IN ALL the lakes of the fur countries, says Nuttall, these birds abound, where, as well as in the interior of the most northern of the states, and probably in the inland seas of the St. Lawrence, along the whole Canadian line, they pass the period of reproduction. This species is the most common of its tribe in the United States and is a general inhabitant of cold and temperate climates throughout the whole northern hemisphere. They have been known to breed as far south as the Farne Isles, along with the Eider Ducks, with which they also associate on the shores of Labrador. In the United States from the severity of the winters, the young and even occasionally the old, are seen to migrate nearly, if not quite, to the estuary of the Mississippi.

Cautious, vigilant, and fond of the security attending upon solitude, the Loon generally selects, with his mate, some lonely islet, on the borders of a retired lake far from the haunts of men, where, on the ground, near the water, they build a rude and grassy nest. The Loons are, from the nature of their food, which consists almost wholly of fish, utterly rank and unedible, though in New England the following receipt is given for cooking one of the birds: Having dressed your Loon, stuff it with an iron wedge, then bake or boil. When you can stick a fork into the wedge the bird is ready for the table.

It is chiefly remarkable for the quickness with which it can dive, many observers maintaining that it can dodge a bullet or shot by diving at the flash of the gun. Mr. W. H. Porteous states that he once watched a man for more than an hour fire repeatedly at a Loon on a pond in Maine, the bird being frozen in by thin ice, a small circular space being kept open by its movements. The ice was not strong enough to sustain the man and the open space not large enough to enable the bird to swim and rise, as a Loon cannot rise in flight from a stationary position in the water. The Loon dodged every shot, by diving, although within easy gunshot range from the shore. It was not killed until the next morning, when the ice had become strong enough to permit the man to go close up to the open space and shoot when the Loon came to the surface. "Under the circumstances," adds Mr. Porteous, "I think the man ought to have been shot instead of the Loon."

"In the fall," says Thoreau, "the Loon came, as usual, to moult and bathe in the pond, making the woods ring with his wild laughter before I had risen. At rumor of his arrival all the mill-dam sportsmen are on the alert, in gigs and on foot, two by two and three by three, with patent rifles and conical balls and spy glasses. They come rustling through the woods like autumn leaves, at least ten men to one loon. Some station themselves on this side of the pond, some on that for the poor bird cannot be omnipresent; if he dive here he must come up there. But now the kind October wind raises, rustling the surface of the water, so that no loon can be heard or seen. The waves generously rise and dash angrily, taking sides with all waterfowl, and our sportsman must beat a retreat to town and shop and unfinished jobs. But they were too often successful.