54 



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 (Carpodacus 

 pupnreus}. 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 fed ; 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, only 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 



