236 NOTES ON THE BIRDS OF lOXA. 



supposes Satan to have entered its form before assuming that of the Serpent 

 to betray man. — 



"Thence up ho flew, and on the tree of life — 

 The middle tree, and highest there that grew, 

 Sat like a Carmorant." 



Indeed the sepulchral gloom of its dark, dank abode, its sombre plumage, 

 melancholy aspect, its silence but rarely broken, and then only by a sad 

 foreboding croak, might all join to inspire a sort of prejudice against the 

 poor bird, independent of its rather dirty habits. And truly his cave does 

 not smell savoury j even the well loliitewaslied rock, out in the open sea, where 

 groups of these grave-looking citizens of the deep sit and sun themselves ou 

 their return from the fishing business. When approached to leeward, a breeze 

 is borne down upon us, very unlike what is wafted off the balmy spice islands, 

 but rather such as we should expect from a city of Esquimaux, when holding 

 high wassail, in brimming beakers tapped from a stranded Whale. 



But, after all, this bird will be found to be as beautiful a work as any 

 Nature has turned out of hand. Its shape and long neck are far from inelegant. 

 See it dive! — how gracefully it springs clean out of the water, throws a sum- 

 merset in the air, and disappears head foremost into the blue depths! Then 

 the lovely plumage of the Green Cormorant — a mixture of green and gold, 

 like the most gorgeous shot-silk raiment, travereed by delicate bands of rich 

 velvet: its beak of gold, and its eyes living emeralds. He also bears a plume 

 upon his head as a mark of his r.obility. 



From this high cliff we look down upon the vast heavers of the angered 

 ocean, as they come rolling in with mighty sweep to hurl themselves upon the 

 iron-bound shore; all around is milk-white foam, and dreadful agitation; there 

 in the very midst of this, what Byron would call Hell hrothy floats a black 

 speck, — that is the Cormorant, following its sport where the stoutest work 

 of man's hand would be as a toy — where all his skill and inventions could 

 not gain a minute of life. Here conies a huge wave, its white crest already 

 begins to curl over its swelling bosom, with a crashing sound; now it gets 

 steeper and steeper as it rolls onward, till now it rears up like a high green 

 cliff, overshadowing a horrid abyss beneath. At the critical moment down 

 goes the Scart, and when the danger has gone past, and the hurly burly 

 subsided, up he springs again into day, unconcernedly discussing a nice fresh 

 young cod, which he caught while taking refuge in the bosom of the Great 

 Mother.* 



Ah! and if we catch a Scart, is he capable of being discussed in his 

 turn? — Of course. 



Keep a sufficieptly long time; skin off his jacket, and make him into soup, 



* This "Plea for the Cormorant" reminds me of a reply made by a worthy old friend who, 

 for a half century, has ruled the glens of Mull with his ramrod; — '■''All God's works are lovely; 

 every beast and every bird is bonniest of its kind. — 'Deed Sir! and the Hoodie Crow licrsel is 

 a pratty prutty beast, if it were nu that she's just ver-min," 



