No two sorts of birds practise quite the same sort of flight; the varieties
are infinite; but two classes may be roughly seen. Any ship that crosses the
Pacific is accompanied for many days by the smaller albatross, Which may keep
company with the vessel for an hour without visible or more than occasional
movement of wing. The currents of air that the walls of the ship direct
upwards, as well as in the line of its course, are enough to give the great
bird with its immense wings sufficient sustenance and progress. The albatross
is the king of the gliders, the class of fliers which harness the air to their
purpose, but must yield to its opposition. In the contrary school, the duck is
supreme. It comes nearer to the engines with which man has 'conquered' the
air, as he boasts. Duck, and like them the pigeons, are endowed with
steel-like muscles, that are a good part of the weight of the bird, and these
will ply the short wings with such irresistible power that they can bore for
long distances through an opposing gale before exhaustion follows. Their
humbler followers, such as partridges, have a like power of strong propulsion,
but soon tire. You may pick them up in utter exhaustion, if wind over the sea
has driven them to a long journey. The swallow shares the virtues of both
schools in highest measure. It tires not, nor does it boast of its power; but
belongs to the air, travelling it may be six thousand miles to and from its
northern nesting home, feeding its flown young as it flies, and slipping
through a medium that seems to help its passage even when the wind is adverse.
Such birds do us good, though we no longer take omens from their flight on
this side and that; and even the most superstitious villagers no longer take
off their hats to the magpie and wish it good-morning.&