My learned friend THOMAS NUTTALL has described the manners of this species as observed in the neighbourhood of Boston, with so much truth and accuracy, that I cannot do better than present you with his account of it, the more especially, that in so doing, I have an opportunity of expressing the high opinion I entertain of his talents and varied accomplishments. “The Peet Weet is one of the most familiar and common of all the New England marsh birds, arriving along our river shores, and low meadows, about the beginning of May, from their mild or tropical winter quarters in Mexico. As soon as it arrives on the coast, small roving flocks are seen, at various times of the day, coursing rapidly along the borders of our tide-water streams, flying swiftly and rather low, in circular sweeps along the meanders of the rock or river, and occasionally crossing from side to side, in rather a sportive and cheerful mien, than as the needy foragers they appear at the close of the autumn. While flying out in these wide circuits, agitated by superior feelings to those of hunger and necessity, we hear the shores re-echo the shrill and rapid whistle of ’weet, ’weet, ’weet, ’weet, and usually closing the note with something like a warble, as they approach their companions on the strand. The cry then varies to ’peet, ’weet, ’weet, ’weet, beginning high and gradually declining into a somewhat plaintive tone. As the season advances, our little lively marine wanderers often trace the streams some distance into the interior, resting usually in fresh meadows among the grass, sometimes even near the house, and I have seen their eggs laid in a strawberry bed; and the young and old, pleased with their allowed protection, familiarly fed, and probed the margin of the adjoining duck-pond, for their usual fare of worms and insects. They have the very frequent habit of balancing or wagging the tail, in which even the young join as soon as they are fledged. From the middle to the close of May, the pairs, seceding from their companions, seek out a place for their nest, which is always in a dry open field of grass or grain, sometimes in the seclusion and shade of a field of maize, but most commonly in a dry pasture, contiguous to the sea shore; and in some of the solitary and small sea islands, several pairs sometimes nestle near to each other, in the immediate vicinity of the noisy nurseries of the quailing Terns. On being flushed from her eggs, the female goes off without uttering any complaint; but when surprised with her young, she practises all the arts of dissimulation common to many other birds, fluttering in the path, as if badly wounded, and generally proceeds in this way so far as to deceive a dog, and cause it to overlook the brood, for whose protection these instinctive arts are practised; nor are the young without their artful instinct, for on hearing the reiterated cries of their parents, they scatter about, and squatting still in the withered