A Razorbill in the water is a remarkably striking, if not an actually pretty bird. He sits so lightly, riding buoyantly as a cork on the swell, turning his head from side to side as the boat approaches, swimming rapidly before it, and often nonchalantly dipping his head into the water and throwing a shower over his upper plumage. The boat comes too near at last, and the bird, with a scarcely audible or perceptible splash, disappears into the water. Several moments afterwards he rises again to the right or left, ahead or astern, and the salt spray rolls off his plumage glinting like diamonds in the sun. Should fish be plentiful the birds are diving and rising again incessantly, the time of absence depending upon the depth descended or the length of the chase. The Razorbill ever seems to use its wings with reluctance on these occasions, always keeping out of harm’s way by diving or swimming. It is capable of rapid flight though, and may often be seen in strings or skeins, hastening along just above the waves to or from a favourite fishing place. The Razorbill is gregarious enough during summer, but in winter it is most frequently seen in small parties, or often alone. It also goes some distance from land, where, should a gale overtake it, great numbers often perish, as their dead bodies washed up on the coast sadly testify. The food of the Razorbill is largely composed of fry, especially of the herring, but many other small fishes are captured, together with crustaceans and other small marine creatures. The bird, so far as my experience extends, never seeks its food upon the shore, and obtains most, if not all, of it by diving. The Razorbill is a remarkably silent bird; the only sound I have ever heard it utter has been a low grunting. This note is uttered both in summer and winter, on the rocks as well as on the sea.