he calm confidence of a master in the art of aerial war, now
shooting up half-a-thousand feet perpendicular, and now suddenly
plump-down into the rear of the croaking, cawing, and chattering
battalions, cutting off their retreat to the earth. Then the rout became
general, the missing, however, far outnumbering the dead. Keeping
possession of the field of battle, hung the eagle for a short while
motionless--till with one fierce yell of triumph he seemed to seek the
sun, and disappear like a speck in the light, surveying half of Scotland
at a glance, and a thousand of her isles.

Some people have a trick of describing incidents as having happened
within their own observation, when in fact they were at the time lying
asleep in bed, and disturbing the whole house with the snore of their
dormitory. Such is too often the character of the eyewitnesses of the
present age. Now, we would not claim personal acquaintance with an
incident we had not seen--no, not for a hundred guineas per sheet; and,
therefore, we warn the reader not to believe the following little story
about an eagle and child (by the way, that is the Derby crest, and a
favourite sign of inns in the north of England) on our authority. "I
tell the tale as 'twas told to me," by the schoolmaster of Naemanslaws,
in the shire of Ayr; and if the incident never occurred, then must he
have been one of the greatest liars that ever taught the young idea how
to shoot. For our single selves, we are by nature credulous. Many
extraordinary things happen in this life, and though "seeing is
believing," so likewise "believing is seeing," as every one must allow
who reads these our Recreations.

Almost all the people in the parish were leading in their meadow-hay
(there were not in all its ten miles square twenty acres of ryegrass)
on the same day of midsummer, so drying was the sunshine and the
wind,--and huge heaped-up wains, that almost hid from view the horses
that drew them along the sward, beginning to get green with second
growth, were moving in all directions towards the snug farmyards. Never
had the parish seemed before so populous. Jocund was the balmy air with
laughter, whistle, and song. But the Tree-gnomons threw the shadow of
"one o'clock" on the green dial-face of the earth--the horses were
unyoked, and took instantly to grazing--groups of men, women, lads,
lasses, and children collected under grove, and bush, and
hedgerow--graces were pronounced, some of them rathe