EGGERS OP LABRADOR. 83 



suspect her crew to be bent on the commission of some evil deed, let us 

 follow her to the first harbour. 



There rides the filthy thing ! The afternoon is half over. Her crew 

 have thrown their boat overboard ; they enter and seat themselves, each 

 with a rusty gun. One of them skulls the skiff towards an island for a 

 century past the breeding place of myriads of Guillemots, which are now 

 to be laid under contribution. At the approach of the vile thieves, clouds 

 of birds rise from the rock and fill the air ai-ound, wheehng and scream- 

 ing over their enemies. Yet thousands remain in an erect posture, each 

 covering its single egg, the hope of both parents. The reports of several 

 muskets loaded with heavy shot are now heard, while several dead and 

 wounded birds fall heavily on the rock or into the water. Instantly all 

 the sitting birds rise and fly off affrighted to their companions above, and 

 hover in dismay over their assassins, who walk forward exultingly, and 

 with their shouts mingling oaths and execrations. Look at them ! See 

 how they crush the chick within its shell, how they trample on every egg 

 in their way with their huge and clumsy boots. Onward they go, and 

 when they leave the isle, not an egg that they can find is left entire. The 

 dead birds they collect and carry to their boat. Now they have regained 

 their filthy shallop ; they strip the birds by a single jerk of their feathery 

 apparel, while the flesh is yet warm, and throw them on some coals, where 

 in a short time they are broiled. The rvun is produced when the guille- 

 mots are fit for eating, and after stuffing themselves with this oily fare, 

 and enjoying the pleasure of beastly intoxication, over they tumble on the 

 deck of their crazed craft, where they pass the short hours of night in 

 turbid slumber. 



The sun now rises above the snow-clad summit of the eastern mount. 

 " Sweet is the breath of morn" even in this desolate land. The gay Bunt- 

 ing erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the 

 presence of his brooding mate. The Willow Grous on the rock crows 

 his challenge aloud. Each floweret, chilled by the night air, expands its 

 pure petals ; the gentle breeze shakes from the blades of grass the heavy 

 dewdrops. On the Guillemot Isle the birds have again settled, and now re- 

 new their loves. Startled by the light of day, one of the Eggers springs 

 on his feet and rouses his companions, who stare around them for a while 

 endeavouring to recollect their senses. Mark them, as with clumsy fin- 

 gers they clear their drowsy eyes ! Slowly they rise on tlieir feet. See 



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