GREAT NORTHERN DIYER. 215 



water, their heads disappearing last ; and when we see them again, 

 they are three hundred yards distant, standing out to sea, with 

 half- submerged bodies." " If shot at and not wounded," continues 

 this most picturesque of writers on Natural History, " it never 

 flies off, but dips into the water and rises at a great distance, and 

 unless shot dead, there is little chance of procuring it, for its 

 tenacity of life is great, and its speed far exceeds that of a four- 

 oared boat." 



The great American naturalist, Audubon, has left a most 

 interesting account of this bird in his "Ornithological Biography." 

 After describing the various Transatlantic localities in which he 

 has studied its economy, he describes its nest. "One that I saw," 

 he says, " after the young had left it, on Lake Cayuga, was almost 

 afloat, and rudely attached to the rushes, more than forty yards 

 from the land, though its base was laid on the bottom, the water 

 being only eight or nine inches deep. Others I examined in 

 Labrador were placed on dry land, several yards from the water, 

 and raised to the height of nearly a foot above the decayed moss 

 on which they rested. The nest, however placed, is bulky, and 

 formed of withered grasses and herbaceous plants found in the 

 neighbourhood. The true nest, which is from a foot to fifteen 

 inches in diameter, is raised to the height of seven or eight inches. 

 Of the many nests I have examined, more contained three than 

 two eggs, and I am confident that the former number most fre- 

 quently occurs." 



Of this handsome bird Sir John Richardson remarks, contrary 

 to the generally-received notion, that it is seldom seen either in 

 the Arctic Sea or Hudson's Bay, but that it abounds in all the 

 inland lakes. It is rarely found on land, being ill fitted for 

 walking, but admirably adapted to aquatic habits, swimming with 

 great swiftness and for considerable distances under water ; and 

 when it does come up, seldom exposing more than its neck. It 

 flies heavily, but rather swiftly, and in a circle round those who 

 have disturbed it in its haunts; its loud and melancholy cry 

 resembling the howling of the Wolf, or the distant scream of 

 a man in distress. When the Loon calls frequently, it is sup- 

 posed to portend a storm. In the bad weather preceding the 

 advent of winter on the smaller northern American lakes, previous 



