28 MEMOIRS OF THE NUTTALL ORNITHOLOGICAL CLUB. 



Descending to the beach from my elevated station on a dune at sunrise, 

 I counted six Ipswich Sparrows within a distance of a hundred yards, and tlie 

 Horned Larks and Snow Buntings could now be seen to better advantage, 

 although with the temperature below zero and a strong wind, field-glass studies 

 were not of the easiest. On returning along Castle Hill, Chickadees, Gold- 

 finches, and Tree Sparrows greeted me from the thickets, and a flock of fifty 

 or more Horned Larks were comfortably feeding on the sidehill, and with 

 them about a dozen Lapland Longspurs. As I was surmounting a drift on 

 snowshoes a beautiful cock Ring Pheasant flew out from some sheltering 

 larches like a meteor. His blue metallic head, snow-white ring around the 

 neck, and beautiful golden-brown back and tail were brilliantly lit up by the 

 rising sun. A Flicker called from some willow trees, and a poor little frozen 

 Myrtle Warbler, with wings and tail partly spread, was found in the path under 

 a buttonwood tree. This was certainly not a bad record for an hour and a half 

 before breakfast on the fourth of January in such weather, — some nineteen 

 species and several thousand individuals. 



On the night of July 27th, 1904, the moon was full. The sun set at 

 7.10 p. M. red and fiery. Herring Gulls, urged by the rising tide, left the bar 

 at the mouth of the Ipswich River and flew to the southern end of Ipswich 

 Beach where they settled in a gi"eat multitude, perhaps 2000 in all. On my 

 walking in that direction at 7.20 p. m. they rose and flew over to Coffin's Beach, 

 where they apparently settled for the night. From 7.45 p. m. the Night Herons 

 began to arrive, singly and in small groups, squawking as they flew, and spread 

 themselves over the beaches and sandflats. Ring-neck and Piping Plover were 

 heard calling but could not be seen in the dim light, and a Turnstone struck up 

 its loud, sharp, rapidly repeated call, while from the grass back of the beach the 

 song of the Savanna Sparrow could still be heard, and once or twice the song 

 of the Northern Yellowthroat. Between 8 and 9 o'clock, the light of the moon 

 being still obscured j_by the summer haze, the Plover and Turnstone were fre- 

 quently calling and apparently flying about, while some Sanderhngs and Semi- 

 palmated Sandpipers were uttering their notes in a very conversational tone. 

 At 8.30 p. M. I heard the sad and melodious call of the Black-bellied Plover, and 

 at this time also I first noticed the calls of small birds that were passing over- 

 head, the forerunners of the gi'eat autumn migrations. These were heard at 

 intervals throughout the night until half past three in the morning. At 

 9.45 p. M. in the obscure light of the moon I could see a large bird running 

 nimbly along the beach, occasionally raising its wings. As it took to the water 

 and swam away I concluded it was a wounded Gull, and the next morning I 

 found Gull's tracks with a groove along the right side as if a broken wing had 

 trailed. Later I saw the bird itself, a Herring Gull, and my inferences were 



