NATURE'S 
song, but when we come to consider health as 
a factor of our existence we must not fail to 
vote the vulture as our most valuable bird. 
The turkey vulture is more attentive to its du- 
ties than the other species, but its great num- 
‘bers, vast region of extent and its seeming fear- 
lessness enable it to secure the greater portion 
of food, and not even the dead rat in the barn- 
yard is allowed to escape notice. Its God- 
given powers enable it to subsist upon that 
which is not only noxious to our external 
senses, but is poison and disease to our sys- 
tems. 
Endowed with the keenest scent and the 
sharpest eye, the buzzard is ever ready and 
anxious to remove the decaying carcasses from 
the fields. 
We cannot comprehend their value to us, 
but we do know that theirs is a welcome mis- 
sion, which promotes our better health, and 
health means wealth and happiness. 
The buzzard it the most widely distributed 
of any of the family, and perhaps also the 
most numerous of any of our birds. Its range 
extends over the whole of the United States, 
Southern Canada, Mexico, Central America 
and the greater part of South America. It is 
most abundant in the warmer portion of the 
continent—the farther south one goes the 
greater the need—and there they are found 
soaring by hundreds, in company with their 
near relatives, the black vulture, or carrion 
crow. The two are often mistaken for each 
other, though a second look is sufficient to de- 
termine their difference. The buzzard is of a 
dirty brown color, with long, bent wings and 
divergent quills at the ends, and takes two or 
three long sweeping strokes of the wings, while 
the carrion crow is black, has short, straight, 
round-ended wings and flies heavily, making 
about six short, quick strokes in rapid succes- 
sion, and repeated often, whereas the buzzard 
may sail for hours with perhaps only now and 
then a single wave of the wings. When seen 
closer the buzzard has a red head and a neck 
similar to a common turkey’s, hence the name. 
When anywhere but in the sky overhead the 
buzzard seems to be out of his realm, away 
from home. He is awkward, clumsy, filthy 
and unsightly. But let him stretch his power- 
REALM. 119 
ful wings out over the fields and he at once be- 
comes the most graceful bird of the air, sailing 
and rocking, as it were, on the billows of the 
sky. Other birds (such as the hawks), feeling 
a sense of pride, mount into the heavens to try 
their skill at soaring, but fall far short of the 
buzzard’s standard of excellence, and presently 
drop into the forests below. 
The very nature of the buzzard’s occupation, 
or manner of subsistence, often requires him to 
go hungry (for he is loath to kill), and, conse- 
quent-y, when he does find food, gorges him- 
self until unable to fly. If disturbed he will 
disgorge his meal to make safe his escape. I 
have no authentic record of one ever attacking 
a live animal, though they sometimes hover 
over a dying beast until life is extinct rather 
than eat the flesh of a living being. 
Like other American vultures he has no 
voice, but only hisses like a goose or setting 
turkey. 
The muscles of the wings, like those of most 
other sailing birds, are so arranged that when 
the wings are spread it requires no effort on 
the part of the bird to keep them thus, and it 
can soar all day without tiring. Its extreme 
lightness also aids much to easy flight, its body 
being even smaller than that of the carrion 
crow. 
It often breeds in communities, but more 
commonly in pairs, selecting as a building site 
some rocky cliff, hollow log or stump, a cavity 
in a tree, a cave or even the bare ground. In 
trees the eggs are deposited on the bottom, 
even if it be hollow clear to the ground. Con- 
siderable noise is occasioned in going in and 
out by the wings raking against the sides of the 
tree, and is sometimes heard for nearly half a 
mile. For three seasons I have visited what is 
known here as “ Buzzards’ Cave,” in hopes of 
securing a set of eggs of a pair that usually 
breed there. I finally concluded that they 
knew my errand, and quit going so regularly. 
One day as I strolled by I saw two full-fledged 
young sitting in the entrance sunning. On my 
appearance they turned and scampered to its 
remotest ends and tucked their heads in crev- 
ices of the rocks. This year I was rewarded 
for my patience by a handsomely marked set 
of two eggs, which further testify to the theory 
