AMONG THE WATER FOWL 



cast up for them. Again, they gather together, 

 either in buoyant flocks upon the water, or to dress 

 their spotless plumage upon the strand. The loss 

 would be unutterable were this fleet to be lost in 

 the gale of fashion upon the cruel rocks of a selfish 

 and senseless millinery decree. 



Social in disposition, it is the universal habit of 

 these dainty creatures to resort together in large 

 colonies at the nesting- season for the rearing of 

 their young ; and of all the picturesque spots on 

 earth, I place in very high rank certain of these 

 breeding-colonies. One there is in Nova Scotia, 

 which seems to me to be particularly beautiful. 

 With two companions, I stood one clear, calm 

 morning of early September, upon a wharf at 

 Clarke's Harbor, Cape Sable Island, listening to 

 the tale of woe of our would-be fisherman-skipper, 

 as he portrayed the impossibility of reaching Seal 

 Island, twenty miles out to sea, against strong head 

 tides, and with what little wind there was also con- 

 trary. This was our last chance to make the trip, 

 and I could not bear to abandon it. So, after the 

 prophet of evil had departed, I proposed that we 

 start off without him in the twenty-three-foot sloop. 

 It was slow work, but at length we sighted the rocky 

 shores and spruce-grown area; and by sundown 

 the sloop was anchored off a cove, and we were 

 receiving the royal hospitality of kind-hearted John 

 Crowell, the light-house keeper. 



Before sunrise next morning we were in the 

 light-house tower. The cold, dark sea, foam-flecked, 

 spread out beyond, the shores of Nova Scotia dimly 

 visible to the northeast. Before us stretched the 



