reader, was it to find birds of this kind lodged on fir trees, and sitting
comfortably on their eggs ! Their loud cackling notes led us to their
place of resort, and ere long we had satisfactorily observed their habits,
and collected as many of themselves and their eggs as we considered suf-
ficient. In our walks we noticed a rat, the only quadruped found in the
island, and observed abundance of gooseberries, currants, rasps, straw-
berries, and huckleberries. Seating ourselves on the summit of the rocks,
in view of the vast Atlantic, we spread out our stores, and refreshed our-
selves with our simple fare.
Now we followed the objects of our pursuit through the tangled woods, now carefully picked our steps over the spongy grounds. The air was filled with the melodious concerts of birds, and all nature seemed to smile in quiet enjoyment. We wandered about until the setting sun warned us to depart, when, returning to the house of the proprietor, we sat down to an excellent repast, and amused ourselves with relating anecdotes and forming arrangements for the morrow. Our Captain complimented us on our success, when we reached the Swiftsure, and in due time we be- took ourselves to our hammocks.
The next morning, a strange sail appearing in the distance, prepara- tions were instantly made to pay her commander a visit. The signal- staff of White Head Island displayed the British flag, while Captain Fraxklanb and his men stood on the shore, and as we gave our sails to the wind, three hearty cheers filled the air, and were instantly responded to by us. The vessel was soon approached, but all was found right with her, and squaring our yards, onward we sped, cheerily bounding over the gay billows, until our Captain sent us ashore at Eastport. At another time my party was received on board the Revenue Cut- ter's tender the " Fancy,"" — a charming name for so beautiful a craft. We set sail towards evening. The cackling of the " old wives" that co- vered the bay filled me with delight, and thousands of Gulls and Cormo- rants seemed as if anxious to pilot us into Head Harbour Bay, where we anchored for the night. Leaping on the rugged shore, we made our way to the lighthouse, where we found Mr Snelling, a good and honest Englishman from Devonshire. His family consisted of three wild looking lasses, beautiful, like the most finished productions of nature. In his lighthouse, snugly ensconced, he spent his days in peaceful forgetfulness of the world, subsisting principally on the fish of the bay.
When day broke, how delightful was it to see fair Nature open her
