FIELD AND STUDY 



long. Not given to solitude and contemplation like 

 the proud hawks, not pugnacious, never or rarely 

 quarreling with his fellows, cheerfully sharing his 

 last morsel with them, playing sentinel while they 

 feed, suspicious, inquisitive, cunning, but never hid- 

 ing; as open as the day in his manners, proclaim- 

 ing his whereabouts at all hours of the day, looking 

 upon you as the intruder and himself as the rightful 

 occupant. The stiller the day the more noise he 

 makes. He is never a sneaker, never has the air of 

 a prowler. He is always in the public eye or ear. His 

 color gives him away, his voice gives him away; 

 on the earth or in the sky he is seen and heard afar. 

 No creature wants his flesh, rio lady wants his 

 plume, though a more perfect and brilliant ebony 

 cannot be found in nature. He is a bit of the night 

 with the sheen of the stars in it, yet the open day is 

 his province, publicity his passion. He is a spy, a 

 policeman, a thief, a good fellow, a loyal friend, an 

 alarmist, a socialist, all in one. Winter makes him 

 gregarious, as it does many men; at night he seeks 

 the populous rookery in the woods, by day he 

 wanders in bands seeking food. In spring he estab- 

 lishes a crow network all over the country and is 

 rarely out of earshot of some of his fellows. How we 

 should miss him from the day! Among our com- 

 munity of birds he is the conspicuous, all-the-year- 

 round feature. We do not love: him, there is no 

 poetry in his soul; but he challenges our attention, 

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