zo THE HOME-LIFE OF 



from place to place on the opposite side of the corrie. 

 A few minutes later a shadow crossed the roof of my 

 hiding-place, and the mother Eagle settled on the ledge. 

 She had brought no food, and had evidently only looked 

 in to see that all was well with the young. Her beak 

 was bloody and small feathers adhering to its edges 

 showed that she had brought her morning hunt to 

 a successful finish. She stood there in the sunlight 

 a picture of perfect grace and symmetry (Plate 7), her 

 feathers now dry and clean, watching as though on guard, 

 while the Eaglet squeaked plaintively to her from behind. 

 Then with one graceful effort she flung herself from 

 the cliff, and again the Queen of Birds had vanished 

 from my sight. 



Seen in wet and stormy weather the plumage of the 

 Golden Eagle appears very dark, and one scarcely wonders 

 that it is known locally as the " Black Eagle " in many 

 parts of the Highlands. On such a day as this the 

 brilliant light seems to tinge each feather with a golden 

 hue and fills one with admiration for this glorious bird, 

 which has survived so many dangers and rears her 

 young in the wild solitudes of this lonely corrie. As she 

 gazes at the Eaglet her eye seems to change, and a soft 

 look of mother-love takes the place of the fierce expres- 

 sion common to all our larger birds of prey. There 

 are few artists who can draw a picture true to life of 

 the Golden Eagle. The attitudes of captive birds are 

 false, their movements cramped, their wings hang 

 drooping, and their tails are draggled. The Eagle is 

 a bird which loves solitude, and its home is in the wild 

 places of the earth. 



Again the Eaglet settled himself down and went to 

 sleep, while, quite involuntarily, I nearly followed his 

 example, being, however, aroused from a reverie by 

 the squeaking of the youngster, which, as a friend aptly 

 put it, " always gave tongue loudly when the old birds 

 were near." 



