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- 
