196 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



ping along, sharply scrutinizing the surface beneath. 

 Where the eagles are, there the crows do congregate. 

 The crow follows the eagle, as the jackal follows 

 the lion, in hope of getting the leavings of the royal 

 table. Then I suspect the crow is a real hero-wor- 

 shiper. I have seen a dozen or more of them sit- 

 ting in a circle about an eagle upon the ice, all with 

 their faces turned toward him, and apparently in 

 silent admiration of the dusky king. 



The eagle seldom or never turns his back upon 

 a storm. I think he loves to face the wildest ele- 

 mental commotion. I shall long carry the picture 

 of one I saw floating northward on a large raft of 

 ice one day, in the face of a furious gale of snow. 

 He stood with his talons buried in the ice, his head 

 straight out before him, his closed wings showing 

 their strong elbows, — a type of stern defiance and 

 power. 



This great metropolitan river, as it were, with 

 its floating palaces, and shores lined with villas, is 

 thus an inlet and a highway of the wild and the 

 savage. The wild ducks and geese still follow it 

 north in spring, and south in the fall. The loon 

 pauses in his migrations and disports himself in its 

 waters. Seals and otters are occasionally seen in it. 



Of the Hudson it may be said that it is a very 

 large river for its size, — that is, for the quantity 

 of water it discharges into the sea. Its water-shed 

 is comparatively small, — less, I think, than that of 

 the Connecticut. 



It is a huge trough with a very slight incline, 



