The Great Northern Diver is among the mass of those birds which seek their food on the bosom of the great deep. It is not numerous in British waters, and can scarcely be called gregarious, although adults sometimes, and the young more frequently, form small parties of two to five. A wanderer on the ocean, it not only frequents the margins of the sea, fishing in the bays and estuaries, but it is also met with many miles from the shore. Narrow channels, firths, coves, sea-locks, and sandy bays are, however, its favourite resorts; there it floats, the body deeply immersed in the water. But though deep in the water, it moves on steadily and majestically; it overtakes and shoots ahead of all its more buoyant congeners. But let us watch the actions of a pair of these children of the ocean, and listen while Mr. McGillivray describes one of those picturesque scenes in which he delights. "It is now the end of spring, when the returning warmth gives an increase of animation to the wandering tribes of the winged inhabitants of the ocean air; but the Loon makes comparatively little use of his wings, and his great bulk and robust frame would be ill adapted for the hovering flight of the Gulls and Petrels. There he comes, followed by his mate, advancing with marvellous speed. They have rounded the point, and now stop for a moment to cast a searching glance along the shore, lest an enemy should be lurking there. Forward they start--the smooth water rippling gently against their sides. Small effort they seem to make, and yet powerful must be the stroke of the oars which impel masses so large at so rapid a rate. Now and again they dip their bills into the water; then the head and neck. One glides gently under the surface, without plunge or flutter, and in a few seconds it appears with a fish in his bill, which, with upstretched head and neck, it swallows. The other having also dived, appears with a fish, larger, and less easily managed. She beats it about in her bill, plashing the water, and seems unable to adapt it to the capacity of her gullet; but at length, after much striving, she masters it, and continues her search. Backwards and forwards, over the clear sand of the shallow bay, they glide in their quiet way, and now they have both dived with their heads towards us. One rises close to the sea-weed, and so near to us, that we might almost count the spots on his back. The other, in emerging, has perceived us, and somehow communicates the discovery to her mate. They swim about for a short while with erected necks, then sink into the water, their heads disappearing last; and when we see them again, they are three hundred yards distant, standing out to sea, with half-submerged bodies." "If shot at and not wounded," continues this most picturesque of writers on Natural History, "it never flies off, but dips into the water and rises at a great distance, and unless shot dead, there is little chance of procuring it,