a stern-wheel steamer, till he gathers head- 

 way enough to rise from the water. 



After that first start there is no sign of T/ukufeem 



awkwardness. His short wines rise and fall *:*.-^*^"* 



. ,. , . , , „ Voice" 



with a rapidity that tries the eye to follow, 



like the rush of a coot down wind to decoys. 

 You can hear the swift, strong beat of them, 

 far over your head, when he is not calling. 

 His flight is very rapid, very even, and often 

 at enormous altitudes. But when he wants 

 to come down he always gets frightened, 

 thinking of his short wings, and how high 

 he is, and how fast he is going. On the 

 ocean, in winter, where he has all the room 

 he wants, he sometimes comes down in a 

 great incline, miles long, and plunges through 

 and over a dozen waves, like a dolphin, 

 before he can stop. But where the lake is 

 small, and he cannot come down that way, 

 he has a dizzy time of it. 



Once, on a little lake in September, I used 

 to watch for hours to get a sight of the pro- 

 cess. Twelve or fifteen loons were gathered 

 there, holding high carnival. They called 

 down every migrating loon that passed that 



