AMONG THE WATER-FOWL 



Only a few 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 sluggish 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-bound 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. 



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