"But now the host has been marshalled, and off it starts, showing as it proceeds at one time an

extended front, at another a single lengthened file, and now arraying itself in an angular form. The old males advance in front, the females follow; the young come in succession according to their strength, the weakest forming the rear. Should one feel fatigued, his position is changed in the ranks, and he assumes a place in the wake of another, who cleaves the air before him. Two, three, or more days elapse before they find a secure resting-place. The fat with which they were loaded at their departure has rapidly wasted; they are fatigued, and experience the keen gnawings of hunger; but now they spy a wide estuary, towards which they direct their course. Alighting on the water, they swim to the beach, stand and gaze around them; the young full of joy, the old full of fear, for they are well aware that many foes have been waiting their arrival. All night the flock remains silent, but not inactive; they betake themselves with care to the grassy shores, where they allay the cravings of appetite, and recruit their wasted strength. Soon as the early dawn lightens the surface of the deep, they rise into the air and proceed southward, until arriving in some place where they think they may be enabled to rest in security, they remain during the winter. At length, after many annoyances, they joyfully perceive the return of spring, and prepare to fly away from their greatest enemy, man."

The Canada Goose arrives in the western districts of that country about the beginning of September, and frequents the lakes, rivers, and wet savannahs of the interior as well as the sea-shore. These birds usually feed by plunging their head and the fore parts of their body beneath the surface, but never by diving. In the fields they pluck the grass sideways, like the Domestic Goose, and pat the earth with their feet to drive the earthworms from their retreats. They frequently alight in corn-fields to feed on the tender blades, and everywhere are extremely vigilant. While the flock reposes, sentinels are placed on the watch to rouse their sleeping companions if danger should approach. If pursued into the water, the Ganders utter loud cries, and in a few moments they rise simultaneously, and fly off in a compact body.

"So acute," says Audubon, "is their sense of hearing, that they are able to distinguish the different sounds or footsteps of their foes with astonishing accuracy. Thus the breaking of a stick by a deer is distinguished from the same accident occasioned by a man. If a dozen large turtles drop into the water, making a great noise in their fall, or if the same effect has been produced by an alligator, the Wild Goose pays no regard to it, but however faint and distant may be the sound of an Indian's paddle that may by accident have struck the side of his canoe, it is at once marked, every individual raises its head and looks intently towards the place from which the noise has proceeded, and in silence all watch the movements of their enemy. I was much surprised one day, while on the coast of Labrador, to see how cunningly one of these birds, which in consequence of the moult was quite unable to fly, managed for awhile to elude our pursuit. It was first perceived at some distance from the shore, when the boat was rowed towards it, and it swam before us with great speed, making directly towards the land; but when we came within a few yards of it, it dived, and nothing could be seen of it for a long time. Every one of the party stood on tip-toe, to mark the spot where it should rise, but all in vain, when the man at the rudder accidentally looked down over the stern, and then saw the Goose, its body immersed, the point of its bill alone above water, and its feet busily engaged in propelling it so as to keep pace with the movements of the boat. The sailor attempted to catch it while within a foot or two of him, but with the swiftness of thought it shifted from side to side, fore and aft, until, delighted at having witnessed so much sagacity in a Goose, I begged the party to suffer the poor bird to escape." The residents in Hudson's Bay eagerly welcome the arrival of these birds, on which they depend for their winter supply of provisions. Huts are built over the marshes where they feed, and decoys set up to lure them to destruction. In some years as many as three thousand or four thousand have been killed in Hudson's Bay, and salted for winter use. The eggs are also