“On leaving the nest, the Osprey usually flies direct till he comes to the sea, then sails around, in easy curving lines, turning sometimes in the air as on a pivot, apparently without the least exertion, rarely moving the wings, his legs extended in a straight line behind, and his remarkable length, and curvature or bend of wing, distinguishing him from all other Hawks. The height at which he thus elegantly glides is various, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty and two hundred feet, sometimes much higher, all the while calmly reconnoitering the face of the deep below. Suddenly he is seen to check his course, as if struck by a particular object, which he seems to survey for a few moments with such steadiness that he appears fixed in air, flapping his wings. This object, however, he abandons, or rather, the fish he had in his eye has disappeared, and he is again seen sailing around as before. Now, his attention is again arrested, and he descends with great rapidity, but, ere he reaches the surface, shoots off on another course, as if ashamed that another victim had escaped him. He now sails at a short height above the surface, and, by a zig-zag descent, and without seeming to dip his feet in the water, seizes a fish, which, after carrying a short distance, he probably drops, or yields up to the Bald Eagle, and again ascends by easy spiral circles to the higher regions of the air, where he glides about in all the ease and majesty of his species. At once, from this sublime and aerial height, he descends like a perpendicular torrent, plunging into the sea with a loud rushing sound, and with the certainty of a rifle-shot. In a few moments he emerges, bearing in his claws his struggling prey, which he always carries head foremost, and, having risen a few feet above the surface, shakes himself as a Water-Spaniel would do, and directs his heavy and laborious course directly for the land. If the wind blows hard, and his nest lies in the quarter from whence it comes, it is amusing to observe with what judgment and exertion he beats to windward, not in a direct line, that is, _in the wind’s eye_, but making several successive tacks to gain his purpose. This will appear the more striking, when we consider the size of the fish which he sometimes bears along. A Shad was taken from a Fish-Hawk near Great Egg Harbour, on which he had begun to regale himself, and had already ate a considerable portion of it; the remainder weighed six pounds. Another Fish-Hawk was passing the same place, with a large Flounder in his grasp, which struggled and shook him so, that he dropped it on the shore. The Flounder was picked up, and served the whole family for dinner. It is a singular fact, that the Hawk never descends to pick up a fish which he happens to drop either on the land or in the water. There is a kind of abstemious dignity in this habit of the Hawk superior to the gluttonous voracity displayed by most other birds of prey, particularly by the Bald Eagle.