THE CALIFORNIA PURPLE FINCH. 95 
OF the streaked, streaky is this demure and inoffensive bird in the 
olivaceous plumage, in which we usually see him, and always see her. But 
the sharpness and magnitude of the dusky streaks above and below confer 
a measure of distinction, even when there is no trace of the adult crimsons, 
miscalled purple. ‘This finch is a familiar object about the gardens, orchards, 
and parks in Western Washington. It moves about for the most part silently, 
inspecting birds and flowers, sampling fruit, or gleaning seeds from the 
ground in company with its own kind, or with the humbler and equally 
streaked Siskins. While not altogether dependent upon human bounty, it 
probably owes more to man than does any other native species. 
Wright’s Park, in Tacoma, appears to lead the state by two weeks in the 
early budding of its flowering plants, and here Purple Finches appear to the 
best advantage. In the luxuriant bushes of the red flowering currant (/Rubes 
sanguineun.) one may see them feeding during the last week of March. The 
Finches pluck the flowers assiduously, and either eat the fleshy part at the 
base, the tender ovary, or else press out the nectar just above, or both. A 
flower is first plucked off whole and held in the bill, while the bird appears to 
smack its lips several times; then the crimson corolla is allowed to drop upon 
the ground, which thus becomes carpeted with rejected beauty. Like many 
related species, the California Finch is rather unwary, so that one may study 
his behavior at close range. 
Because the Purple Finch is usually so unobtrusive, we are startled at the 
first outburst of spring song. Nothing more spontaneous could be desired, 
and the mellow, musical yodelling of this bird is one of the choicest things 
allowed us on the West-side. ‘The song is midway between a trill and a 
carol, and has a wild quality which makes it very attractive. The notes are 
so limpid and penetrating that one is sometimes deceived as to the distance 
of the singer, supposing him to be in a neighboring copse when, in truth, he 
occupies a distant fir-top. Cheedooreédooreé dooreé dooreé dooreé dooreé 
dooree’ dreeetoreet may afford an idea of the rolling, rollicking character of 
the song, but is, of course, absurdly inadequate. 
A master singer among the Purple Finches once entertained us from 
the top of a fir tree a hundred feet high. He was in the dull plumage, that 
is, without red; and altho he sang briskly at intervals we were not prepared 
for any unusual exhibition of vocal powers on his part. It was a long time, 
therefore, before we put the cry of a distant Steller Jay up to him. Our 
suspicions once aroused, however, we caught not only the Steller Jay cry, 
unmistakably, but also half a dozen others in swift and dainty succession, 
after the usual Purple Finch prelude. I clearly recognized notes of the 
Flicker, Steller Jay, Canary, American Crossbill, and Seattle Wren. These 
imitative efforts varied in correctness of execution, and came to us with the 
