tridge. Having fairly settled down with his quarry on the rock, I could not help wondering at and admiring the collected ease and cool composure with which he held his struggling captive (for it was still alive) until death put an end to its sufferings. There was no lacerating with its beak at the body of the poor and unfortunate prisoner, in order, as it were, to hasten its termination; no expanding of the wing to maintain his equilibrium, although the last and dying struggle of the bird caused him to quiver a little. All being over now, with one foot resting upon his game and the other on the rock, silent and motionless as a statue, the noble captor stood, with an inquiring eye, gazing at the now lifeless form of his reeking prey, seeming to doubt the fact that it was already dead. But there was no mistake. The blood, oozing from its mouth and wounds, its body doubtless pierced by the talons of the conqueror, already began to trickle down the sides of the dark cliffs, dyeing the rocks in its course. Satisfied at last that life was fairly extinct, an incision was then made in the neck or shoulder of the victim, and into this the falcon thrust his bill several times, and each time that it was withdrawn it was covered with blood. This being done, and having wrenched off the head, which he dropped, he then began not only to pluck but to skin his food from the neck downward; and, having bared the breast, commenced a hearty meal by separating the flesh from the sternum into portions, with as much apparent ease as if he had been operating with the sharpest surgical instrument. I should have liked well to have seen the end of the work thus begun; but, unfortunately, a slight movement on my part was detected by the quick eye of the falcon, and my nearness was discovered. Having gazed at me for a few, and only for a few, seconds, with an angry and piercing scowl, mingled with surprise, he then rose, uttering a scream so wild and so loud as to waken the echoes of the surrounding rocks; while he himself with the remains of his feast, which he bore along with him, rounded a point of the cliff and disappeared; and there is no doubt that he ended his repast in unmolested security."
In 1854 Edward lost his valued friend Smith, by death, and he mourned for him very deeply, as he was a man of wide culture, and with a thorough appreciation of the character of Edward. Mr. Edward was under the impression that people looked down upon him and his work, because he was a poor shoemaker, and in this, of course, he was right. But the clergyman treated him as one intelligent man treats another. His loss, however, was greatly repaired by the acquaintance of the Rev. Mr. Boyd, of Crimond, a few miles off, also a naturalist, who had a high and appreciative regard for him. The two clergymen had made various efforts to secure for Edward some position in which he could live and give freer play to the bent of his genius. But they failed. Mr. Boyd once proposed that Edward should get up a series of rudimentary lectures on natu-
