wing-power to more
ideal uses, as the lark when he claps his wings at heaven's gate, and
the ruffed grouse when he drums; even the woodcock has some other use
for his wings than to get from one point to another. Listen to his
flight song in the April twilight up against the sky.

Our small hawks use their power of flight mainly to catch their prey, as
does the swallow skimming the air all day on tireless wing, but some of
the other hawks, such as our red-tailed hawk, climb their great spirals
apparently with other motives than those which relate to their daily
fare. The crow has little other use for his wings than to gad about like
a busy politician from one neighborhood to another. In Florida I have
seen large flocks of the white ibis performing striking evolutions high
up against the sky, evidently expressive of the gay and festive feeling
begotten by the mating instinct.

The most beautiful flyer we ever see against our skies is the unsavory
buzzard. He is the winged embodiment of grace, ease, and leisure.
Judging from appearances alone, he is the most disinterested of all the
winged creatures we see. He rides the airy billows as if only to enjoy
his mastery over them. He is as calm and unhurried as the orbs in their
courses. His great circles and spirals have a kind of astronomic
completeness. That all this power of wing and grace of motion should be
given to an unclean bird, to a repulsive scavenger, is one of the
anomalies of nature. He does not need to hurry or conceal his approach;
what he is after cannot flee or hide; he has no enemies; nothing wants
him; and he is at peace with all the world.

The great condor of South America, in rising from the ground, always
faces the wind. It is often captured by tempting it to gorge itself in a
comparatively narrow space. But if a strong enough wind were blowing at
such times, it could quickly rise over the barrier. Darwin says he
watched a condor high in the air describing its huge circles for six
hours without once flapping its wings. He says that, if the bird wished
to descend, the wings were for a moment collapsed; and when again
expanded, with an altered inclination, the momentum gained by the rapid
descent seemed to urge the bird upwards with the even and steady
movement of a paper kite. In the case of any bird _soaring_, its motion
must be sufficiently rapid for the action of the inclined surface of
its body on the atmosphere to counterbalance its gravity. The fo