In spring the Turnstone is rarely met with in flocks exceeding five or six individuals, but often associates with other species, such as the Knot, the Red-backed Sandpiper, and the _Tringa subarquata_. Towards the end of autumn, however, they collect into large flocks, and so continue during the winter. I have never seen it on the margins of rivers or lakes, but always on the shores of the sea, although it prefers those of the extensive inlets so numerous on our coasts. At times it rambles to considerable distances from the beach, for I have found it on rocky islands thirty miles from the mainland; and on two occasions, whilst crossing the Atlantic, I saw several flocks near the Great Banks flying swiftly, and rather close to the water around the ships, after which they shot off toward the south-west, and in a few minutes were out of sight. It seems to be a hardy bird, for some of them remain in our Eastern Districts until severe frost prevails. Having seen some, in the beginning of June, and in superb plumage, on the high grounds of the Island of Grand Mannan, in the Bay of Fundy, I supposed that they bred there, although none of my party succeeded in discovering their nests. Indeed the young, as I have been informed, are obtained there, and along the coast of Maine, in the latter part of July. I have found this bird much more shy when in company with other species than when in flocks by itself, when it appears to suspect no danger from man. Many instances of this seeming inattention have occurred to me, among others the following:—When I was on the island of Galveston in Texas, my friend EDWARD HARRIS, my son, and some others of our party, had shot four deer, which the sailors had brought to our little camp near the shore. Feeling myself rather fatigued, I did not return to the bushes with the rest, who went in search of more venison for our numerous crew, but proposed, with the assistance of one of the sailors, to skin the deer. After each animal was stripped of its hide, and deprived of its head and feet, which were thrown away, the sailor and I took it to the water and washed it. To my surprise, I observed four Turnstones directly in our way to the water. They merely ran to a little distance out of our course, and on our returning, came back immediately to the same place; this they did four different times, and, after we were done, they remained busily engaged in searching for food. None of them was more than fifteen or twenty yards distant, and I was delighted to see the ingenuity with which they turned over the oyster-shells, clods of mud, and other small bodies left exposed by the retiring tide. Whenever the object was not too large, the bird bent its legs to half their length, placed its bill beneath it, and with a sudden quick jerk of the head pushed it off, when it quickly picked up the food which was thus exposed to view, and walked deliberately to the next shell to perform the same operation. In several instances,