58 PEPACTON 



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 flight. I watched him as long as my eye could 

 hold him. When he was fairly clear of the moun- 

 tain 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 van- 

 ished in the blue depths. The eagle is a bird of 

 large ideas; he embraces long distances; the conti- 

 nent is his home. I never look upon one without 



