EASTERN EVENING GROSBEAK 209 



birds kept flying from the tree to a snow-covered house roof nearby 

 to eat snow. Individual birds went to a dark patch on the roof where 

 the snow was melting, filled their bills with the water, threw back 

 their heads and drank. My notes written at the time read: "The 

 wind was blowing and waving the innumerable samaras to a tinkling 

 music. The sound of the blowing seeds, of the birds' musical chatter, 

 was like an elf land sjanphony to our ears." Wings and seeds lay 

 scattered in the snow beneath every Manitoba maple the grosbeaks 

 had visited. We examined many of the the now seedless wings, 

 bitten off with neatness and precision. 



Later that spring in the Hahburton District of Ontario we found 

 the grosbeaks feeding beneath the mountain maples (Acer spicatum). 

 A flock was actively searching for the fallen seeds amongst the forest 

 Utter. They were quiet when feeding, but punctuated their activity 

 with loud callnotes, as various members of the flock flew up into 

 yellow birch or spruce and down to a little stream under alders to 

 drink. They drank the cold pure water of this northern stream with 

 as much apparent relish as the North Bay grosbeaks drank the 

 melted snow from the city rooftops. 



In Ontario, New York, and New England, small flocks move from 

 feeding station to feeding station on the way to the breeding grounds. 

 As evening grosbeaks are not early nesters, a few birds often remain 

 in the vicinity of feeding stations until May. In recent years May 

 reports have come from States south of New York and New England. 

 But gradually the flocks diminish in size until the last bird has left. 



Courtship. — After watching a pair of evening grosbeaks on their 

 breeding ground in northern Michigan, Bayard H. Christy (1930) 

 gave the first published account of the colorful courtship display. 

 He writes: "As the female * * * perched near, the male made a 

 beautiful display. He crouched low, puffed out his plumage, extended 

 his wings horizontally and set them quivering. The gorgeous contrast 

 of the glossy black wings with the golden body suggested the appear- 

 ance of a bird of paradise. There was no song; it was about half 

 past five in the afternoon, and the sun was still high." 



On Apr. 4, 1937, at Hanover, N.H., I watched a pair of evening 

 grosbeaks bowing to each other with great formality. They were 

 not more than a foot away from each other when the formahties 

 began. First the male bowed very low, then the female bowed. 

 The male bowed again, and the female again. The rhythm acceler- 

 ated until they were bowing so low that I almost expected to see them 

 lose their balance and fall off the branch. The female punctuated 

 her jerky movements with loud call-notes. As she bowed she called 

 peter! and flicked her tail. From the male came no sound. The 

 female seemed the more enthusiastic, and continued to bow after the 



