The Least Sandpiper is always found associated with the Semi-palmated Sandpiper, which in the later summer throng our shores and form staple sport to the youthful and city tyros. Flocks of birds are often composed of both species. When this is the case, the latter, even if largely in the minority, take the lead, as they are of somewhat larger size, stronger in flight, and have a louder note. When not in company with other species, none of our shore birds are more confiding and unsuspecting than these, says Davie, large flocks continuing their search for food almost under the feet of the observer. The black and white outlines which are often seen of this bird make it possible, perhaps, to recognize it, but the perfect likeness which we present will enable the observer to distinguish it at a glance from all others of the family, of which there are about a dozen well-known species. [Illustration: From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences. LEAST SANDPIPER. Life-size. Copyright by Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.] INSTINCT AND REASON. In a recent issue of the New York _Evening Post_, Caroline H. Dall writes interestingly on this subject as follows: "I wish to draw the attention of such of your readers as are interested in the discussion of the nature of instinct, to a curious example of it, as distinct from reason, which I have lately witnessed. "Entering the parlor of a friend the other day, my attention was instantly attracted to a Florida Mockingbird. He was flying about in an eager manner, with something like a long black straw in his bill. My friend entering, I asked: 'What is your bird doing?' 'Building a nest,' she answered. 'Has he a mate?' 'No, he has never had one,' she replied, 'nor has he ever seen a nest. That black straw is a shaving of whalebone which lasts him better than anything else.' At this moment the bird flew into a corner of the cage, and, stooping, dropped the whalebone, waited a moment as if for some response, and then flew away to repeat the manoeuvre. "'Does he not want something soft?' I asked. 'I sometimes give him yarn or wool; he tears it all up, works it all over, and then carries it to that corner. He evidently thinks it his duty to provide material, but he does not undertake to use it.' 'And what will he do next?' I asked. 'He will, after a day or two, brood over that corner, sitting close and spreading his wings out as broadly as possible. He does this two or three times a day.' 'And after that?' 'Later the paternal instinct seems to be aroused in a different way. He goes to his food cup, takes some food in his mouth, and drops it into his corner. He repeats this several times, as if he were feeding his young. I do not know how many young birds he ought to expect, but I should like to know, to see if he counts right!'