"
Straightway the conversation came back to the mystery of the woods
and the mystery of the rivers, to the dark-eyed hawks and the
yellow-eyed, to hawks of the lure and hawks of the fist. The
Bishop was as steeped in the lore of falconry as the King, and the
others smiled as the two wrangled hard over disputed and technical
questions: if an eyas trained in the mews can ever emulate the
passage hawk taken wild, or how long the young hawks should be
placed at hack, and how long weathered before they are fully
reclaimed.
Monarch and prelate were still deep in this learned discussion,
the Bishop speaking with a freedom and assurance which he would
never have dared to use in affairs of Church and State, for in all
ages there is no such leveler as sport. Suddenly, however, the
Prince, whose keen eyes had swept from time to time over the great
blue heaven, uttered a peculiar call and reined up his palfrey,
pointing at the same time into the air.
"A heron!" he cried. "A heron on passage!"
To gain the full sport of hawking a heron must not be put up from
its feeding-ground, where it is heavy with its meal, and has no
time to get its pace on before it is pounced upon by the more
active hawk, but it must be aloft, traveling from point to point,
probably from the fish-stream to the heronry. Thus to catch the
bird on passage was the prelude of all good sport.
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