ALBATROSSES 111 



up their power. But the feeling of land was too 

 unaccustomed a thing — the bird sagged sidewise, 

 tipped over a pebble, half fell across one of its 

 fellows, and turned over, rolling undignifiedly 

 several times before it quite stopped. Then it 

 rose unsteadily, gathered itself together and looked 

 around, clattering its beak and shaking its head, 

 doubtless, saying to itself, that the land was not 

 what it used to be. 



I watched this bird and followed it for a consid- 

 erable distance inland, but at its very first step I 

 realized anew how far specialization for the air 

 had gone. Flat feet, fallen arches, rheumatic joints, 

 crippled limbs — all were suggested in its painful, 

 appallingly awkward gait. At each step the entire 

 body turned with the leg, and the whole head and 

 neck swung around and down on the opposite side 

 to aid in balance and in supreme endeavor for each 

 succeeding step. I have never seen a more un- 

 gainly, effortful mode of progression, and when 

 thrown on the motion picture screen it arouses as 

 much amusement in an audience as the peripa- 

 tetic progress of Charlie Chaplin. Some day an 

 epic will be written on the law of compensation, 

 the most dramatic thing in nature — the peacock 

 with its aristocratic, incomparable display of ex- 

 quisite colors, and its Billingsgate squawk of a 

 voice; the nightingale, embodiment of glorious 

 soul-stirring song, with feathers of dullest russet 

 and grey. And here were albatrosses, master 

 fllyers, tottering miserably along as if each step 

 brought acute agony. 



