turn now to a survey of some of the more remarkable forms of 
flight, beginning with that known as “ soaring.” 
This but few birds have mastered, and to-day it is rarely 
to be seen in our islands, for eagles, falcons, and buzzards 
are, unfortunately, only to be found in a few favoured 
localities. Happily, however, one may yet realize the delight 
of watching a soaring buzzard, or raven, among the hills of 
Westmorland, or in parts of Cornwall and Wales. But to 
see the past-masters in the art, one must seek the haunts of 
pelicans, vultures, and adjutant storks. The last-named is 
perhaps the finest performer of them all. For the first 
hundred feet or so he rises by rapid and powerful strokes of 
the wings, and then, apparently without the slightest effort, 
or the suspicion of a wing-beat, he sweeps round in great 
spirals, gaining some ten or twenty feet with each gyration, 
the wings and tail all the while being fully extended and the 
primary feathers widely separated at their tips. During the 
first part of every turn he is flying slightly downward: at 
the end of the descent he sweeps round and faces the wind, 
which carries him upward. Round, round, he goes, mounting 
ever higher and higher, until at last he attains a height of 
perhaps two miles. 
The adjutant thus goes aloft apparently for the mere 
delight the movement affords him. But not so with the 
vulture, who is a close rival in this art. He soars for his very 
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