822 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

 THE LANDING. 



Taking a most erratic course, a flock of cow- birds, 

 ■with, silent, nndulatory flight, preceded me this morning 

 on my way to the creek. They brushed the dew from 

 the taller bushes as they progressed, and caused the clus- 

 tered growths to look inky-black in contrast with the 

 dew-gemmed grasses beneath and dripping branches of 

 the trees overhead. The effect was very striking. Until 

 the sun had dried every twig, the route of this flock of 

 birds could be distinctly traced. 



"Why they rested for a moment, in nearly every clump 

 of bushes in their path, remains a mysteiy. They cer- 

 tainly were not in search of food, nor did they tarry 

 long enough to rest themselves. They stopped, and then 

 hurried on, as though led by the whim of a witless 

 leader. 



I clip the following from a paper, as it refers to these 

 Crosswicks meadows and the nearest village : " For up- 

 wards of an hour yesterday morning (November 5) a 

 continuous flock of cow-blackbirds flew over this town. 

 They came from a northerly direction, and were moving 

 southward. An old gunner says that cow - blackbirds 

 have not been very numerous hereabouts of late years." 



The day referred to was clear and warm, and I was 

 within a mile or two of this wonderful flock of birds, 



