Mr Audubon an the Habits of the Turkey Bvzzard, 1T9 



digestion of all the food they have swallowed is completed ; from 

 time to time opening their wings to the breeze or to the sun, ei- 

 ther to cool or warm themselves. The traveller may then pass 

 under them unnoticed, or, if noticed, a mere sham of flying off is 

 made. The bird slowly recloses its wings, looks at the person 

 as he passes, and remains there until hunger again urges him 

 onwards. This takes oftentimes more than a day, when gra- 

 dually, and very often singly, each vulture is seen to depart. 



They now rise to an immense height, cutting, with great ele- 

 gance and ease many circles through the air ; now and then 

 gently closing their wings, they launch themselves obliquely 

 with great swiftness for several hundred yards, check and re- 

 sume their portly movements, ascending until, like mites in the 

 distance, they are seen all together to leave that neighbourhood, 

 to seek further the needed means of subsistence. 



Having heard it said, no doubt with the desire to prove that 

 buzzards smell their prey, that these birds usually fly against 

 the breeze, I may state that, in my opinion, this action is sim- 

 ply used, because it is easier for birds to maintain themselves on 

 the wing encountering a moderate portion of wind, than when 

 flying before it ; but I have so often witnessed these birds bear- 

 ing away under the influence of a strong breeze, as if enjoying 

 it, that I consider either case as a mere incident connected with 

 their pleasures or their wants. 



Here, my dear Sir, let me relate one of those facts, curious 

 in itself, and attributed to mere instinct^ but which I cannot 

 admit under that appellation, and which, in my opinion, so bor- 

 ders on reason, that, were I to call it by that name, I hope you 

 will not look on my judgment as erroneous, without your fur- 

 ther investigating the subjects in a more general point of view. 



During one of those heavy gusts that so often take place in 

 Louisiana in the early part of summer, I saw a flock of these 

 birds, which had undoubtedly discovered that the current of air 

 that was tearing all over them was a mere sheet, raise themselves 

 obliquely against it with great force, slide through its impetuous 

 current, and reassume above it their elegant movements. 



The power given to them by nature of discerning the ap- 

 proaching death of a wounded animal, is truly remarkable. 

 They will watch each movement of any individual thus assailed 



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