go ONE OF FIFTV DAYS IN SOUTHERN LABRADOR. 



Stand on the south side of the island. It has been blow- 

 ing fresh for two or three days from the southwest, and 

 the gulf rolls in a magnificent surf, sweeping grandly upon 

 the pebbly beach or dashing wildly against the sea-wall. 

 Half a mile from shore a huge iceberg is stranded, and 

 the wind blows cold and damp. Farther out on the 

 Strait the sun flashes on four or five other fine bergs, 

 though it is the middle of July. And so clear is the air, 

 that the low blue-limestone coast of Newfoundland, forty 

 miles opposite, can easily be seen. 



Now, where are all the sea-birds that I expected to 

 find filling the air, and crowding the rocks, up here in 

 Labrador ? A lonely raven is just passing over, a few 

 small land-birds are chipping on the rocks, a small owl 

 wings his noiseless flight low over the bogs — these, with 

 a pair of saddle-back gulls sailing aloft, are about the 

 only birds to be seen. Sometimes a loon flies over the 

 island, or a small flock of eider-ducks settles down in a 

 pool. If one pushes out a little way into the Strait, 

 he will start up a few razor-billed auks, or see a flock of 

 guillemots, or their cousins, the murres. People here 

 call the guillemots sea-pigeons, though more like crows 

 than pigeons in size and color. A flock of puffins will 

 fly off just out of gunshot across the bows of one's boat, 

 for all these sea-birds, are shy and difficult to approach. 

 I must delay a moment on these puffins. They are 

 queer, grave birds, profoundly Quakerish in their habit, 

 wise-looking as the seven Gothamites, only wanting a 

 pair of good, old-fashioned, silver-bowed spectacles to 

 set off their enormous hook-nosed visages. Just here 

 they are' not very abundant, but fifteen miles up the 

 coast, at Bradore, these peculiar people have appropriated 



