CHAPTER XXXVII. 



BIRDS OF PREY: VULTURES. 



Nothing in the whole range of bird life challenges 

 attention more forcibly than the nature and habits of the 

 birds of prey. One bird lover may have as his particular 

 favourites for study a certain group of birds, another another, 

 but there is no one who takes any note of feathered life at 

 all but feels compelled to be interested in the eagle, the 

 falcon, the vulture, and the hawk. They typify in a very 

 important sense all that is perfect in the mechanism of flight, 

 all that is bold in the nature of courage, and all that is 

 striking in avian temperament, besides having that nameless 

 attraction which attaches itself to the bold buccaneer, be he 

 of the air or the water. Few if any of the rapacious birds 

 condescend to beauty of plumage. Not for them are the 

 rainbow tints of the tropics, or the brilliant metallic sheen so 

 often seen in temperate climes. Simple browns and greys 

 are the governing hues of the raptores. Here and there one 

 adorns himself with a crest, or a pair of horns, as the owl, 

 but as a rule the dress of eagles, falcons, and other preying 

 birds is of the plain work-a-day order, often apparently even 

 loose and ill-fitting. 



Yet there is no lack of variety in the order. They range 

 in size from the enormous vulture of the Andes, the spread 

 of whose outstretched wings is measured in yards, to the 

 tiniest little hawk or owl, barely larger than a good sized 

 thrush. In food they differ in the same degree. There is 

 all the difference in the world between the vulture tribe 

 which gorges itself on any dead bodies that it can find and 

 the dainty little hawk which darts through the air to seize a 

 finch, a sparrow, or even an insect. There is a natural 

 disgust in man at the mere thought of the vulture, which is 

 not lessened by his repulsive appearance, and still more 

 repulsive manner of feeding. There is nothing of that sort 

 experienced when one sees the lightningflashof afalcon, or the 

 dart of a hungry kestrel. One hears the chased blackbird's 

 agonizing cry; perhaps one thinks of a songster the less and 

 feels sorry for his fate, but such occurrences are in the 

 nature of things. The pain is soon over, and Nature is, 

 as the poet tells us, "red in tooth and claw with ravin." 



