BESIDE THE MARSH. 37 



till he fades in the distance. Not once does 

 he flap his wings, but sails and sails, going 

 with the wind, yet turning again and again 

 to rise against it, helping himself thus to 

 its adverse, uplifting pressure in the place of 

 wing-strokes, perhaps, and passing onward 

 all the while in beautiful circles. He, too, 

 scavenger though he is, has a genius for be- 

 ing graceful. One might almost be willing 

 to be a buzzard, to fly like that ! 



The kingfisher and the heron are still at 

 their posts. An exquisite yellow butterfly, 

 of a sort strange to my Yankee eyes, flits 

 past, followed by a red admiral. The marsh 

 hawk is on the wing again, and while look- 

 ing at him I descry a second hawk, too far 

 away to be made out. Now the air behind 

 me is dark with crows, a hundred or two, 

 at least, circling over the low cedars. Some 

 motive they have for all their clamor, but it 

 passes my owlish wisdom to guess what it 

 can be. A fourth blue heron appears, and 

 drops into the grass out of sight. 



Between my feet is a single blossom of the 

 yellow oxalis, the only flower to be seen ; and 

 very pretty it is, each petal with an orange 

 spot at the base. 



