Mr. K. Swiuhoe on the Ornithology of Foochoiv. 255 



invisible as their grey backs are turned with simultaneous uni- 

 formity — are the Snippits (so called)^ the constant winter residents 

 of the Southern Chinese coast. They are usually considered to 

 be the Tringa subarcuata, though, from the black-bellied garb 

 they assume in summer, I take them to be a different species, 

 perhaps entitled to Gray's name T. chinensis. T. platyrhyncha, 

 T. minuta, T. subminuta, and T. alpina are earlier in their migra- 

 tions, and are seen on the coast in September, chiefly on their 

 way to more southerly regions, to pass up again in March or 

 the commencement of April. They are often found in those 

 months by inland salt-marshes, in company with the Great Snipe 

 {Gallinago megala, nobis), which also winds more southwards 

 to hibernate. Tringa temminckii, on the contrary, remains all 

 the winter with us, on the banks of inland pools or fallow paddy- 

 fields, solitary or in small parties^ and often in company with 

 j^gialites philippina. The congener of this last, however, ^. 

 cantiana, is a mudlarker on the shores of the salt seas, and we 

 of course notice abundant flocks of this species on the banks and 

 flats of this river. Numbers of them spend the summer here, 

 resorting, for the purpose of breeding, to sandy coves among 

 secluded islands. At the hottest time of the year their nuptial 

 tints become much faded, and their whole plumage undergoes 

 such severe abrasion that some specimens present almost the 

 appearance of albinos. ^. leschenaultii is sometimes shot out 

 of parties of the foregoing, but is rare and very locally distri- 

 buted on the Chinese coast, though pretty common on the 

 large sand-flats in Formosa. No signs here of Strepsilas inter- 

 pres ! He made his hurried transit southwards long ago -, and 

 Avocetta, Platalea, Hcematopus, and Lobipes, in their migratory 

 movements, depend too much on the freaks of a changeable 

 winter to find them now on this mild December morning. 



Our boatmen shout and stamp more loudly, and by vigorous 

 exertion accelerate our advance. The hills grow nearer, and a 

 sudden sweep brings us round inviewof the "Pagoda anchorage." 

 One steamer and a few ships are anchored in this small basin, 

 while a bungalow or two, owned by storekeepers, huddled cozily 

 on the sides of a green island topped by a pagoda, mark the re- 

 sort of those that go down to the sea in ships. We rapidly pass 



