The Black-bellied Plover, _Charadrius Helveticus_, “Bull-headed,” or “Beetle-headed Plover,” a shy bird, but frequently whistled within gunshot. On the coast it is apt to be fishy, but when shot inland, and on upland pastures, of superior quality. The American Golden Plover, _Charadrius Marmoratus_, “the Frost bird;” a very beautiful species, and of rare excellence when killed on the upland, where it is found more frequently and more abundantly than on the shore. The Long-billed Curlew, _numenius Longirostris_, “Sickle-bill,” a large, coarse-flavored bird, easily decoyed. The Hudsonian Curlew, _numenius Hudsonicus_, “Short-billed Curlew,” or “Jack Curlew.” Similar to the latter in all respects, although smaller in size. And last, The Esquimaux Curlew, _numenius Borealis_, “the Futes,” “the Doe Bird.” This bird feeds principally on the uplands, in company with the golden plovers, and on the same food, _videlicet_, grasshoppers, insects, seeds, worms, and berries. Its flesh is delicate and high flavored. It breeds far to the north, and winters far to the south of the United States, residing with us from early in August until late in November. With this bird, although there are numerous other smaller species, the list of these tribes may be held complete. From the commencement of the present month until late in the autumn, anywhere along the coasts and bays of the Northern and Middle States a bag may readily be filled to overflowing with these varieties by the aid of good decoys and skillful whistling, or of a skiff paddled by a cunning fowler; a gun of 8 to 10 pounds weight, of 12 gauge, with two oz. of No. 5 shot, and an equal measure of powder, will do the work. But when the work is done, comparatively the game is worthless, and the sport, as compared with upland shooting, scarcely worth the having. * * * * * RIVERSIDE. BY GEO. CANNING HILL. In a wood, all deep and solemn, Where fall many a leafy column Lifts aloft its crested summit to the beautiful blue sky— Where the sunbeams bright and golden, Gloss the mosses dank and olden, And the brooks, from out them slipping, to the gleaming river hie;— A piazza, broad and shaded, By the vines about it braided, Has within its wreathed pilasters full a world of lovely dreams; And it looks toward the river, Where long shadows lie and quiver— Lie and quiver in the sun that through the nodding treetops streams. I can hear the distant tumble Of the waters, and the rumble Of the mill-wheel, never ceasing on its constant, busy round, And the cascade’s steady drumming Comes like sweet and lowly humming, As if water-sprites were chanting, with a low and dreamy sound.