Much to my regret I have seen none of the beautiful birds for about six years. The savage warfare upon them, from nesting place to nesting place by pot-hunters and villainous fellows who barreled them for market, with nets and every brutal means for wholesale destruction, has driven them, I know not whither. If there are considerable flocks of them anywhere, I should be glad to know it.
I wish I might help you. Such things as are here hastily recalled and written will not be likely to afford anything of interest, but if there is any thought or anything in it, it is cheerfully given.
On the great sand bluffs which line our shores in many places, flocks of pigeons in passing would fly so low that a man with a club could knock them down. At Lincoln, three miles north of here, nets were put on the top of the hills, like gill nets, to catch them in their flight.
They were never very successful.