200 



I next came across them on the morning of November 29, 1878. 

 A flock was found in an orchard feeding- upon seeds of apples, both 

 on the trees and upon the ground. My gardener, near whose house 

 they were, informed me that they had spent several days there, pre- 

 vious to my arrival at home. I first heard their call-note, and, on 

 looking about, saw them gleaning upon the ground close at hand. 

 When shot at, they uttered a mournful cry, and, sometimes, while 

 feeding, a high note resembling that of the Purple Finch {CariJodacus 

 pupureiis). This flock stayed in the orchard until I left home, on 

 December 2. They were very quiet, gentle in their manners, and so 

 unobtrusive, that they might easily have been passed by without no- 

 tice. When rudely frightened, they would fly to the nearest tree, and 

 there sit motionless for a short time; then they dropped silently to 

 the ground, and resumed their avocations in silence. These birds 

 seemed contented, and not in the least restless. I encountered several 

 other flocks during my brief stay; and nothing was more remarkable 

 than the amount of silence they preserved, considering the large pre- 

 ponderance of females present. Some were so tame that they could 

 have been readily captured by means of a noose or hand-net. No 

 adult males were seen, though I secured an immature specimen that 

 was about one-half red ; another example was in the dullest plumage, 

 so that, before skinning, I supposed it to be a female, but a careful 

 dissection showed that it was masculine. Some were moulting their 

 tail-feathers. Several specimens taken had a few of the outer rec- 

 trices only an inch or two long; these were always the outer ones, 

 and only on one side. 



I saw a Pine Grosbeak in the Central Park, New York City, on 

 December 20, 1878. 



Dr. Clinton L. Bagg saw five Grosbeaks, among them a fine red 

 male, near West Point, N. Y., on December 29, 1878; they were pick- 

 ing at some decayed apples by the wayside. We saw several females, 

 near the same place, on the following day. 



The Pine Grosbeak's song is one of the finest, but I have only been 

 privileged to listen to it on a single occasion — in March, 1875. The 

 weather at the time was intensely cold. The preceding winter had 

 been one of unusual severity; and the ice was still many inches thick 

 upon the Hudson. The Purple Finches, though present, seldom felt 

 inclined to sing; and the few hardy Song Sparrows that had braved 

 the winter were ensconced in cosy nooks among the flags, behind 

 some sheltering ledge of rock, where, onl}^ on the warmest days, they 

 made abortive attempts at a song. These were the only performers 

 except an occasional Red Crossbill ; and bird music was rare indeed. 

 It was one frosty morning, as I was following the course of a stream 

 that flowed at the bottom of a deep ravine, that I heard, most unex- 

 pectedly, a new song. It proceeded from far up the glen. The notes 



