744 THE BONAPARTE GULL. 
Range in Washington.— Abundant coastwise during migrations; returns to 
Semiahmoo Bay in large numbers about August 20; sparingly resident in winter. 
Authorities.—Chroicocephalus philadelphia Lawr., Lawrence, Rep. Pac. 
R. R. Surv. IX. 1858, p. 853. C&S. L'. Rh. [D'.] Kk. B. E. 
Specimens.—(U. of W.) Prov. B. E. 
\ MORE peaceful scene could scarcely be conjured up by the imagina- 
tion than that of a company of Bonaparte Gulls resting at high tide. Some 
sixty of them sit before me now on a miniature boom of radiating logs, and I 
am spying on them from the shelter of a deserted cannery. The windward 
logs break the force of the tiny waves which are running before a gentle 
breeze, and provide an oasis of calm. In this glassy space a few birds, mostly 
late comers, are bathing and otherwise disporting themselves; but most of the 
company sit placidly upon the logs in dainty rows, or doze with head tucked 
under wing. A few Terns, hardly distinguishable at this distance from their 
square-tailed kinsmen, are allowed to share this haven of refuge, and no dis- 
tinctions of courtesy are made. Now and then there is a little jostling, as 
some newcomer, fresh from his bath, demands admission to the ranks, and 
a squabble in low-pitched tones, not unlike the grunting of little pigs, ensues; 
but the difficulty is soon adjusted and peace reigns supreme. 
Like most pygmies, the Bonapartes are very 
sociable creatures, and they not only foregather with 
their fellows to the number of thousands, but 
they associate more or less in flocks at all times, 
and are so often moved by common impulse that 
they merit the name “Sea Pigeons,” 
frequently applied to them. 
In spring Bonaparte is the 
very devil of a fel- 
low, and would be 
set down at sight as 
a lady-killer, were 
it not for the fact 
that his good wife, 
present or prospec- 
‘PEACE REIGNS SUPREME 
tive, is similarly at- 
tired You see, by 
way of preparation for nuptials, this bird thrusts its head half-way into a pot 
of black paint \nd because the paint is very black (Oh, well, “plumbeous 
slate,’ then: but that is black enough, surely) he shuts his eyes very tight and 
saves a space above and below untouched by the pigment \nd then he, or 
she, bears upon the breast at this season a rosy blush, which alone would be 
enough to proclaim the nearness of mating time 
