

 As a species this incredible multi- 

 tude has been ruthlessly extirpated 

 by netting and by professional plund- 

 ering of nests of the young. Near 

 breeding grounds hogs were fatted on 

 slaughtered pigeons. In New York 

 city squabs have been sold by the 

 barrel at a less price than potatoes. 



In early September, 1891, I went 

 with a party to Town Line where a 

 buckwheat field surrounded by woods 

 was alive with a large flock of 

 Pigeons, and was fortunate to secure 

 the handsome photographed male, and 

 a week later my son Edward went to 

 Sherkston, Ontario, and secured the 

 other younger male. The upper parts 

 are of a rich, bluish slate color, back 

 and sides of the neck with metallic 

 olive-brown. 



The American Audubon Society has 

 offered a reward of $3000 to the per- 

 son that can produce a verified state- 

 ment of a pair of Passenger Pigeons 

 in the territory of the United States. 



Books Received. 

 D. APPLETON & COMPANY of 

 New York have just issued a little 

 volume of 160 pages by Frank M. Chap- 

 man, entitled "The Travels of the 

 Birds," price 40c, which is a popular 

 presentation of the subject of migra- 

 tion as applied to certain birds there- 

 in referred to. It is an interesting lit- 

 tle volume illustrated by a nmber of 

 not very high class illustrations. 



To a Waterfowl. 



Whither 'midst falling dew. 



While glow the heavens with the 

 last steps of day. 

 Far, through their rosy depths, dost 

 thou pursue 

 Thy solitary way 

 Vainly the fowler's eye 



Might mark thy distant fiight to do 

 thee wrong. 

 As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 



Thy figure floats along. 

 There is a power whose care 



Teaches thy way along that pathless 

 coast — 

 The desert and illimitable air — 

 Lone wandering, but not lost. 

 All day thy wings have fanned. 



At that far height, the cold, thin at- 

 mosphere. 

 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome 

 land. 

 Though the dark night is near. 

 Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven 

 Hath swallowed up thy form; yet 

 on my heart 

 Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast 

 given. 

 And shall not soon depart. 

 He who, from zone to zone. 



Guides through the boundless sky 

 thy certain flight. 

 In the long way that I must tread 

 alone 

 Will lead my steps aright. 



— William Cullen Bryant. 



