YOUNG CROW EDIBLE. 



On the 22nd of April, in company with Russell Gray, I spent almost 

 the entire day looking up the nests of my old friends, the Crows. One 

 of the interesting finds of the trip was that of two young about two 

 days old in a nest in the crotch of a leaning chestnut tree. The old 

 birds prefering to keep their affairs secret, made no outcry ; influenced 

 doubtless by the noisy work of a near-by wood-chopper. As the nest 

 must have been constructed as early as the last of March, it was thickly 

 lined with cow hair. Now a strange tale had been but recently 

 related to me from first hands, in which it is made to appear that 

 the young are edible, and what is more, a dainty. Men and boys — as 

 it runs — used to visit Reedy Island, at the head of Delaware Bay, 

 where hundreds of Crows nested on the broken reeds, at the proper sea- 

 son for the purpose of securing the callow young, which brought good 

 prices at the various markets and restaurants of Philadelphia, under the 

 non-de-flume of "squabs." The above was strengthened by a remark 

 made by an old lumberman and guide, formerly of Pike county, who 

 said that the young of the Crow were much sought after in season by the 

 lumbermen, by whom they are regarded as superior to young pigeons. 

 Accordingly I secured this pair of young when they were about sixteen 

 days old. The primaries, secondaries and tail feathers were just begin- 

 ning to develop, the feathery tips just breaking out at the ends of the 

 blue quills. Even when dressed, the long wings and very dark skin re- 

 quired some explanation before going into the frying pan. Neverthe- 

 less they finally reached the table under that all embracing term of 

 "birds," and I literally "ate crow" for my breakfast. Subsequently 

 one of the family remarked that the pigeon was rather tough, but the 

 quality of the flesh was not impeached. In fact, it was superior to many 

 birds I have eaten, and indeed, scarcely inferior to and tasting not unlike 

 squab. 



Frank L. Burns, Berwyn, Penn. 



A MAY HORIZON. 



The tenth day of May of this year (1897) was one to be remembered 

 by local ornithologists for its wealth of transient bird life. The previous 



