172 THE Birps Azout Us. 
ing out boldly against a background of untrodden 
snow, or the cold gray sky of a winter day, they are 
sure to command attention. Their position then is 
that of dignified repose; but let a mouse stir in the 
grass beneath them, or dainty vesper mice venture 
from their bush nests in the smilax, and instantly this 
“sluggish, heavy” hawk is all activity. 
Audubon’s account of this bird runs, in part, as 
follows : 
«‘ When not alarmed it usually flies low and sedately, and does not 
exhibit any of the courage and vigor so conspicuous in most other 
hawks, suffering thousands of birds to pass without pursuing them. 
The greatest feat I have ever seen it perform was scrambling at the 
edge of the water to secure a lethargic frog. They alight on trees 
to roost, but appear so hungry or indolent at all times that they seldom 
retire to rest until after dusk. Their large eyes, indeed, seem to in- 
dicate their possession of the faculty of seeing at that late hour. I 
have frequently put up one that seemed watching for food at the edge 
of a ditch long after sunset.”’ 
The Golden Eagle is now one of those rare birds 
that, if seen, becomes the talk of the neighborhood, 
and one is never shot but the fact is recorded in the 
village paper as a wonderful event. The probabilities 
are that in Indian times they were abundant during 
the winter along our river valleys, and not unlikely 
they were resident. Even so recently as 1800 (I have 
manuscript records) they were observed, as well as 
the Bald Eagles, to follow the enormous flights of 
wild ducks in November, that were then a character- 
istic occurrence in the tide-water portion of the Dela- 
ware Valley. At present this eagle is not uncommon 
along the sea-coast in winter, but is only seen singly, 
