north that it is beyond the reach of most of us; and at other seasons it is much more pelagic than the other species, migrating and apparently spending the winter far out on the open sea, often a hundred miles or more from land. It seldom comes ashore on the mainland except when driven in by thick weather or a severe storm. Hence it is an apparently rare bird to most of us. But in its arctic summer home it is exceedingly abundant. Alfred M. Bailey (1925) says that "this was the most abundant of the shore birds at Wales, as at Wainwright, Alaska. As a person walks over the tundra there is a continual string of those handsome birds rising from the grass." Again he writes:

At Whalen, near East Cape, Siberia, we saw thousands of these beautiful little fellows on July 11. The day was very disagreeable, with a strong wind off the ice and a drizzling rain. From the ship we could see waves of birds rising some distance off in such dense flocks that individuals could not be distinguished; the mass looked like a long, thin cloud swirling before the wind; one end of the line rose high in the air, while the other end swerved nearer to the water. They swung about with the erratic movements and wave-like flight so characteristic of black skimmers, now high in the air, again low over the water. As we worked along the shore, thousands that were feeding close along the beach rose and flew across the sand spit in front of us. There was a continual stream of them drifting by, like so much sand before a strong wind. They were, at this time, beginning to molt their breeding plumage.

Spring.—The migrations of the red phalarope are mainly at sea, usually far out from land. During the month of May enormous flocks may be seen on the ocean off the coasts of New England, but it is only during stress of weather that they are driven inshore. I can well remember a big storm, on May 21, 1892, which brought a large flight of these birds into Cape Cod Bay; Nat Gould killed a large number that day on Monomoy Island and I shot one at Plymouth Beach; others were taken at Provincetown. In pleasant weather these birds are well at home on the heaving bosom of the ocean, flying about in flocks, twisting, turning, and wheeling like flocks of sandpipers, or resting or feeding on the drifting rafts of seaweeds. On the Pacific coast these birds are even more abundant, if one goes far enough offshore to see them during April and May. They often congregate in considerable numbers about the Farallon Islands. W. Leon Dawson (1923) has drawn a graphic picture of them there, as follows:

Here in late spring thousands of these birds ride at anchor in the lee of the main island, along with other thousands of the other northern species, Lobipes lobatus. Of these some few scores are driven ashore by hunger and seek their sustenance in brackish pools, or else battle with the breakers in the little "bight" of the rocky lee shore. The date is May 23, and the company under survey numbers a few brilliant red birds in high plumage among the scores in unchanged gray, together with others exhibiting every intermediate gradation. When to this variety is added a similar diversity among the northerns, which mingle indiscriminately with them, you have a motley company—no two birds alike. Ho! but these are agile surfmen! Never, save in the case of the wandering tattler and the American dipper, have I seen such absolute disregard of danger and such instant adjustment to watery circumstance. Here are 30 of these phalaropes "fine mixed," threading a narrow passage in the reefs where danger threatens in the minutest fraction of a second. Crash! comes a comber. Our little world is obliterated in foam. Sea anemones and rock oysters sputter and choke, and there is a fine fury of readjustment. But the phalaropes rise automatically, clear the crest of the crasher, and are down again, preening their feathers or snatching dainties with the utmost unconcern. Now a bird is left stranded on a reef, or now he is whisked and whirled a dozen feet away. All right, if he likes it; but if not, he is back again, automatically, at the old rendezvous. Life goes on right merrily in spite of these shocking interruptions. Food getting is the main business, and this is pursued with extraordinary ardor. The bird's tiny feet kick the water violently, and there is the tiniest compensatory bob for every stroke, so that their little bodies seem all a tremble. There seems to be no difference of opinion between the two species, but there is time for a good deal of amatory play between the sexes of the reds. It is always the bright-colored female who makes the advances, for the wanton phalaropes have revised nature's order, and the modest male either seeks escape by flight, or else defends himself with determined dabs. Here is the authentic lady for whom Shakespeare's "pilgrim" sighed.

Of their arrival on their breeding grounds in northern Alaska, E. W. Nelson (1887) writes:

It is much more gregarious than its relative, and for a week or two after its first arrival 50 or more flock together. These flocks were very numerous the 1st of June, 1879, at the Yukon mouth, where I had an excellent opportunity to observe them. In the morning the birds which were paired could be found scattered here and there, by twos, over the slightly flooded grassy flats. At times these pairs would rise and fly a short distance, the female, easily known by her bright colors and larger size, in advance, and uttering now and then a low and musical "clink, clink," sounding very much like the noise made by lightly tapping together two small bars of steel. When disturbed these notes were repeated oftener and became harder and louder. A little later in the day, as their hunger became satisfied, they began to unite into parties until 15 or 20 birds would rise and pursue an erratic course over the flat. As they passed swiftly along stray individuals and pairs might be seen to spring up and join the flock. Other flocks would rise and the smaller coalesce with the larger until from two hundred to three or even four hundred birds were gathered in a single flock. As the size of the flock increased its movements became more and more irregular. At one moment they would glide straight along the ground, then change to a wayward flight, back and forth, twisting about with such rapidity that it was difficult to follow them with the eye. Suddenly their course would change, and the compact flock, as if animated by a single impulse, would rise high over head, and, after a series of graceful and swift evolutions, come sweeping down with a loud, rushing sound to resume their playful course near the ground. During all their motions the entire flock moves in such unison that the alternate flashing of the underside of their wings and the dark color of the back, like the play of light and shade, makes a beautiful spectacle. When wearied of their sport the flock disbands and the birds again resume their feeding.

Courtship.—The well-known reversal of sexual characters in the phalaropes makes their courtship particularly interesting, as the large, handsome females press their ardent suits against the timid and dull-colored little males. A. L. V. Manniche (1910) has given us the best account of it, as follows:

June 19, 1907, early in the morning, I had the pleasure of watching for hours the actions of a loving couple of phalaropes on the beach of a pool surrounded by large sedge tufts, covered with long, withered grass. This act I found very funny, peculiar, and charming. When the male had been eagerly searching for food for some 20 minutes, often standing on his head in the water, like a