144 AUDUBON THE NATURALIST. 
at the slightest intimation of danger, at a single 
whistle from any one of the flock, they all in- 
stantly fly off, rising from the ground by one 
quick spring, undulating backwards and for. 
wards, and round, in the most curious manner, 
now and then pausing in the air, like the hawk, 
for a few minutes against the wind, as though 
for the pleasantness of meeting the breeze. 
Beautiful as are the various species of terns, 
the roseate probably surpasses them all, with 
its glossy head of raven blackness and the deli: 
cate loveliness of its rosy tinted breast. So light 
and graceful are the movements of these birds, 
‘too, as in gatherings. of hundreds they dance 
through the air, that they may with fustice be 
called the humming-birds of the sea. Now flock- 
ing together, they disperse again, and hover 
round, or, if in anger, plunge with a sudden 
dash, uttering cries of wrath. 
Traversing the solitudes of Labrador, the un- 
broken silence which reigns around seems like the 
mournfulness of a deserted land, and, combined 
with the melancholy grandeur of the scenery, is 
peculiarly impressive. Stupendous masses of 
rock, hundreds of feet in height, look down 
frowningly, their curious carvings appearing 
like devices wrought by superhuman hands. 
The few dwarf pines and the stunted vegeta 
tion a/ld to the singular aspect of the landscape, | 
