Broad-billed Sandpiper. Limicola platyrhyncha.—On the morning of June 9th we had started from Fokstuen station-house for an exploration of the hills on the other side the marsh, and had not left it half-an-hour when a little Sandpiper that I did not recognise, got up from under my feet, was shot, and, hurrah!—proved to be a Broad-bill! It was at once decided to leave the hills for the marsh, and thither we accordingly went. Before very long four eggs were found, and so one of the prizes we hoped to get was secured. This nest was not on a tump, but a damp, grassy place, in a dry spot almost level with the mud, and consisted of a round, deep hollow filled with dry leaves of the mountain willow, whose brown colour coincided almost exactly with that of the eggs. On the 11th, at another marsh half-way to Jerkin, on which there were no willows, we took four eggs from a nest composed of dry grass simply, and which was a slight depression on a small tump surrounded by water. The colour of these was very much lighter than the first, more like a Dunlin's. Willow-leaves were not invariably used, even where they were plentiful, as was proved by a nest taken on the 14th from Fokstuen, composed solely of straws. Two others had both leaves and straws mixed, and the rest were like the first in this respect. It was curious that those nests lined with leaves contained the darkest eggs, and those with straws the lighter-coloured ones. The number was invariably four, and these were all fresh, or nearly so, in the seven nests we took, between the 9th and 15th. The open spaces of the marsh appeared to be preferred, where it was free from bushes, and the ground very soppy and wet. The birds in all cases were very tame, would not get off the nest till nearly trodden on, alighting only a few yards away, and running about among the tumps with an occasional subdued half-chirp half-whistle. The male is never far away, always ready to join his mate if she leaves the nest. Irides and legs dark brown. During the last week of our stay a lot of our best working ground was spoiled by a party of German gentlemen, who, in passing Fokstuen, announced that they were on their way to the North Cape, but unfortunately took it into their heads to have a little sporting at Jerkin. Every stream was netted, every marsh within several miles shot over, and it was very annoying to find on some cherished tit-bit of bog a lot of empty cartridge-cases scattered about.
