28 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



Sitting, as these large hawks do, often for hours at a 

 time, what is passing through their minds the while ? 

 They can scarcely be supposed to be sleeping, and are 

 not weakened from hunger at any time. I have called 

 them meditative because they appear to be thinking 

 while they sit on their elevated perches. Perhaps, Mi- 

 cawber-like, they are waiting for something to turn up. 

 But they cannot even do this without thought. There 

 is nothing simply " instinctive," whatever that may be, 

 in the meditative hawks that I watch, as they sit in the 

 trees along Poaetqiiissings Creek. Still, I am forced to 

 confess that the matter of their thoughts is past finding 

 out. 



When the black hawk acquires its black plumage — 

 when, save a bit of white on the tail, it is jet black, then 

 it is less timid than the blotchy- brown, rough-legged 

 hawks that so largely represent this family. Why it 

 should be for a long time puzzled me, but I am inclined 

 now to believe that it passes itself off for a crow, and so 

 considers itself in less danger than its browny- white 

 brother. I recently saw a fine specimen, black as the 

 ace of spades, quietly walking through the tangled dead 

 grass on the banks of Poaetquissings. It even waddled 

 like a crow, and appeared to be industriously in search 

 of mice. Halting behind a convenient birch, I watched 

 the hawk for some minutes. Presently it came to where 

 a net had been recently drawn from the water, and 

 where a few small fish were lying, left by the fisherman. 

 These it ate greedily. Placing one foot upon the fish 

 to hold it down, the head was seized, and swallowed in 

 good-sized pieces. Not a morsel was discarded. Three 



