The Long-billed Curlew 
coast and in some of our interior valleys. A diminishing few remain to 
breed in the plateau counties of the extreme northeast, but there appears 
to be only one authentic record of eggs taken within the limits of the State. 
Those that winter with us upon the beaches associate more or less 
with “Jacks,” Phceopus hudsonicus, and Marbled Godwits. From the 
latter they may, of course, be readily distinguished by their longer, 
decurved beaks; and from the former not alone by the bill, but by a 
different way of carrying it. The Long-bill, having an easier reach, 
does not stoop so abjectly in gleaning sand-fleas; and at rest he stands 
habitually more upright, with head thrown further back, a position 
necessitated by the increased weight of the bill. The Long-bills have 
much the same habits as the Jacks, feeding and resting upon the upper 
beach, and running down to the water’s edge when frightened. 
Now that the persecution of gun-fire is measurably reduced, owing to 
federal enactment, our Shore-birds would get on well enough with us 
humans, if only we would play fair. But what elemental savage, however 
well dressed, can abide the presence of possible meat stalking in wary 
dignity before his face and eyes? “Sniping” still goes on remorselessly; 
and if guns are not at hand, stones suffice to keep the birds in an agitated 
condition. Saddest of all is the relentless usurpation of the shore-line. 
We must, forsooth, see every wave there is to see, either from the depths 
of our whirring limousines or from improvised lunching stations. The 
result is that there is scarcely a square yard from Point Conception 
to San Diego that a bird dare call its own, or upon which it is free from 
noise, fright, or stealthy attack. Yet in this thoughtless usurpation we 
