_This_ is a rapacious bird, of the hawk kind, and the most common of all in England. It is of a sluggish, indolent nature, often remaining perched on the same bough for the greater part of the day: as if, indifferent either to the allurements of food or of pleasure, it were doomed, like some of the human species, to pass its allotted span of life in passive contemplation. It feeds on mice, rabbits, frogs, and often on all sorts of carrion. Too idle to build itself a nest, it frequently seizes upon the old habitation of a crow, which it lines afresh with wool and other soft materials. In general this bird, whose colour varies considerably, is brown varied with yellow specks; at a certain age its head becomes entirely gray. The female generally lays two or three eggs, which are mostly white, though sometimes spotted with yellow. Its length is usually twenty-two inches, and its breadth upwards of fifty. The following anecdote, related by Buffon, will show that the Buzzard may be so far tamed as to be rendered a faithful domestic. A Buzzard, which had been caught in a snare, was brought to a gentleman, who undertook to tame it. It was at first wild and ferocious, but by depriving it of food he succeeded in constraining it to come and eat out of his hand. By pursuing this plan he brought it to be very familiar; and, after having shut it up about six weeks, he began to allow it a little liberty, taking the precaution, however, to tie both pinions of its wings. In this condition it walked out into his garden, and returned when called to be fed; after some time, thinking he might trust to its fidelity, he removed the ligatures, and fastened a small bell above its talon, and also attached to its breast a bit of copper with his name engraved on it. He then gave it entire liberty, which it soon abused; for it took wing and flew into the forest of Belesme. The bird was given up for lost; but four hours afterwards, it rushed into the gentleman’s hall, pursued by five other Buzzards, which had driven it into its former asylum. After this adventure it preserved its fidelity, coming every night to sleep under the window. It soon became familiar, attended constantly at dinner, sat on a corner of the table, and often caressed its master with its head and bill, emitting a weak, sharp cry, which, however, it sometimes softened. It had a singular propensity of seizing from the head and flying away with the red caps of the peasants; and so alert was it in whipping them off, that they found their heads bare without knowing what was become of their caps; it even treated the wigsof the old men in the same way, hiding its booty in the tallest trees.