The Great Northern Diver is rarely seen on land, perhaps never except during the breeding season. Its movements on shore are ungainly in the extreme, the legs being placed so far back that the bird can only push itself along in a crawling sort of a way; it is equally rarely seen in the air, and apparently only uses its wings to fly when performing its annual migrations. How the species still retains the function of flight at all seems almost a mystery, but perhaps the constant use of the wings in the water keeps them to a standard of efficiency. This Diver is one of the least gregarious, and save on passage is rarely met with in numbers greater than a pair. It seems to be the rule for odd pairs to take up their residence in certain spots during the breeding season; after that period the bird is usually met with solitary, and the young individuals, unlike so many others that evince strong gregarious propensities, for the most part wander about alone. This Diver, like most big birds, is shy and wary, although I have repeatedly watched it from the cliffs in Tor Bay evincing little concern at my presence. As may be gathered from the foregoing remarks the Great Northern Diver is a proficient in the art of diving, and is said to be able to remain as long as eight minutes beneath the surface—a period of time which seems incredible. The depth to which it sometimes descends is also enormous—it has been captured in a net thirty fathoms from the surface. The food of this Diver is almost, if not absolutely, composed of fish. During the non-breeding season Divers are not particularly noisy birds, but at their nesting-places the cries they utter are both loud and startling, described by some listeners as similar to the screams of tortured children; as shrieks of maddened laughter, or as weird and melancholy howls by others.