I entered the fissure, which was at no point over two or three feet wide, and 

 climbed up some thirty feet. In making so much progress I had to avail myself 

 of every irregularity or niche in the wall which would support a toe or a pike- 

 point, and I had to hug the projection of the "bottom", or innermost recess, — 

 slimy, slithery, and dripping. At this point also I discovered that the prospective 

 site consisted of a single tier of rocks wedged into the outer throat of the fissure, 

 and that it would be perfectly possible to pass behind them, by dint of wedging 

 and wriggling between sheer walls. Of this passage the least said the better. 



The tier was seven or eight members deep, at no point over two feet wide 

 and in part much narrower. The lodgment was fifty feet sheer from the next, 

 or false, floor, and seventy feet from the bottom of the fissure. The outer walls 

 flared suddenly, beyond the tower, so that not an atom of support could be 

 secured from them. Fortunately, I found that the boulders themselves, except 

 the topmost, were lodged with a fair degree of firmness. By dint of crawling over 

 the pile from the inside, I could hope to cling outside and search. The bird 

 emerged when I was half way over, and I saw the precise spot; but there was no 

 hint of space to let, as seen from above. Finally, I descended the exterior face 

 of the tier, rested a knee upon the slight projection beneath which the nest must 

 be situated, grasped the uppermost rock, which was loose and which held only by 

 the inertia of weight, and groped below for the nest. The courses below were 

 undercut, so that I could get no help from them, not even for a toe-hold. I 

 think I was never in a more strained or precarious situation. My life depended 

 upon the integrity of that trifling lodgment of loose boulders, against which I 

 was applying the leverage of my body. A slip meant fifty feet, as I proved 

 presently by dropping my hat; and the impetus of a heavy body meant 150 feet 

 more, as I also proved by the accidental dropping of a small stone, which dis- 

 lodged the hat and sent it to the bottom of the cliff. 



The nest, too, was amazingly concealed and difficult of access. I could 

 only reach it by the flat of my hand held palm up. By the click of the nails, 

 I surmised eggs; but try as I might I could not, at first, insert the fingers tips 

 down. Finally, after arranging my little cotton-lined, pocket collecting-box, 

 with lid open, upon the boulder above my head, and having detached an aluminum 

 collecting spoon, I succeeded in removing a small stone, which gave me better 

 access to the nest — although I could not remove the nest itself — and so began 

 fishing for eggs. It was a case of egging by faith, not by sight. As the first one 

 came up, pearly pink, "as fresh as paint", my hand trembled menacingly. The 

 landing of that first egg was a tremendous feat, and that of each succeeding egg 

 more so. Although I held a steadying thumb against the agitated oval as it 

 quivered in its shallow tray, its progress was more a feat of jugglery than an 

 affair of reason. Finally, when I had landed the fourth egg, with nerves which 

 required nearly the full width of the well for staggering range, I abandoned the 

 spoon and thought to take the fifth egg with my fingers. Full carefully, with 

 every sense alert, I closed about it, first finger, thumb, second finger; then I 

 lifted. "God!" the thing had collapsed in my trembling grasp as it was clearing 

 the brim. "God!" I shouted in impotent horror. The good wife, clinging 

 to a ledge below, thought I was swearing and made shocked protest. But it 

 was neither that nor prayer — exactly; only the despairing cry of a tense soul which 

 suddenly finds the ground snatched from under its feet — the ultimate and in- 

 stinctive appeal to the Ultimate. And so I buried my face in the rocks and clung 

 trembling — almost sobbing — till calmer moments and mastery came. 



"Four out of five; well, that's as good as a set of four". So reasons the 

 novice or the uninitiated; but your true oologist is unconsolable. "Four out of 

 five! Yes; a beautiful face with one eye missing!" 



Well, I stowed the trifling remainder away, after some fashion, and re- 

 trieved the nest, wrapping it flimsily and bestowing it in my hat, secured it with 

 a safety pin, and dropped it — with consequences already recited. Needless to 

 say, I ultimately retrieved the hat — and the nest — at the bottom of the cliff; — 

 and if anybody wants that set, Dawson Leuco, n/4 of 5, at half price, exchange, 

 he can have it. 



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