birds before them. The desolate hill- 

 tops of Saint Lawrence Island, the 

 bare weather-worn sides of the moun- 

 tains surrounding Plover Bay and East 

 Cape, Siberia; the rocky wind-swept 

 islands in Bering Strait, as well as the 

 lonely shores of Herald and Wrangel 

 Islands, and the shingle-strewn beaches 

 along the north coast of Asia and 

 Alaska all appear to be chosen as the 

 favorite summer homes of this bird. 

 When we landed at any of these places 

 we were certain to be greeted by the 

 clear, sharp note of the Snow Bunting, 

 which would be seen running busily 

 about searching for food or wheeling 

 about from place to place, its sharply 

 contrasted black and white (summer) 

 plumage quickly attracting the eye and 

 usually the first sign of life. On the 

 mountain sides at Plover Bay its mel- 

 low note was heard on June 26, utter- 

 ing the long, clear, and rather hard 

 song, full of a wild and exhilarating 

 melody fitted to the surroundings. This 

 song consists of four or five clear 

 whistling notes, shorter than the song 



of the longspur, and uttered from a 

 rocky point or the top of some jutting 

 ledge. At Saint Lawrence Island, on 

 June 24, we found them common and 

 nesting, and some native children 

 showed us a nest about one hundred 

 yards back of their huts. This nest 

 contained one egg, which was obtained, 

 with the female. After the latter was 

 shot the male kept flying about our 

 heads, or from rock to rock close by, 

 and continually uttered a loud p-cher, 

 p-cher, p-cher, in such a plaintive tone 

 that I was glad when we were out of 

 earshot. As long as we remained in 

 the vicinity the bird followed us from 

 place to place, hovering about, not 

 taking the slightest notice of his rifled 

 nest after the female was shot. He 

 showed by his actions that he was 

 fully aware of our having his mate in 

 our possession. I do not remember 

 ever having seen a bird show such 

 afifectionate solicitude for his mate as 

 was exhibited on this occasion." 



Frank Morley Woodruff. 



THE SANDERLING. 



The Sanderling goes to ths wave-worn beach, 



And feeds, when the surf to the sea outpours ; 



Swiftly he runs on the oozy reach 



And swims on the swell, when it coastward pours. 



For the shell-fish, laid by the surf on the sands, 

 Is his simple fare from the sea; and he seeks 



A covert for rest, in the reedy lands. 



Through the nights of our charming summer weeks. 



But where does he roam in our winter-time? 



Perchance by the Gulf, and its sedgy leas ; 

 Or slow, where the bayou winds, with the rhyme 



Of the mocking-bird, in the cypress trees. 



O, the Sanderling's lot seems a pleasant one. 



When I wait by my fire, through a dreary storm : 



He follows the breath of the brine with the sun. 



And his year is all summer, and kind and warm. 



— Eliza Wood worth. 



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