THe ZooLocist—SerteMBER, 1876. 5067 
We cannot leave the Tringz, a very favourite group of birds 
with us, without quoting Dr. Coues’ very pathetic description of 
the nest of the peep, that tiniest of all sandpipers, which, in spite 
of its pigmy size, has yet dared the long journey from America to 
our shores. A short time since we had the pleasure of seeing 
a very beautiful specimen in the rich collection of Mr. Vingoe, of 
Penzance, which had been shot by him at Marazion :— 
“Fogs hang low and heavy over rock-girdled Labrador. Angry waves, 
paled with rage, exhaust themselves to encroach upon the stern shores, 
and baffled, sink back howling into the depths. Winds shriek, as they 
course from crag to crag in mad career, till the humble mosses that clothe 
the rocks crouch lower still in fear. Overhead the sea gulls scream as they 
winnow, and the murres, all silent, ply eager oars to escape the blast. What 
is here to entice the steps of the delicate birds? Yet they have come, urged 
by resistless impulse, and have made a nest on the ground in some half- 
sheltered nook. The material was ready at hand, in the mossy covering of 
the earth, and little care or thought was needed to fashion a little bunch into 
a little home. Four eggs are laid (they are buffy yellow, thickly spotted 
over with brown and drab), with the points together, that they may take up 
less room and be more warmly covered; there is need of this, such large 
eggs belonging to so small a bird. As we draw near the mother sees us, 
and nestles closer still over her treasures, quite hiding them in the covering 
of her breast, and watches us with timid eyes, all anxiety for the safety of 
what is dearer to her than her own life. Her mate stands motionless, but 
not unmoved, hard by, not venturing even to chirp the note of encourage- 
ment and sympathy she loves to hear. Alas! hope fades and dies out, 
leaving only fear; there is no further concealment—we are almost upon the 
nest: almost trodden, upon, she springs up with a piteous cry and flies a 
little distance, re-alighting, almost beside herself with grief; for she knows 
only too well what is to be feared at such a time. If there were hope for 
her that her nest were undiscovered, she might dissimulate, and try to 
entice us away by those touching deceits that maternal love inspires. But 
we are actually bending over her treasures, and deception would be in vain ; 
her grief is too great to be witnessed unmoved, still less pourtrayed; nor 
can we, deaf to her beseeching, change it into despair. We have seen and 
admired the home—there is no excuse for making it desolate; we have not 
so much as touched one of the precious eggs, and will leave them to her 
renewed and patient care.” 
In the July number of the ‘ Ibis,’ Messrs. Seebohm and Harvie 
Brown, in an interesting article on the birds met by them at the 
mouth of the Petchora river, relate their discovery of the nest of a 
