Tene R AGU. D UO NSB UL CERIN 7 
rily away, like autumn leaves before the north wind—lapland long- 
spurs! 
Farther back, where the ground grows lumpy and supports an 
abundant crop of sweet clover, the lawyer was beckoning. Approach- 
ing cautiously, we found ourselves in sparrow “territory”; here, dart- 
ing about on the ground, and perching in view occasionally, we found 
swamp, field and chipping sparrows—these birds of varied habitat 
preferences traveling blithely together, like a gypsy band. 
Across the flat to the low beach now. With plaintive chorus, a 
flock of killdeer rose from a shallow pond, leaving a semi-palmated 
plover hurrying ahead of us on foot; a passing squadron of black- 
bellied plovers banked sharply with a flash of white underparts and 
black axillars to alight far up the beach. And following their course 
I saw something I had never previously observed south of Waukegan 
—a congregation of several hundred of the larger gulls, resting on the 
beach. And far out in the hazy calm an immense raft of the smaller 
Bonaparte gulls lay at anchor, their twanging calls drifting landward 
at intervals. . 
Circling to bring the sun behind us, we approached slowly until 
we were scarcely a hundred feet from the nearer flock. By now the 
keen observations and almost meticulous identifications of my com- 
panions had convinced me that here were two superior field men; the 
Ornithologist pointed out the pink feet and orange-tipped bills of the 
larger herring gulls, which were in majority, and directed my atten- 
tion to a few very dark first year birds. This was wonderful! 
So we followed the beach that sunny morning, discovering a new 
world, quite forgetful of the present—till at last we parted to return 
to desk or street; but not before I had seen a Baird’s sandpiper at fif- 
teen feet, and flushed him to be sure of the dark tail coverts. 
I returned often after that. Accustomed to the confiding seclusion 
of inland haunts, the solitude of Nature along this shore was a pleas- 
ant change. The long sweep of strand, the white curl of combers, the 
melancholy cries of the birds—all were part of its profundity—re- 
flecting its varying moods. 
There were mornings when the booming surf had heaped the 
strand high with a bountiful repast, and a billowing storm of scream- 
ing gulls flocked greedily to the feast. Mornings when the rain-torn 
sky was filled with tatters of “scud,’ and the raging lake hurled her 
swells in upon the slimy rocks with the sullen roar of thunder, driving 
fountains of spume thirty feet into the air—marbling and gushing 
through all the crevices. 
And again there were crisp autumn mornings when the startled 
band of sanderlings alongshore took wing with a shower of elfin pip- 
ings like crystalized icicles. It was on such a morning—October 30th 
—that we first caught the mellifluent barking of southbound geese, and 
saw the long line bent in a round V against the distant sky. Nearer 
they came, their immaculate markings limned in the clear light—the 
rare snow and blue geese! Clanging, they swung abreast, breaking 
ranks and reforming again—finally straining away toward the Illinois 
