Aspy Bay 
somebody has undertaken the cultivation of 
barley and potatoes. 
The way became so desolate and dreary for 
a space that we began as usual to despair of 
anything beyond. The only birds willing to 
stay in this wilderness were the juncos ; and why 
they should go for ever flitting down north 
toward the icy sea, it is probable none but a 
junco can explain. 
Where there are cone-bearing trees, there will 
be squirrel folk. Where bird-notes are lack- 
ing, the song of the squirrel comes not amiss. 
Indeed, it is pleasant even where there are birds, 
and one hearing it for the first time may well 
be excused for mistaking the varied and ex- 
pressive solo for the song of some member of 
the feathered tribe. It usually begins as if the 
performer had been seized with a violent and 
uncontrollable ague that caused his teeth to 
chatter fast and furious. Chatter, chatter, 
faster, faster, until the sounds run together 
and make a pleasant musical note, the pitch 
of which the performer varies apparently at 
will and to give meaning to his song. He 
sings with such abandon and such long-sus- 
tained effort that he ought to drop panting at 
285 
