90 LEAVES FROM THE 



trait has been admirably painted by Wilson. Look on 

 this picture : — 



Elevated on the high dead limb of some gigantic tree, that 

 commands a wide view of the neighbouring shore and ocean, he 

 seems calmly to contemplate the motions of the various feathered 

 tribes that pursue their busy avocations below ; — the snow-white 

 gulls slowly winnowing the air ; the busy tringfe coiu'sing along 

 the sands ; trains of ducks streaming over the surface ; silent and 

 watchful cranes intent and wading ; clamorous crows, and all the 

 winged midtitudes that subsist by the bounty of this vast liquid 

 magazine of Nature. High over all these hovers one whose 

 action instantly arrests all his attention. By his wide curvature 

 of wing and sudden suspension in the air he knows him to be the 

 fish-hawk, setthng over some devoted victim of the deep. His 

 eye kindles at the sight, and balancing himself, with half-opened 

 wings on the branch, he watches the result. Down, rapid as an 

 arrow from heaven, descends the distant object of his attention, 

 the roar of its wings reaching the ear as it disappears in the deep, 

 making the surges foam aroimd. At this moment the eager looks 

 of the eagle are all ardom-, and levelling his neck for flight, he 

 sees the fish-hawk once more emerge struggling with his prey, and 

 mounting in the air with screams of exidtation. These are the 

 signal for our hero, who, launching into the air, instantly gives 

 chase, soon gains on the fish-hawk; each exerts his utmost to 

 mount above the other, displaying in these rencontres the most 

 elegant and sublime aerial evolutions. The imencumbered eagle 

 rapidly advances, and is just on the point of reaching his opponent, 

 when, with a sudden scream, probably of despair and honest 

 execration, the latter drops his fish. The eagle, poising himself 

 for a moment, as if to take a more certain aim, descends like a 

 whii-lwind, snatches it in his grasp ere it reaches the water, and 

 bears his ill-gotten booty silently away to the woods. 



This is very beautiful and very poetical, and, what is 

 more, very true. But there are two sides to a question, 

 as there were to the shield about which the two silly 

 knights fought. Turn we now to honest, homely Ben- 

 jamin Franklin's view of the case. 



In his letter to Mrs. Bache, dated Passy, January 26, 

 1784, he observes, that the gentleman who made his 

 voyage to France to provide the ribands and medals had 

 executed his commission : — 



