STO-RIES ABOUT BIRDS. 



size and his strength, and he rarely attacks an animal larger than a hare, 

 indeed, he has a touch of the vulture about him, and will eat dead creatures 

 with more relish than living prey. 



In order to escape from his greatest enemy — man — the eagle has re- 

 treated to the wildest and most desolate part of the coast, and makes his 

 nest where scarce any living creature can reach it. His nest is of immense 

 size, and is made of sticks and heath and twigs and dead sea-weeds. The 

 mother bird lays two eggs, of a pure white, with some pale red dots at the 

 larger end. The young birds are clothed with a greyish-coloured down, and 

 are plentifully supplied with food. But as soon as they are old enough, the 

 parent eagles drive them away. 



The shepherds and farmers in the neighbourhood have a great dislike to 

 the eagle, and try to kill the young ones. They contrive to creep along some 

 mountain track till they get to the nest, and then, as in the case of the other 

 eagle, set it on fire. 



During this process the parent birds wheel round and round, and- utter 

 screams of distress. They might easily attack their persecutors and drive 

 them away, but they rarely attempt to do so. Yet now and then a person 

 crossing the lonely moors has been scratched and buffeted by an eagle. 



There is another fierce bird of prey, called the osprey, or the fish-hawk, 

 that is a distant relation of the eagle. He, too, feeds on fish, and hovers over 

 the water in a hawk-like fashion. Then, when a fish comes near enough to 

 the surface, he pounces on it, and is seen rising with it in his talons. He 

 thinks he is secure of his prey, but now and then he meets with a disappoint- 

 ment. The sea eagle has been watching close by on some crag on the lonely 

 beach. Now he bends his head, makes a great swoop on the hawk, and 

 frightens him so that he drops his prize. Then the eagle, by a very adroit 

 swoop, catches it before it reaches the water, and carries it off. 



There is a story about the sea eagle that some people can hardly believe, 

 though others declare it is true. 



He is said to wet his plumage in the sea, and then roll about on the sand 

 until a great deal of it adheres to him. 



It is in Norway where this happens, and at a place not far from some 

 mountain pasture, in which cattle are feeding. He docs not attack the poor 

 ox in an open manner, because, as I told you, he was rather a coward. He 

 hovers over the ox, and by-and-by begins to shake the sand from his wings, 



