GOLDEN EAGLE. 99 
being effected from motives of self-preservation from the large raptorial 
birds that are almost its only enemies. The Golden Eagle (noble as 
he is thought to be) will eat carrion when pressed for food. Eagles are 
not noble birds like the true Falcons; and their claims to regal rank 
rest on their size and prowess alone. Here, for instance, a sheep, ven- 
turing too near the edge of the cliff, has lost its balance and been 
dashed to pieces on the rocks below. The Eagle has found it out, 
either by sight or smell, perhaps both, and made his meal upon its decay- 
ing flesh. Or, again, a dead rabbit lies on the cliffs, and the prowling 
Eagle espies it and carries it off bodily to his nest to feed its ever hungry 
young. The Eagle in his habits is more a Vulture than a Falcon; and his 
motions are sluggish, cowardly, and tame compared with the death-swoop of 
the Peregrine, or the brilliant performance of the Sparrow-Hawk or 
the Merlin, who would not deign to feast on such lowly fare. The Golden 
Eagle also preys upon various species of birds, notably the Blackcock and 
the Red Grouse, Ptarmigan, Curlews, and Plovers, dropping upon them 
unawares or simply taking the young and weakly ones; for never does the 
bird pursue and strike them like the true Falcon. 
The flight of the Golden Eagle is truly a grand performance. Stroll up 
the mountain-side some bright May morning when there is but little wind 
and the sun is warm, and see the bird engaged in those aerial motions 
which have rendered him so justly famous as a mariner of the air. As 
you lie amongst the tall brown heather, dreamily gazing upward into blue 
space, listening, it may be, to the humming of the passing insects, or the 
bleating of the lambs on the opposite hill-side, and the croak of the Ravens 
from the ‘Storr,’ your eye is riveted toa dark speck high in air, and 
looking no larger than a Crow. Nearer it comes; the shepherd who per- 
chance is with you exclaims with almost bated breath “ Iolair dhubh!” (the 
Black Eagle) ; and breathless you watch the king of birds explore the air. 
Nearer and nearer he comes until he is directly above you—now flapping 
his broad wings at irregular intervals, now with them fully expanded, 
gliding round and round, without giving them any perceptible motion, the 
tips of the primaries separated and turned upwards, and the tail ever and 
anon turned from side to side as a rudder. Although he seems so near, he 
is still well out of the range of the heaviest shot, and for some time he 
busies himself by surveying our reclining forms on the hillside below him. 
But, see! the pair of Ravens that are nesting in the “Storr” are uneasy 
at his presence, and sally out to mob, if they dare, their king. Although 
pirates the same as he, they evidently do not put much faith in the old proverb 
of “honour amongst thieves,” and croaking fiercely forth their displeasure 
at his presence, one flies above him, the other beneath, and each tries to 
buffet him. But prudence forbids, and they content themselves with noisy 
clamour, which is increased, in seeming exultation and triumph, as the 
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