little stalking. The keeper on his pony
and his companion on his horse advanced
carefully; but the cunning bird would not
allow them to come near. The keeper then
got off his pony, and walked alongside the
horse, which was of a grey colour, and
seemed not to alarm the bird so much as the
pony, which was of a dark colour.

Alter a few steps, the keeper suddenly and
quietly glided behind a tree, and the grey
horse and his rider advanced further. To
divert the attention of the suspicious bird,
the latter wisely made as much noise as he
could, tapping the saddle with his whip,
riding among the thick ferns, and pretending
all the careless unconcern he could assume. In
the meantime the keeper got near, and fired
both barrels. The bird flew away; but had been
evidently hard hit, for his flight was laboured
and near the ground. He alighted at last on
the bough of a young tree, where his drooping
wings and fainting form made him look more
like an old coat hung up as a scarecrow than
an eagle.

The pursuers then both rode up. Again,
although wounded and bleeding, the courageous
bird started off; but he could not fly far.
It was his last flight; for, in another minute, he
dropt dead, shot through the right eye. The
former shot had hit him in the body, but had
in no way damaged his plumage. Shortly
afterwards we inspected this noble bird, and
found him to be a fine specimen of the white-
tailed sea-eagle. He measured from wing to
wing eight feet; the length of his body from
his beak to his tail was three feet two inches;
and he weighed ten pounds.

From his plumage, which was in excellent
condition, it seemed probable that he was a
wild bird; there being no marks either of
cage or chain to indicate that he had ever
been in captivity. His skin has been well
preserved by a Windsor bird-stuffer, in a well-
chosen attitude.

Three or four years ago, a golden eagle
was shot in the Forest, and presented by
his Royal Highness Prince Albert to Eton
College.

WENSLEYDALE.

HIGH up amidst the bleak north-western
hills rises the brawling brook which, receiving
tiny tributary waters at various points of its
course, widens to the pleasant river Eure.
Rapid and shallow at first, and much
cumbered with blocks of stone, broken by
Hawdrow Scarr, and, lower, by Aysgarth Force,
where it is shut up between lofty walls of
rock, it deepens at length; and, winding
through rich pasture and meadow lands,
forsakes the valley, and becomes a navigable
stream. The ridge of Witton Fell limits the
prospect southward from the wider and lower
part of the dale. Between this Fell and
Penhiil sweeps round Coverdale, where still
remains the ruined gateway of Coverham
Abbey. Other small valleys, beautiful and
secluded, diverge westward, growing wilder
and more bleak towards the lake country.
Some persons consider the outmost bound of
Wensleydale to be the Abbey lands of
Jorvaulx; others place it at the village of
Wensley, about seven miles up the river.
At Jorvaulx the country lies open and level;
it has none of the character of dale scenery;
but soon the slopes rise; some covered with
heather and crested with fir-woods; others
partially reclaimed and cultivated.

Danby Hall, the possession of the Scroopes,
a dale's name for many centuries, is in this
part of the valley; and, about two miles
distant from it, are the ruins of a house,
partly converted into cottages now, which
was formerly the residence of the extinct
family of Fitz-Randolph. From Harghill, an
eminence behind these remains, a magnificent
view of the dale is to be seen. One of the
most striking features from every point is
Penhill. There, the valley contracts; and,
without losing its general aspect of luxuriant
vegetation, it becomes more romantic. The
grey castle of Middleham, with the old town
below it, and the river-windings amidst
woods and fields, must delight every lover of
the picturesque. Indeed the prospect is one
of almost endless variety; for the
atmospheric changes on the hills are so beautiful,
so rapid and so striking, that new points
of attraction are shrouded and revealed
perpetually.

The ancient town of Middleham may stand
as the representative of the Past; while its
rival, Leyburn, on the opposite slope of the
valley, looks forward to the Future. Middleham
was a possession of the powerful family
of Neville. In its castle Edward of York
underwent a term of imprisonment. There
lived Richard of Gloucester, with Anne, his
wife, daughter of the king-maker, the last
of the barons whose nobility and whose
power were indisputable realities. The glory
of Middleham is departed now; it is declined
a long way down into the twilight, and may
be considered as almost on the confines of
the civilised world—at the back of beyond, to
use a local phrase.

Its young rival, Leyburn, is, however, a
rising town. The oil-lamps which illuminated
it for some ten years, gave place, six
months ago, to gas; the railway is finished,
and after one or two false starts, it is actually
to be opened this month, really and truly.
Of course, on the important occasion there
will be banner-bearing and drum-beating,
and a din of miscellaneous instruments;
grand procession of chairman, directors, and
townsfolk, and a due amount of glorification
in the orthodox way. Everybody dines over
everything in England; and they will dine
over the railway-opening at Leyburn, of
course. May it (the railway, not the dinner)
bring the valley prosperity, and nothing else!