; 
i: 
7 
AN IDYL OF THE HONEY-BEE. 49 
long series of cultivated fields toward some high, 
uplying land, behind which rises a rugged wooded 
ridge or mountain, the most sightly point in all this sec- 
tion. Behind this ridge for several miles the country 
is wild, wooded, and rocky, and is no doubt the 
home of many wild swarms of bees. What a glee- 
ful uproar the robins, cedar-birds, high-holes, and cow 
black-birds make amid the black cherry-trees as we 
pass along. The raccoons, too, have been here after 
black cherries, and we see their marks at various 
points. Several crows are walking about a newly 
sowed wheat field we pass through, and we pause to 
note their graceful movements and glossy coats. I 
have seen no bird walk the ground with just the 
same air the crow does. It is not exactly pride: 
there is no strut or swagger in it, though perhaps 
just a little condescension ; it is the contented, com- 
plaisant, and self-possessed gait of a lord over his 
domains. All these acres are mine, he says, and all 
these crops; men plow and sow for me, and I stay 
here or go there, and find life sweet and good 
wherever I am. The hawk looks awkward and out 
of place on the ground; the game birds hurry and 
-skulk, but the crow is at home and treads the 
earth as if there were none to molest or make him 
afraid. 
The crows we have always with us, but it is not 
every day or every season that one sees an eagle. 
Hence I must preserve the memory of one I saw 
the last day I went bee-hunting. As I was laboring 
up the side of a mountain at the head of a valley, 
the noble bird sprang from the top of a dry tree 
above me and came sailing directly over my head. I 
saw him bend his eye down upon me, and I could 
