60 LONDON BIRDS 



of hemp and leather, into which, like breeches, the 

 climber puts his legs. There are straps to keep the 

 breeches in their place in case of accident. 



Thus secured, with a bag over each shoulder, tied 

 together behind to prevent inconvenient swaying which 

 might crack the eggs, and provided with a stick with 

 a miniature landing-net at one end and a flat iron 

 scoop at the other, he is lowered down, steadying him- 

 self when he can with his feet, stopping here and there 

 to gather eggs, swinging himself like a pendulum 

 sideways from ledge to ledge, and signalling to his 

 companions above by a code of jerks as he wishes to 

 go up or down or to lengthen or shorten the guiding 

 rope. It is a ' dreadful trade,' but fascinating to watch 

 from the calm security of a grassy bank on the top 

 of the cliff. The eggs of no European bird vary in 

 colour to anything like the same extent as those of the 

 Guillemot. 



Of the five hundred or six hundred piled up for 

 division into four baskets at the end of a lovely day, 

 which it had been the writer's good fortune to idle 

 away in the company of a climbing-party towards the 

 end of May in 1893, no two were at all alike in details 

 of colour and marking. Among sixty of them carried 

 home, there are green eggs of almost every possible 

 shade, from an unspotted, almost white, to old-fashioned 

 green-baize blotched with ink, and blues ranging from 

 a faded Cambridge to something very little short of 

 the Oxford colour. There is a lavender streaked with 

 pink, another of uniform finely-grained mahogany 



