A year ago last April, the pigeons íiew 'or two or three dnys up and down the Lïudson. In long bowing Unes, or else u dense ínasses, they moved across the sky. It was not the whole army, but I ihould think at least one corps of it; I íftd not secn f-ucii a flight of pigeons since íay boyhood. I went up to the ;op of the house, the bettor to behold the winged procession. The day soemed memorable and poetic in wnicli such sights occurred. While I was lookiug at the pigeons, a look of wild geese went by, harrowiug ,he sky northward. The geese strike a deeper chord thau the pigeons. Level and straight they go as f ate to its mark. [ cannot teil what emetions these migratng birds awaken in me - the geese esjecially. One seldom sees more than i flock or tsvo in a season, and what a spring token it is! The great bodies are in motion. It is like the passage of a vietorieus army. No longer inch ly inch does spring come, but these geese advance the standard across zones it one pull. ïïow my desire goes with them, how something in me, wild and nigratory, pluuies ilself and fol'ows 'así ! - John Burroughs, in Soribners.