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 my stay I secured several with heads so denuded of 
feathers that it was evidently 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 ¢chips 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 I 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 ¢sip 
uttered on rare occasions. Both sexes make use of this note on Sable 
