The dove bears the letter to her own dovecote. She will go nowhere else with it, and man does not know how to make the dove fly in any other direction than toward its own home. The dove is thrown up into the air; she mounts aloft, whirls round and round and round, looking with eager eyes, and at last she sees the place where she has been accustomed to rest, and where her little ones have been reared, and she darts straight to the spot. Before the ark was built, no doubt, this bird frequented much