to be a race among fifty of the youngsters. The owner of the loft
had asked me, as an unprejudiced outsider, to be judge in the
contest.

It was a training race of the young birds. They had been taken
out for short distances with their parents once or twice, then
set free to return to the loft. Now for the first time 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