Mr. Nuttall gives the following account of a young bird of this kind which he obtained in the salt marsh at Chelsea, and transferred to a fish-pond. “He made a good deal of plaint, and would sometimes wander out of his more natural element, and hide and bask in the grass. On these occasions, he lay very still until nearly approached, and then slid into the pond and uttered his usual plaint. When out at any distance, he made the same cautious efforts lo hide, and would commonly defend himself, in great anger, by darting at the intruder, and striking powerfully with his dagger-like bill. This bird, with a pink-colored iris like the albinos, appeared to suffer from the glare of broad daylight, and was inclined to hide from its effects, but became very active towards the dusk of evening. The pupil of the eye in this individual, like that of nocturnal animals, appeared indeed dilatable; and this one often put down his head and eyes into the water to observe the situation of his prey. “This bird was a most expert and indefatigable diver, and would remain down sometimes for several minutes, often swimming under water, and as it were flying with the velocity of an arrow in the air. Though at length inclined to be docile, and showing no alarm when visited, it constantly betrayed its wandering habit, and every night was found to have waddled to some hiding-place, where it seemed to prefer hunger to the loss of liberty, and never could be restrained from exercising its instinct to move onwards to some secure or more suitable asylum.” Mr. Nuttall makes the following remarks in respect to the voice of the loon: “Far out at sea in winter, and in the great western lakes, particularly Huron and Michigan, in summer, I have often heard, on a fine, calm morning, the sad and wolfish call of the solitary loon, which, like a dismal echo, seems slowly to invade the ear, and, rising as it proceeds, dies away in the air. This boding sound to mariners, supposed to be indicative of a storm, may be heard sometimes for two or three miles, when the bird itself is invisible, or reduced almost to a speck in the distance. The aborigines, nearly as superstitious as sailors, dislike to hear the cry of the loon, considering the bird, from its shy and extraordinary habits, as a sort of supernatural being. By the Norwegians, its long-drawn howl is, with more appearance of reason, supposed to portend rain.” Story of Philip Brusque. (_Continued from page 50._) CHAPTER III. _More particulars of Philip’s early life._