1880. ] Some Noteworthy Birds. 717 
directly from the sea. We shiver in this wintry gale. How 
crushingly the surf comes rolling up the strand. What grand 
high waves they are—and to what a solemn cadence is the whole 
movement made. There are several sea doves, to whom all this 
is blissful and delicious. When it suits they can ride the crest 
like the stormy petrel. But see that gorgeous wave approaching, 
and that sea dove goes right through it, as an arrow shot through 
a cloud of smoke; and the bird comes out into the deep trough 
beyond, and with every feather dry. And now it scoons along 
the green glassy bed of that aqueous valley, then up the round 
side of that great water mountain which it has just pierced, then 
it sits like a little puff on the advancing crest. These are the 
nice points in the high art of natatory locomotion. It can float 
like a bubble and progress like a shot, while its rapid sub-aqueous 
movement, as against the momentum of the incoming wave, calls 
out one’s admiration. And what about the molecular thrill of 
that tiny avian brain? You may depend there is high glee there, 
Forward it comes, borne on that great surf-wave, which now 
strikes the shingly beach and ‘breaks up into wild seething froth. 
The little bird, like a dark spot, ascends the sloping shore so quietly 
riding on the mad, white foam. Its grand role, however, is over. 
It suffers itself to be left high up on the beach by the scattered, 
receding surf. The shore seems alive with sand fleas, and Orches- 
tia agilis is a dainty shrimp-like bait for our sea dove. The bird 
appreciates the opportunity, and sets itself to make the most of 
it. But oh, how awkward! But then, how is a body to put 
one's best foot forward when both pes are set so extremely far 
backward? So its every effort to capture Orchestia on dry land 
is decidedly inartistic. “As if to save it from damaging so fine a 
record, my pupil’s shaggy white retriever walks quietly up to the 
bird, takes it in his mouth, and carries it to his master. “Ah, 
Whitie! you have nipped birdie a little too hard, and Dovekie 
has come to grief.” . 
In November, 1878, my friend the railroad conductor called on 
me. He had with him a box obtained at the grocery, which, 
with laths nailed on one side, he had improvised into a bird cage, 
The cage was carried by a boy whom he ordered to set it on my 
study floor, which done he thus made known his errand: 
“ Professor, here’s a queer bird which we caught on the beach 
at Manasquan. I went up to it, and was surprised that it did not 
