VII 

 PIGEONS 



PASSENGER PIGEON ; WILD PIGEON * 



Aug. 1845. I sit here at my window like a priest of 

 Isis, and observe the phenomena of three thousand years 

 ago, yet unimpaired. The tantivy of wild pigeons, an 

 ancient race of birds, gives a voice to the air, flying by 

 twos and threes athwart my view or perching restless 

 on the white pine boughs occasionally ; a fish hawk dim- 

 ples the glassy surface of the pond and brings up a fish ; 

 and for the last half-hour I have heard the rattle of 

 railroad cars conveying travellers from Boston to the 

 country. 



1850. 2 The fire reached the base of the cliff and then 

 rushed up its sides. The squirrels ran before it in blind 

 haste, and three pigeons dashed into the midst of the 

 smoke. 



July 21, 1851. Some pigeons here are resting in the 

 thickest of the white pines during the heat of the day, 

 migrating, no doubt. They are unwilling to move for 

 me. Flies buzz and rain about my hat, and the dead 

 twigs and leaves of the white pine, which the choppers 

 have left here, exhale a dry and almost sickening scent. 



1 [On account of the interest attaching to this bird, once so abundant 

 and now nearly or quite extinct, practically every reference to it in 

 Thoreau's Journal, however seemingly trivial, is here reproduced.] 



2 [Though this was written in 1850, the fire referred to had hap- 

 pened some years earlier.] 



