on the successful Nesthig of the White-throated Finch. 361


off post haste to my friend Mr. Watson, and besought him, as he

loved me, to offer his calves a willing sacrifice on the nearest

ant heap. He gallantly rose to my request and though, as he

said, eggs was werry scarce, he would do what he could to help

me. I feel now to Mr. Watson like the native of India, who,

wanting to thank a friend for some favour, said “ If I were to

make shoes of my skin for your Excellency in exchange for these

favours, I would think that I had not trespassed the limits of my

gratitude ” ! I felt at the same time that, as eggs were so scarce,

the most rigid economy must be prescribed—not a very easy

matter in a large mixed aviary. Imagine then my feelings, when

next I replenished the saucer, to see a lieu Yellow Sparrow hop

down and begin her unholy labours on my tiny store! I became

at once a primitive man, with passions bloodthirsty and elemen¬

tal. There was something in the cool outrageous way she settled

on the dish offensive in the last degree ; and when at last after,

I fear, she could eat 110 more, I drove her away, she merely

settled down on a neighbouring bush and used language towards

me which, as James Yellowplush used to say, “ I would not

demean myself by repeating.”


After some days I noticed that the cock began to visit the

nest, and soon his journeys were well nigh incessant. Every

few minutes he would be popping in and out of the nest, like the

figure in a cuckoo clock. Down to the saucer he would fly, fill

his beak, return to the nest, and then away like a bee that is

seeking fresh honey. How many times an hour those birds

returned to the nest I should be afraid to say. I should think

on the average they came every minute for eight or nine hours

on end. Picture that, and then calculate the amount of food

consumed and what it means to rear a nest of insectivorous

birds ; and mind you, nothing else but insect food will do. If

the saucer happened to be empty, the moment I entered the

aviary there would be the cock and hen clinging to the wire or

hopping uneasily about, and saying as plainly as they could by

their actions, “ Now then, where are those eggs?”


Time passed, and day by day the voces clamantiu 7 n grew

more and more insistent, and my spirits rose correspondingly.

Only late in the evening did the feeding cease. At last there

came plethora, and each little bird felt satisfied.



