ON THE UPPER ST. JOHN'S. 139 



ing upward again. Another minute, and I 

 saw a second bird, farther away. I watched 

 the nearer one till it faded from sight, soar- 

 ing and swooping by turns, its long, scis- 

 sors-shaped tail all the while fully spread, 

 but never coming down, as its habit is said 

 to be, to skim over the surface of the water. 

 There is nothing more beautiful on wings, 

 I believe : a large hawk, with a swallow's 

 grace of form, color, and motion. I saw it 

 once more (four birds) over the St. Mark's 

 River, and counted the sight one of the chief 

 rewards of my Southern winter. 



At noon we rested and ate our luncheon 

 in the shade of three or four tall palmetto- 

 trees standing by themselves on a broad 

 prairie, a place brightened by beds of blue 

 iris and stretches of golden senecio, home- 

 like as well as pretty, both of them. Then 

 we set out again. The day was intensely 

 hot (March 24), and my oarsman was more 

 than half sick with a sudden cold. I begged 

 him to take things easily, but he soon ex- 

 perienced an almost miraculous renewal of 

 his forces. In one of the first of our after- 

 dinner bonnet patches, he seized his gun, 

 fired, and began to shout, " A purple ! a pur- 



