BESIDE THE MARSH. at 
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 desery 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. 
