Notes from Field and Study 



173 



or all of these questions. They may be 

 sent to him at the American Museum of 

 Natural History, New York City, not later 

 than September i, for insertion in the next 

 issue of Bird-Lore. — Frank M. Chapman. 



A Winter Flight of Vesper Sparrows 



The following account, relating to a mid- 

 winter flight of • Vesper Sparrows in the 

 vicinity of New York City, appears to consti- 

 tute an unprecedented record. The presence 

 of this species here first came to my notice 

 on February 12, 1907. During the forenoon 

 of that day I observed many individuals of 

 the species in the grassy fields and stubble 

 growth north of Merrick, Long Island; and 

 ■from this locality southward to the salt 

 meadows and westward along the Merrick 

 Road, I found Vesper Sparrows in com- 

 parative abundance. The birds were some- 

 times seen singly or in groups of two or 

 three, but were more commonly found 

 associating with Juncos and Tree Spar- 

 rows. All three species were industriously 

 feeding among the roadside weeds, in a 

 temperature which stood near the zero point. 



Within the limits of Freeport, L. L, just 

 north of the center of the village, many 

 Vesper Sparrows were seen feeding between 

 the rails of the electric-car tracks from 

 which the snow had been entirely cleared, 

 and, as I followed the tracks toward Hemp- 

 stead and Garden City, one bird after 

 another flew up from before me, only to 

 alight again some distance ahead. After 

 being repeatedly flushed, the birds would fly 

 into a near-by bush or tree, and allow me 

 to pass before resuming their quest for food. 

 They were, without exception, exceedingly 

 tame, and usually permitted a close approach 

 before flying and expanding their white- 

 edged tails. North of Freeport, one of the 

 birds was secured for the Museum, thus mak- 

 ing identification positive. 



On February ry, a careful search in the 

 vicinity of Jamaica, Long Island, failed to 

 disclose a single Vesper Sparrow, and none 

 was seen by members of the Museum 

 staff, who spent several days on the south 

 shore of Long Island during the latter part 

 of February and the first week in March. 



Several hunts made since that time have 

 yielded no better results; the conclusion, 

 therefore, is that the flight must have been 

 either very local or of short duration, 

 probably the latter. 



Although Giraud, in his ' Birds of Long 

 Island,' says of the Vesper Sparrows, "A 

 few remain with us throughout the year," 

 recent records for dates later than the middle 

 of November are not common, and, more- 

 over, the above statement would hardly 

 account for such numbers of the birds as 

 were seen by the writer. With the excep- 

 tion of Giraud's account, the northernmost 

 recorded winter range of the species is in 

 southern Pennsylvania, where, according to 

 Warren, the birds are frequently seen in 

 winter. In Rhoad's and Pennock's list of 

 the ' Birds of Delaware,' the Vesper Spar- 

 row is given only as a summer resident. 



The fact that the Vesper Sparrows were 

 with us during the coldest period of the 

 winter would appear to preclude the sup- 

 position that they were early migrants from 

 the South, and yet no other theory seems 

 probable. Field notes from all sections of 

 the country around New York City might 

 aid greatly in determining the direction of 

 the flight, so it is to be hoped that other 

 observers will be heard from. — Robert C. 

 Murphy, American Museum of Natural 

 History, Nenxi York City. 



An Owl Tragedy 



Early in April, 1906, I made my first trip 

 of the season to the home of a pair of Barred 

 Owls which I had been, in the habit of visit- 

 ing each spring for several years. The 

 Owls nested in the hollow top of a dead pin- 

 oak stub about thirty feet from the ground. 

 The hole was open and unsheltered at the 

 top, and its floor was about two feet below 

 the entrance. 



Upon reaching the familiar tree, I rapped 

 upon the trunk, expecting to see the big Owl 

 fly out as usual. Nothing happened, how- 

 ever, so I climbed to the nest. As I neared 

 it the clicking of an Owl's bill reached my 

 ear. Upon looking into the hole, I was 

 taken aback to see it closed by a heavy cake 

 of ice a few inches below the top, and it did 



