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THE GREAT NORTHERN DIVER 



Out of the night comes the weird, long call or the 

 shrill, demoniacal laugh, telling of the sleepless 

 activity of the Loon, or Great Northern Diver, The 

 Whip-Poor-Will in the adjacent shrubbery seems 

 companionable, and there is a friendly spirit in the 

 short, shrill tremolo of the Night-hawk from the 

 invisible sky. Even the plaint of the Screech-owl 

 has a tone of human sympathy. But the dreary 

 cadence of the Loon is the voice of the inhospitable 

 night, repelling every thought of human association. 

 It does not entreat, it does not warn ; yet there is a 

 fascination in its expressionless strength. Over the 

 black water, under the lowering sky, or through the 

 bright, still moonlight the same unfeeling tone fills 

 the ear of night. And sometimes, when the lingering 

 moon sheds a broad trail of light along the still waters 

 of the lake, the graceful swimmer will glide across 

 and disappear in the darkness, breaking the bright 

 reflection into a multitude of chasing, quivering, 

 trailing threads of silver. Throughout the day, where 

 the Cedars come down to meet their shadows in the 

 dark water, he swims ceaselessly about, sitting low, 

 with black, glossy neck gracefully curved and dis- 



