THE BULLFINCH 77 



with their purple-brown blotches on a very pale 

 blue ground. Words entirely fail to describe the 

 beauty of these eggs, the shell being so thin and 

 fragile that the yolk within modifies their hue. 

 Blown specimens in a cabinet have little likeness 

 to the untouched original egg lying in its cradle 

 of twigs and rootlets, with the play of light and 

 shadow passing over it and making it seem a 

 fairy casket for the future life that it contains. 

 But it was probably for utility, not beauty, that 

 the colouring and markings were evolved. 



The eggs of the bullfinch vary somewhat, and 

 those of the second pair, whose nest was not 

 found until May igth, when the bird had begun 

 to sit, were not so beautiful as those of the first 

 pair. They were not so pure a blue, the purple 

 markings were fainter, and they might almost 

 have been mistaken for the eggs of a linnet ; still, 

 they were lovely objects. 



Up to this time I had seen hardly anything of 

 the parent birds, an occasional glimpse of grey 

 and white flitting through the dark green of the 

 spruce branches being all they had vouchsafed 

 me. But that they were at hand was apparent 

 from their melancholy piping, which could be 

 heard first on one side and then on the other; 

 however, I had already taken steps to get better 

 acquainted with them. Some days before a small 

 hiding tent had been set up a little distance off, 

 and now the birds had got thoroughly used to it 

 I brought it close to nest No. i. Ensconced therein, 

 I could watch unseen through the peep-holes 



