JIM CROW. 



As I was planting corn one day last 

 spring, I noticed that crows in the vi- 

 cinity were much disturbed about some- 

 thing which was in a tree in an adjoin- 

 ing field. I had observed when plowing 

 earlier in the season that the crows took 

 many of the worms, which they gathered 

 from the freshly plowed ground, to this 

 special tree. I concluded that this tree 

 must contain a crow nest. It was my in- 

 tention to visit this tree, but I was so 

 busy with my farm work that I had not 

 as yet taken time to do so. The tree was 

 a lone cottonwood standing near the 

 center of the field next to the one in 

 which I was working. It was a tree 

 of many years' growth and had attained 

 a large size. There were no low limbs on 

 it, so it would be hard to climb. These 

 limbs had been cut away by the farmer 

 who tended the ground. But when I 

 heard those crows making so much noise 

 and flying about the tree my curiosity 

 got the better of my industry and I left 

 my corn planter, hitched my horses to 

 the fence and set out to see what the 

 crows had found. Climbing the fence, I 

 ran over towards the tree. When I 

 reached its foot I saw a large male fox 

 squirrel on one of the branches. The 

 crows were flying at him. They actually 

 pulled bunches of hair out of his tail ; for 



they had chased him around and around 

 among the branches until he could run no 

 farther. But he did not like the idea of 

 losing the bushy hair on his tail, for all 

 squirrels are proud of their tails, so he 

 made one more attempt to get away from 

 the crows, but he could not; he then 

 tried to come down the tree to the 

 ground, but when he nearly reached it, 

 he saw me and back he went again. 



I then looked over the tree and not very 

 high up I saw a crow's nest. I climbed 

 up to see it, but there was nothing in it. 

 I came down again, and when I had near- 

 ly reached the ground I saw a young 

 crow sitting on a lower limb. I climbed 

 out and captured him and taking him 

 down, placed him on the' ground. He 

 hopped about a little, but was easily 

 caught again. I soon found another 

 young crow, which had hidden himself 

 in the brush near the foot of the tree. 

 He also was easily caught. Asking per- 

 mission of the farmer, I took one of the 

 young crows home with me. I showed 

 it to Polly, my parrot, and she said it 

 was "a white chicken," but later con- 

 cluded it was "a pretty chicken," but 

 Polly is the birdie. I call my pet crow 

 Jim, and now he and Polly are good 

 friends. 



Paul J. Campbell. 



THE BLIND. 



Some look at Nature's face and lightly say — 

 "In this what talked-of beauty can there be?" 



They look, but in their sordid, selfish way, 

 They look, ah yes, they look, but do not see ! 



— J ac Lowell. 



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