Poiet.—The scenery improves as we advance nearer the lower parts of the lake. The mountains become higher, and that small island or peninsula presents a bold, craggy outline; and the birch wood below it, and the pines above, form a scene somewhat Alpine in character. But what is that large bird soaring above the pointed rock, towards the end of the lake? Surely it is an eagle!
Hal.—Your are right, it is an eagle, and of a rare and peculiar species—the gray or silver eagle, a noble bird! From the size of the animal, in must be the female; and her aery is in that high rock. I dare say the male is not far off.
Phys.—I think I see another bird, of a smaller size, perched on the rock below, which is similar in form.
Hal.—You do: it is the consort of that beautiful and powerful bird; and I have no doubt their young ones are near at hand.
Poiet.—Look at the bird! How she dashes into the water, falling like a rock, and raising a colume of spray: she has dropped from a great height. And now she rises again into the air: what an extraordinary sight!
Hal.—She is pursuing her prey, and is one of our fraternity,—a catcher of fish. She has missed her quarry this time, and has soared further down towards the river, to fall again from a great height. There! You see her rise with a fish in her talons.
Poiet.—She gives an interest to this scene, which I hardly expected to have found. Pray are there many of these animals in this country?
Hal.—Of this species, I have seen but these two, and I believe the young ones migrate as soon as they can provide for themselves; for this solitary bird requires a large space to move and feed in, and does not allow its offspring to partake its reign, or to live near it. Of other species of the eagle, there are some in different parts of the mountains, particularly of the Osprey, and of the great fishing or brown eagle. I once saw a very fine and interesting sight above one of the Crags of Ben Weevis, near Strathgarve, as I was going, on the 20th of August, in pursuit of black game. Two parent eagles were teaching their offspring—two young birds, the manœuvres of flight. They began by rising from the top of a mountain in the eye of the sun (it was about midday, and bright for this climate). They at first made small circles, and the young birds imitated them; they paused on their wings, waiting till they had made their first flight, and then took a second and larger gyration,—always rising towards the sun, and enlarging their circle of flight so as to make a gradually extending spiral. The young ones still slowly followed, apparently flying better as they mounted; and they continued this sublime kind of exercise, always rising, till they became mere points in the air, and the young ones were lost, and afterwards their parents, to our aching sight. But we have touched the shore, and the lake has terminated: you are now on the river Ewe.
Poiet.—Are we to fish here? It is a broad clear stream, but I see no fish, and cannot think it a good angling river.
Hal.—We are nearly a mile above our fishing station, and we must first see our quarters and provide for our lodging, before we begin our fishing: to the inn we have only a short walk.