ime they were to be flown
without the old ones. The point of start, Elizabeth, N. J., was a long
journey for their first unaided attempt. "But then," the trainer
remarked, "that's how we weed out the fools; only the best birds make
it, and that's all we want back."

There was another side to the flight. It was to be a race among those
that did return. Each of the men about the loft as well as several
neighboring fanciers were interested in one or other of the Homers.
They made up a purse for the winner, and on me was to devolve the
important duty of deciding which should take the stakes. Not the first
bird back, but the first bird into the loft, was to win, for one that
returns to his neighborhood merely, without immediately reporting at
home, is of little use as a letter-carrier.

The Homing Pigeon used to be called the Carrier because it carried
messages, but here I found that name restricted to the show bird, the
creature with absurdly developed wattles; the one that carries the
messages is now called the Homer, or Homing Pigeon--the bird that
always comes home. These Pigeons are not of any special color, nor have
they any of the fancy adornments of the kind that figure in Bird shows.
They are not bred for style, but for speed and for their mental gifts.
They must be true to their home, able to return to it without fail. The
sense of direction is now believed to be located in the bony labyrinth
of the ear. There is no creature with finer sense of locality and
direction than a good Homer, and the only visible proofs of it are the
great bulge on each side of the head over the ears, and the superb
wings that complete his equipment to obey the noble impulse of
home-love. Now the mental and physical equipments of the last lot of
young birds were to be put to test.

Although there were plenty of witnesses, I thought it best to close all
but one of the pigeon-doors and stand ready to shut that behind the
first arrival.

I shall never forget the sensations of that day. I had been warned:
"They start at 12; they should be here at 12:30; but look out, they
come like a whirlwind. You hardly see them till they're in."

We were ranged along the inside of the loft, each with an eye to a
crack or a partly closed pigeon-door, anxiously scanning the
southwestern horizon, when one shouted: "Look out--here they come!"
Like a white cloud they burst into view, low skimming over the city
roofs, around a great chimney pile, and in tw