Although several years have elapsed since I visited the sterile country of Labrador, I yet enjoy the remembrance of my rambles there; nay, Reader, many times have I wished that you and I were in it once more, especially in the winter season. I calculate indeed how easily this wish might be accomplished, were I ten years younger. Under the hospitable roof of Mr JONES, while the tempest might be hurling southward the drifting snows, I could live in peaceful content, cheered by the matchless hand-organ of my kind hostess. Then, how pleasant it would be in calm weather to traverse the snowy wastes, to trap the cunning fox and the Jer Falcon, allured by their favourite winter food, the Rock Grous; with what delight should I gaze on the dim red sun creeping along the southern horizon, or watch the flittering beams of the northern aurora. Now, over the glittering snow, JONES’s Esquimaux curs might swiftly convey us to his friends, here crossing the ice-bound gulf, there traversing fissures and crags impassable in summer. Then what long tales for the long nights, and sports for the short days. The broad-antlered Caribou might have scampered before me, but its bounds would have been suddenly checked by the fleeter ball of my well-directed rifle. The wolf might have prowled around us, until he had been captured in the deeply dug and well-baited pit. Then Nature’s pure mantle would be seen slowly to disappear, the low grounds would be inundated with the snow-waters, the warm breezes would dry the mountain ridges, and with the first appearance of verdure joy would cause every heart to bound. Thousands of seals would be seen to snuff the milder air, myriads of tiny fishes would approach the shores, and millions of feathered wanderers would pass over on whistling pinions. But alas! I shall never spend a winter in Labrador. While proceeding towards that country in 1833, on board the Ripley, I found the waters of the Gulf of St Lawrence alive with ducks of different species. The nearer we approached the coast, the more numerous did they become; and of the many kinds that presented themselves to our anxious gaze, the Surf Duck was certainly not the least numerous. It is true that in the noble bays of our own coast, in the Sound, between New York and the Hook, on the broader waters of the Chesapeake, and beyond them to the mouths of the Mississippi, I had seen thousands of Surf Ducks; but the numbers that passed the shores of Labrador, bound for the far north, exceeded all my previous conceptions.