70 AN IDYL OF THE HONEY-BEE. 



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, complaisant, 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 hear 

 the low hum of his plumage as if the web of every 

 quill in his great wings vibrated in his strong, level 

 light. I watched him as long as my eye could hold 

 .iim. When he was fairly clear of the mountain he 

 began that sweeping spiral movement in which he 

 climbs the sky. Up and up he went without once 

 breaking his majestic poise till he appeared to sight 

 some far-off alien geography, when he bent his course 

 thitherward and gradually vanished in the blue depth* 



