ribbean Sea,
but the only birds which voluntarily brave the dangers of the open ocean
are those which, from ability to swim, or great power of flight, can trust
themselves far away from land. Not infrequently a storm will drive birds
away from the land and carry them over immense distances, and this
accounts for the occasional appearance of land birds near vessels far out
at sea. Overcome with fatigue, they perch for hours in the rigging before
taking flight in the direction of the nearest land, or, desperate from
hunger, they fly fearlessly down to the deck, where food and water are
seldom refused them.

Small events like these are welcome breaks in the monotony of a long ocean
voyage, but are soon forgotten at the end of the trip.

Two of these ocean waifs were once brought to me. One was a young European
heron which flew on board a vessel when it was about two hundred and five
miles southeast of the southern extremity of India. A storm must have
driven the bird seaward, as there is no migration route near this
locality.

The second bird was a European turtle dove which was captured not less
than seven hundred and fifty miles from the nearest land--Ireland. When
caught it was in an exhausted condition, but it quickly recovered and soon
lost all signs of the buffeting of the storm. The turtle dove migrates
northward to the British Islands about the first of May, but as this bird
was captured on May 17th, it was not migrating, but, caught by a gust of
wind, was probably blown away from the land. The force of the storm would
then drive it mile after mile, allowing it no chance of controlling the
direction of its flight, but, from the very velocity, making it easy for
the bird to maintain its equilibrium.

Hundreds of birds must perish when left by storms far out at sea, and the
infinitely small chance of encountering a vessel or other resting-place
makes a bird which has passed through such an experience and survived,
interesting indeed.

In winter ruffed grouse have a habit of burrowing deep beneath the snow
and letting the storm shut them in. In this warm, cosey retreat they spend
the night, their breath making its way out through the loosely packed
crystals. But when a cold rain sets in during the night, this becomes a
fatal trap, an impenetrable crust cutting off their means of escape.

Ducks, when collected about a small open place in an ice-covered pond,
diving for the tender roots on which they feed, sometim