AMONG THE WaATER-FOwL 
Only a tew days before this writing, in December, 
a man showed me the remains of a Brunnich’s 
Murre which had been captured forty miles from 
Long Island Sound, in western Connecticut, the day 
following an easterly gale and snowstorm. The 
poor thing was standing on the ice over a small 
river. ‘Though too much exhausted to fly, it made 
quite a spirited resistance before it allowed itself to 
be taken by hand. The captor was actually cook- 
ing the emaciated body for supper when I arrived 
upon the scene, which repast I felt no desire to share. 
From the standpoint of many, January is an 
uncomfortable time for wandering on sea and shore 
in search of the birds. On the contrary, the ocean 
is at its best and grandest in winter. Would one 
see waves? ‘Take the train for the coast when the 
wildest gale of the winter is raging, and there will 
be sights to stir the most siuggish blood. And as 
for sea-birds, there are few indeed in summer, as 
compared with the ever-changing panorama of fowl 
that wing their way over the unutterable wildness 
of ice- Senn bay and restless wintry sea. Can one 
be a thorough ornithologist and not know the sea- 
fowl? Most of us must begin with the door-yard 
birds. But as the desire grows for more of this 
interesting bird-lore, we may expect that it will lead 
us to visit mountain and forest and shore, even the 
wintry ocean itself, whenever and wherever the 
wildest of the feathered tribes are to be found. 
96 
