6 
BULLETIN OF THE LABORATORIES 
mooted song has been heard. The most eastern point yet reached by 
these birds seems to be Cleveland, Ohio, and isolated cases of their- oc- 
currence in Wisconsin and Illinois are also known. The species is 
highly gregarious and individuals are rarely or never met with singly. 
Even the destructive inroads of the collector, before whom they are 
absolutely defenseless, do not scatter or break up the flock. Unsus- 
pecting and without fear, they continue to feed until the last individual 
falls a victim. The migrating colony seems well satisfled with itself 
and its temporary home and, while feeding, a constant chorus of an- 
swering cries is kept up. The note is not loud but is remarkably 
piercing, and yet not unmelodious. The early belief that these birds 
are silent except at evening is entirely erroneous. In spring, upon the 
approach of the breeding season, the males cultivate the muses in an 
odd but not displeasing little song. This song consists of several suc- 
cessive repetitions of a short warble, followed by a similar strain clos- 
ing with a shrill cry, like the finale of a black-bird’s song. The phrase 
which makes up the body of the song is musical, but is so abruptly ter- 
minated (as though from lack of breath or of ability, ) that it is annoy- 
ing when heard singly, for one is subjected to much the same nervous 
expectancy felt in listening to a hen’s cackle when quite leisurely 
“working up the agony” sufficiently to sound the final note. A 
flock of a dozen or more singing together produce a very musical ef- 
fect. The food almost entirely consists of the seeds of various trees, 
among which the box elder, the maple, poplar, and pine are pre-emi- 
nent. Buds of cherry and other trees are also eaten, and this regime 
is varied by occasional insect larvae, etc. 
O. R. Johnson, who mentions this grosbeak from the Williamette 
valley, speaks of it as plentiful during migrations, and states that “ the 
only note heard was a loud yeeip^’’ strikingly like the call of a lost 
chicken.” Of the nest and eggs we as yet know nothing, and so of 
the many interesting traits which make up the sum of its true home- 
life we must be content to remain ignorant. From its inaccessable 
summer home it continues to descend during the severe winter weather 
and, almost under the very roofs of the factories of a busy city, con- 
tentedly passes the short days, heedless of the noise and regardful only 
of the oily kernels of the keys of the box elder, which it displays 
a very awkward skill in plucking as it swings (head downwards or oth- 
erwise) from the pendulous branches. 
These brief remarks are designed simply as introductory to the 
