MoperRN CrirF=DWELLERS 
uttered a joyous shout, we saw an apparition of red 
and gray cliffs, and Bird Rock emerged from the 
mist like a grim fortress, less than half a mile away. 
On top of the precipice that rose sheer from the 
ocean were a light-house and other buildings; along 
its sides were lines of black and white that I knew 
were birds upon their nests. 
Flying before the wind, the Rock seemed to 
rise right upon us. The air was now clear and the 
sun bright. Gannets, Kittiwakes, Murres, Auks 
and Pufhns were passing and repassing about us, 
flying to and from the cliffs. Then we rounded 
the north-east corner of the Rock, about a gunshot 
out from it, looking up in amazement at the swarms 
of birds that almost filled the air, or clustered in 
masses upon the narrow ledges of the cliff. It 
seemed to me like a busy street of a great city, with 
its tall buildings, in and out of which the crowds 
surged, only that all the windows were doors, and 
it was rather alarming to see people falling in 
showers out of the tenth or twentieth-story win- 
dows. The words of the Psalmist came to me as 
impressively descriptive—‘ Who are these that fly 
as doves to their windows?” 
Our approach was noted from the lighthouse 
above. ‘The British ensign flying from the top of 
the flag-staff was dipped in our honour, and sharp 
rose the crash of the dynamite bomb salute. “ Let 
go,” came the shout from above, as we rounded the 
north-west corner. Down went our anchor in 
response. We both took snapshots of the cliff, then 
hurried into the dory, where our baggage had 
already been put, and were rowed shoreward. ‘The 
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