By what accident this small eagle, who was not a carrion bird, came among these cowardly and unclean feeders, is more than I can say; but it met the fate very common to those who assort with bad company, and those of sentiments and manners inferior to their own. One of these, a kite, vulture, or raven, I know not which, struck the poor eagle down to the ground just before the door of the king’s tent, and hurt him so violently, that he had scarcely strength to flutter under the canopy where the king was sitting; pages and officers of the bed-chamber soon seized him. It was not long before they made the application that the king was to be dethroned by a subject, and Fasil was in everybody’s mouth. The omen was of the kind too unpleasant to be dwelt upon; the sensible people of the attendants hurried it away, and it of course came to me with all the circumstances of the accident, the moral of that tale, and twenty prophecies that were current to confirm it. I confess my own weakness; at first it made a strong impression upon me. In the moment the passage of Shakespeare came into my mind, ------“On Tuesday last, “A falcon tow’ring in his pride of place, “Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d.” And this recollection occupied my mind so forcibly, that I stood for a moment speechless, and as it were rivetted to the ground. This behaviour, unusual in me, who used always to laugh at their presages, and prophecies, was observed by the page that brought me the bird, and was reported to the king; and though he did not speak of it that time, yet some days after, when I was taking my leave of him on his retreat from Gondar to Tigré, he mentioned it to me: said we were mistaken, for the omen referred to Powussen’ of Begemder, and not to Waragna Fasil.