Eagles are said to be very long lived; one died at Vienna that had lived in confinement more than one hundred years. Their cry consists of two notes, uttered in a loud sharp key. They make a flat nest, formed of loose sticks, on the top of some solitary rock where they are not likely to be disturbed, and lay two eggs. Whilst the young are not able to fly, they are carefully fed by the parent birds, who are then more fierce than usual, and forage everywhere for food, carrying off fawns, lambs, hares, &c., never, if possible, touching any animal already dead. Smith, in his history of Kerry, a county in Ireland, tells us of a poor man then living there, who got "a comfortable subsistence for his family during a summer of famine, out of an eagle's nest, by robbing the eaglets of the food the old ones brought." And lest he should lose this supply too soon, he was clever enough to cut the wings of the young birds when they were old enough to fly, so that the unsuspecting parents went on feeding them much longer than usual. Mr. Dunn says he once saw, while shooting on Rona's Hill, a pair of skua gulls chase and completely beat off a large sea eagle. The gulls struck at him several times, and at each stroke he screamed loudly, but never offered to return the assault. [Illustration: THE DUCK.] THE DUCK. There is so much that is interesting to tell you about the duck, that I scarcely know where to begin. Most of you know something of the habits of the tame or domestic duck. But perhaps you have never noticed its curious bill, which is constructed so as to filter, through its toothed edges, the soft mud in which these birds love to dabble. The tongue of the duck is full of nerves, so that its sense of taste is very keen, and thus provided the bird can find out all that is savoury to its palate in puddles, ponds, etc., and throwing away all that is tasteless, swallow only what it likes. Try and examine the bill of the next duck that you see, and you will discover this wonderful apparatus which I have described as acting like a filter. The duck is very capable of affection for its owners, as the following fact will show. A farmer's wife had a young duck, which by some accident was deprived of its companions. From that moment all its love seemed to centre upon its mistress. Wherever she went the duck followed, and that so closely, that she was in constant fear of crushing it to death. With its age its affections seemed to strengthen, and it took up its abode in-doors, basking on the hearth, and delighting in notice. After some time other ducks were procured, and, to induce it to mix with its natural companions, the pet duck was driven out day by day; but there was great difficulty in weaning it from the kind friend to whom it had attached itself. We are told also of some ducklings who grew so fond of a great, savage house-dog, that though every one else was afraid of him, they showed no fear of his terrible bark; but, on the first approach of