I remember how once in India I enjoyed the splendid sight of an "ossifrage" launching itself from its seat upon a huge dead tree into the valley. Something below had attracted its attention, a kite perhaps, or a crow, flying towards carrion, and the enormous bird came hurtling down with a veritable crash of its wings. And then suddenly it checked itself in its fall, and opening its "broad sails" to the utmost, till each feather stood apart from the other, it silently floated away across the valley. The speed of its flight was prodigious, but it was absolutely noiseless, and the great thing, once launched, never moved a feather, but sped away in a straight level line, as if under the attraction of some invisible, irresistible magnet, to a gorge on the other side, and so disappeared from view. It was a most noble and a memorable performance. First the instant of impetuous downward plunge, so headlong that the wind fairly rattled through its plumage; and then, with such spectral suddenness, the recovery of position, and the imperial tranquillity of its horizontal flight. When the eagle's wings are fully extended, the tips of the long feathers curve slightly upwards, giving a singular grace to its flight and a very curious impressiveness to the bird's appearance, "sailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air." [Illustration: THE EAGLE OF THE SEA] The largest eagle we have in Great Britain is the erne or white-tailed eagle--the sea-eagle. Not that it fishes for its food; indeed, it seldom eats fish unless it happens to rob another bird. But it levies toll upon the sea-birds themselves, harrying the guillemot and puffin, and making them its prey. By preference it builds upon the loftiest crags on the stormiest shores, but if it can find rocks inland that are rugged enough, and that overlook some stretch of water where the wild-fowl come, it will build its eyrie there, and scourge the surrounding country (not sparing the sheepfolds), to supply its young.