t to
distinguish between a kite and a buzzard, which was very stupid, and
unlike us--more like Poietes in Salmonia. The flight of the buzzard, as
may be seen in Selby, is slow--and except during the season of
incubation, when it often soars to a considerable height, it seldom
remains long on the wing. It is indeed a heavy, inactive bird, both in
disposition and appearance, and is generally seen perched upon some old
and decayed tree, such being its favourite haunt. Him we soon thought
little or nothing about--and the last one we shot, it was, we remember,
just as he was coming out of the deserted nest of a crow, which he had
taken possession of out of pure laziness; and we killed him for not
building a house of his own in a country where there was no want of
sticks. But the kite or glead, as the same distinguished ornithologist
rightly says, is proverbial for the ease and gracefulness of its flight,
which generally consists of large and sweeping circles, performed with a
motionless wing, or at least with a slight and almost imperceptible
stroke of its pinions, and at very distant intervals. In this manner,
and directing its course by its tail, which acts as a rudder, whose
slightest motion produces effect, it frequently soars to such a height
as to become almost invisible to the human eye. Him we loved to slay, as
a bird worthy of our barrel. Him and her have we watched for days, like
a lynx, till we were led, almost as if by an instinct, to their nest in
the heart of the forest--a nest lined with wool, hair, and other soft
materials, in the fork of some large tree. They will not, of course,
utterly forsake their nest, when they have young, fire at them as you
will, though they become more wary, and seem as if they heard a leaf
fall, so suddenly will they start and soar to heaven. We remember, from
an ambuscade in a briery dell in the forest, shooting one flying
overhead to its nest; and, on going up to him as he lay on his back,
with clenched talons and fierce eyes, absolutely shrieking and yelling
with fear, and rage, and pain, we intended to spare his life, and only
take him prisoner, when we beheld beside him on the sod, a chicken from
the brood of famous ginger piles, then, all but his small self,
following the feet of their clucking mother at the manse! With visage
all inflamed, we gave him the butt on his double organ of
destructiveness, then only known to us by the popular name of "back o'
the head," exclaiming