being started again, flew again to a great distance with a loud, cackling note, but no whirr of the wings. They were within three hundred yards of an Eagle, which, from its dark color and enormous size and extent of wings, they took to be a female Washington Eagle.[1] I have made many inquiries, but every one tells me Eagles are most rare. It sailed away over the hills slowly and like a Vulture. After drawing two figures of the female White-winged Crossbill, I paid a visit to the country seat of Mr. Jones.[2] The snow is still to be seen in patches on every hill around us; the borders of the water courses are edged with grasses and weeds as rank of growth as may be seen in the Middle States in like situations. I saw a small brook filled with fine trout; but what pleased me best, I found a nest of the Shore Lark; it was embedded in moss so much the color of the birds, that when these sit on it, it is next to impossible to observe them; it was buried to its full depth, about seven inches,—composed outwardly of mosses of different sorts; within, fine grass circularly arranged, and mixed with many large, soft Duck feathers. These birds breed on high table-lands, one pair to a certain district. The place where I found the nest was so arid, poor and rocky that nothing grew there. We see the high mountains of Newfoundland, the summits, at present, far above the clouds. Two weeks since, the ice filled the very harbor where we now are, and not a vessel could approach; since then the ice has sunk, and none is to be seen far or near.
July 27. It has blown a tremendous gale the whole day; fortunately I had two Fringilla linaria to draw. The adult male alone possesses those rich colors on the breast; the female has only the front head crimson. They
