264 Bain on Winter Birds of Prince Edward Island. L J u, y 



a low, sweet song, resembling the Linnet's in general outline, 

 but much less strong, full, and rapid. 



The Redpolls arrive the first week in November, when the 

 ripened and gilded cloak is just reft from the forest boughs. 

 Then we see little of them, but will occasionally hear their gentle 

 chitter as they pass back to the groves of great yellow birches, 

 on the seeds of which they principally feed. Free and happy 

 is their life in the wilderness now, as you may witness if you 

 watch a group of them whispering and calling sportively as they 

 rifle the seeds from the crowded strobiles of a giant excelsa. 

 But when winter fully comes they are driven from the forest's 

 summit, evidently suffering from the cold. They then crowd 

 close in shivering flocks of fifty or more, and come and feed on 

 hay stacks and on the seeds of goosefoot, polygonum, and other 

 weeds about the gardens. I have seen the hunger-driven flock 

 settle on loads of hay exposed for sale in the city market. Yellow 

 birches are our only deciduous forest trees which carry a quantity 

 of seeds through the winter, and it is this circumstance which 

 makes them so important for the support of the winter flocks. 



The Goldfinches leave the last of October, the last individuals 

 evidently suffering during cold storms, and their place in winter 

 is taken by a few wild, bounding Pine Goldfinches, whose slim 

 voices sound sweet notes round the dark spires of ancient spruces 

 where the White-winged Crossbills feed. We sometimes have 

 large flocks of Red Crossbills, but their coming is very uncer- 

 tain. They were in force in December, 1S77, and in January, 

 1S84. Spruce seeds were abundant both these seasons. 



Pine Grosbeaks come in November, but their numbers are 

 uncertain. When coniferous seeds are plenty, flocks of fifty 

 bright-plumed beauties, with theirgentle, unsuspecting, wilderness- 

 ways and soft voices, come frequently about the spruce groves. 

 But when these are scarce, as they are this season, it is rare to 

 hear the call of a solitary wanderer in the most unfrequented 

 forest scene. But Grosbeaks are not dependent alone on a 

 precarious supply of cone-borne seeds for a living. Thev feed 

 much on the buds of the trees, and will even go to the shores for 

 a meal, like Buntings and Robins. 



In midwinter they retire to the shelter of the deep, coniferous 

 forests. On a sunny morning, when the fir drapery flashes with 

 crystals, the group of forest wayfarers may be found in their 



