WHITE-HEADED SEA-EAGLE. 
construed as separating the Australian from the Indian bird, especially when 
the context is read. Consequently we must revert to Gould’s name founded 
on the Australian species. 
The facts are so self-evident that I never for a moment anticipated any 
argument upon such a simple matter, yet Eothschild and Hartert, in the 
Nov. Zool., Vol. XXI., p. 210, June 15, 1914, use Haliastur Indus girrenera, 
writing : “ Mr. Mathews rejected the name girrenera as not being applicable 
to the Australian form, but we cannot agree to his ruling. ... As the habitat 
are given India and Australia. ... We are, therefore, of opinion that the 
name girrenera should be restricted to the Australian form, to which it has 
been applied for a long time, and that there is no necessity at all for its 
alteration.” 
Messrs. Rothschild and Hartert are acknowledged authorities on matters 
of nomenclature, so it is to be regretted that more care is not taken 
by them. 
Vieillot wrote : “ On recontre cette espece dans I’lnde, au Bengale, a 
Pondichery, au Coromandel et a Malabar.” The only mention of Australia is 
in the sentence I quote above, where “ On le trouve aussi, selon Latham.” 
Vieillot’s whole account is simply a translation of Latham’s, and appears 
in the Nouv. Diet. d’Hist. Nat,, Vol. XXVIII., p. 280, 1819, under the name 
Falco ponticerianus. 
Vieillot simply proposed the new name Halicetus girrenera for the whole 
species even as Lesson proposed in the Traite, p. 44, Halicetus garuda. 
Whitlock {Emu, Vol, VIII., p. 177, 1909), wrote : “ This beautiful 
Sea-Eagle {Haliastur girrenera) does not appear to travel far from the coast, 
and my acquaintance with it is by no means extensive. The first pair I ever 
saw in Australia I observed at Point Sampson, near Roeburne. These were 
flying about the creeks in that locality. I had reason to think that it might 
breed in the extensive mangroves bordering the network of creeks and 
backwaters at Port Hedland. So when I arrived at Condon, where conditions 
were similar, if on a smaller scale, I naturally looked for it there. I was not 
disappointed. My first walk at Condon was a trip up the coast to a rocky 
point and a neighbouring islet, accessible at certain stages of the tides. On 
my way I caught the gleam of a white head and neck amongst the mangroves. 
A closer approach revealed the whole bird, with its richly contrasting 
cinnamon-coloured upper-parts. Close at hand was its mate. Both birds were 
perched on the outer fringe of mangroves. The tide was rapidly coming in, 
and though I waded in up to the knees I found it useless at the moment 
to proceed further. However, though I subsequently made a thorough 
examination of this tract of mangroves, I eventually found the nest on the 
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