220 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 



I doubt if ever the crows were given to keeping within 

 such hard and fast lines as has been suggested. At all 

 events, if it is applicable to the sandy pine barrens of south 

 Jersey to say the crows only roost there, it is not true of 

 central Jersey, at and about the head of tide water in the 

 Delaware Valley. I think I have positive evidence that 

 Wilson was right in speaking of a crow-roost near Bristol, 

 Pennsylvania; and I have personal knowledge of the oc- 

 cupancy of such a one for many years — one that is yet 

 occupied, but only by a tithe of the former numbers that 

 frequented it. It is not unlikely that a great change in 

 the birds' habits is being brought about. They appear 

 to be decreasing in numbers, and probably their cunning is 

 leading them to the safer method of scattering over wider 

 areas to roost. 



In spite of all the ugly things I have heard of crows — 

 not one in a hundred of them reaUy true — I early learned 

 to love the bird, and their full-toned autumn cries are mu- 

 sic to my ears. It is ever with regret I hear of woodland 

 tracts laid bare, and the poor birds' roosting-trees de- 

 stroyed. More and more the crows are scattered autumn 

 after autumn, and so the close of summer loses one consid- 

 erable charm. It is painful to think that even the scanty 

 remnants of our forests may soon disappear — that the 

 black frost of greed may ere long irreparably blight the 

 country. 



After a pleasant ride over the rolling hills and across 

 many a pretty intervale, I found myself, recently, in a 

 commodious tent, erected in anticipation of my coming, 

 and from this, my present comfortable quarters, I have 

 given myself to strolling wheresoever my fancy led me, for 

 I have been spending in camp nearly the whole month of 

 September. Searching for nothing in particular, I was 

 eager to light upon every novelty of which this fayored 



