THE IPSWICH SPARROW. 



35 



appeared obviously darker. The fact that I seldom found them on the 

 half-naked sand-hills might argue against their pallid colors, but we 

 must remember that most of them spend only a small part of their lives 

 amid the oases of Sable Island. 



It was impossible to pry much into their domestic affairs, they were so 

 retiring. All seemed to be mated at the time of my arrival, and they 

 appeared to take life very quietly. The demeanor of the males, when 

 paying court to their admiring mates, was largely a parade of bowings 

 and flutterings, accompanied by a low murmuring chirruping. Only 

 once did I actually catch the males quarrelling among themselves ; but 

 towards the end of m}' stay I secured several with heads so denuded of 

 feathers that it was evidentl}^ not a question of whether they had been 

 fighting, but of how much. Very little solicitude was displayed in regard 

 to their nests. The males seem to give notice of a stranger's approach. 

 Your attention is perhaps attracted by mild and deliberate tch'ips that 

 proceed from a bird sitting most stolidly on a clump of pigmy rose-bushes, 

 and presently he is mysteriously joined by his mate. Both will continue 

 to expostulate at irregular intervals, seldom shifting their positions, though 

 nervously turning this way and that as long as you remain in the vicinity, 

 and they are very polite about it all and never attempt to heap upon you 

 such torrents of abuse as you often receive at the hands of other species. 

 It is most difficult to detect the females leaving the nest, unless incubation 

 is considerably advanced, but at this period they sit very closely and, 

 only when nearly trodden upon, will they flutter away, feigning injury. 



Song. 



I well remember the first morning on the island. The sun was feebly 

 struggling with the drifting fog that dimly revealed the treeless, ragged 

 sand-hillocks stretching away into the distance ; the air was chill, and all 

 about me were strange sights and sounds. Amid the chorus of unfamiliar 

 notes 1 soon detected those for which I had travelled far, and spied an 

 Ipswich Sparrow singing away on an adjacent sand-peak, quite unconscious 

 of the sensation he was creating. Probably none of the songsters afterwards 

 heard impressed me as did this one, for the song was one of the many 

 novelties I enjoyed on Sable Island. I was prepared to hear a song on the 

 same pattern as that of the Savanna Sparrow — nor was I disappointed. It 

 was gratifying to know that the bird really could sing, for it is one of 

 the most silent of our winter visitors, its sole note being a sharp, dry tsq^ 

 uttered on rare occasions. Both sexes make use of this note on Sable 



