I 93



inspected this second nest, and, to the unspeakable joy of

the male, accepted it as satisfactory, and forthwith seated herself

inside. Instantly they set to work building a covering, the male

bringing the materials and helping from the outside, the female

working inside — the first work she had performed. This

appeared to be her special duty ; and it would seem as if she

had rejected the first nest because it chanced to be just under

the curtain pole, not sufficient space remaining for the dome.

This dome, which was completed the same evening, was merely

open lattice-work of hay, by far the most open work for the

dome of a real nest that I have ever beheld. The aperture,

which offered no peculiarity, faced away from the window towards

their ordinary cage. The bottom part of the nest was very

bulky, being about three inches thick, and came considerably

above the brim of the wire cup. It was constructed of hay and

dry grasses, with some three or four feathers and scraps of moss

and horsehair stuck in anj^where, but was lined with only the

finest grass and hay. Three eggs were laid, and could be seen

through the roof; they appeared to be white, but the light was

very bad. A hasty glance I had of one a little later revealed a

narrow circlet of reddish - brown spots around the larger end.

The courting postures of the male were pretty ; with head down,

and wings quivering and usually drooping, he would ya-ya at

the female, for I never heard this male really sing; nevertheless

as the song of the Little Finch is a “little” song and I was at

that time unacquainted with it, it is possible, tho’ unlikely, that

it may have been uttered and overlooked amongst the twitter¬

ings of the other birds. But the prettiest courting figure was

when the male’s two wings, back to back and nearly touching,

were pointed and fully extended straight upwards. The two

birds played with the nest for some time, and it was not until

October 24th, when the female commenced to sit, that I knew

there were eggs.


The course of nesting, however, was not destined to run

smoothly, for the male was going wrong, and on the 26th

developed an alarming bronchial attack. On the afternoon of

that day I saw him throw himself madly into the nest; and up

till midnight, when I went to bed, his painful breathing told he

was still there. Practically all that I could do for him was to

increase the temperature of the room. In the morning all was

still as death. I went straight to the nest, but the body was not

there. The female dropped from the nest (about four feet from

the floor) like a stone, and fluttered off shamming injury, just as



