Just as if all its feathers had quarrell’d and parted.
I suppose she will shortly abscond for the season—
You and I, miss, have nothing to do with the reason;
[18] ]But this I will say—when I take to my pinions,
I don’t leave the bounds of the Eagle’s dominions:
To be sure she has very particular ways—
What a mystery hangs o’er her travelling days!—
If she goes, ’tis incog.—or she hides if she stays.—
But tell me the name of yon swaggering youth,”
(Daw.) “He’s the Crested Black Vulture, Miss.”