46 DAYS OUT OF BOORS. 



then from fishes upward they frequently stop to think. 

 As we so often say of ourselves and of other people, so I 

 am warranted in saying of the crows, they had stopped to 

 think. But of what ? Ah ! that is another matter. 



Poor, persecuted crows ! they have a hard time of it, 

 and only their excellent wit has saved them from annihila- 

 tion. I recently read of the efforts to destroy a newly 

 formed crow-roost, and that the farmers of the neighbor- 

 hood were divided into crowites and anti-crowites. There 

 is no need of coining a new word. Those who defend 

 those birds are wise; those who persecute them, other- 

 wise. 



There was nothing directly in my path to explain the 

 presence of these crows, so far as I could see, but this fact 

 goes for naught. They are long-headed birds, and not 

 disposed to publish their plans by remaining too close to 

 the scene of proposed operations; and so far as their 

 suggestive silence is concerned, I long ago learned that a 

 pair of crows, when nesting, could keep quiet on occasion, 

 as when raiding upon the nest of a sitting hen during her 

 absence, or when stealing corn from a crib that was near 

 the farmer's house ; and when a water-melon patch is to 

 be visited, the same caution is often exercised, although at 

 this time the nesting is over. I have knowledge of a pair 

 of crows that always alighted in an adjoining field, and 

 walked some distance to the fence and then crept under 

 it, thus reaching the melons in safety. A chance remark, 

 jokingly made, led to the discovery of this astonishing 

 fact. 



A few minutes later, as I reached the brow of the hill, 

 a cold blast from the north came sweeping through the 

 woods, and as suddenly the sky became brighter. Then 

 the western horizon grew brilliant ; a bright band of glow- 

 ing red rested upon the distant tree-tops, and in the hol- 

 lows of the wood near by the scanty remnants of sheltered 



