sooner does the head of the first emerge in the greasy track of the oil than he is conscious of something unusual having taken place. Flippering hither and thither with outstretched neck, he becomes quite excited, and each as he bounces to the surface joins in the commotion, frequently colliding with each other. Finally, with loud cacklings, the whole flock takes wing, evidently in high dudgeon at the insult offered to their olfactory organs. Sea pheasant is the name by which the long tailed duck is known in some localities, and as we watch a flock of them crossing the reef in full flight the synonym is at once apparent. In style of flight and shape, to the long tail feathers, they are similar to the pheasant, but only half the size, with beautiful plumage of black and white. Here they are known as “candlewicks,” their call notes needing but little stretch of the imagination to be rendered “Here’s a candlewick,” repeated several times in shrill falsetto, which on a quiet day becomes somewhat annoying as it clamorously floats through our bedroom window. Some queer visitors we have here at times in the way of birds. Once we captured a large owl dosing sleepily in one of our windows. During the week of his captivity he would not deign to partake of any food we offered him. Coming off watch one night I took one of a flock of larks which were making suicidal attempts to pierce the plate glass of the lantern. Placing it in the room where the owl was roosting, it fluttered to the window, when, like a flash of lightning and equally as noiseless, from the other side of the room the owl came crash against the glass, a few feathers later on testifying his appreciation of this form of dietary. _FEBRUARY 1902._