314 THE CHIFF-CHAFF. 



reaching two-thirds the length of tail ; the other one-half ; the 

 last about a fourth. It is rarer than the other two, and, except 

 the wheatear, is our earliest spring visitor — arriving in March, 

 sometimes earlier; and in mild winters some remain all year. 

 But although early in coming it is late in leaving, about the 

 end of October ; and although its little song is monotonous com- 

 pared to the richer notes of other birds, still, like the little 

 snowdrop and pale primrose, it is hailed as the herald of spring 

 and joyous summer, of sunny days and leafy trees, after the 

 dark gloom of winter ; although when it comes there is not a leaf 

 to cover it. It does not begin to breed till May, until there is 

 a supply of insect food for its young — a lesson in domestic 

 economy which more pretentious birds might study before 

 entering the matrimonial bond. It is rather rare about 

 St Andrews. The nest is similar to the willow wren's, com- 

 posed of dry grass, dead leaves, and moss, profusely lined with 

 feathers, covered with a loose constructed dome — the hole near 

 the top ; often found under long grass on the ground, but as 

 often in a low bush, dead ferns, or underwood, two or three feet 

 from the ground. On May 11th I got one amongst ivy at 

 Abbey Park, three feet up, with one egg; on the 18th there 

 were eight eggs in it, when the bird began to sit. The nest was 

 composed of moss outside to resemble the ivy, almost filled with 

 feathers inside ; the small hole in front was an inch in diameter. 

 The eggs are slightly pink, freckled with brown spots ; but 

 several small birds, such as the chiff-chaff, the willow and 

 wood wrens, the smaller tits, and the creeper have their eggs 

 about the same size and much alike in colour. They are 

 usually pale pinkish-white, with spots, chiefly at the larger end. 

 On May 5th, 1856, I got one amongst long grass at the side of a 

 dyke, also with eight eggs ; and on May 26th, 1862, I got one 

 with six fresh eggs in the middle, of very young whins, under 

 the herbage — proving there is no particular place for birds to 

 build. This bird flew out at my feet, yet I could not find its 

 nest until I lay about five yards off and watched her enter. 

 She was in no hurry to show me her treasure, but kept searching 

 and coolly feeding on the eggs and larvae of insects amongst the 

 branches of the trees close by — or pretending to do so — coming 

 nearer and nearer, until she popped down like a stone and 

 went in — thus I found it in a strip of wood at Allan Hill, about 

 two miles from the city (close to where I got a coletit's, with 

 eggs, in the rotten stump of a tree). The reason I could not 

 find it at first was that it was covered with dry grass so like the 



