358 
THE BULLFINCH. 
“ cJii-cJiup-pi-sueH Tlie pencils which decorate the head of this bird are movable, and are 
raised or depressed at the will of their owner, thereby producing a very grotesque appearance. 
It is a remarkable fact that when the bird is dead, they lie so closely among the other feathers, 
that they can with difficulty be distinguished. 
The well-known Bullfinch is, perhaps, rather more familiar as a cage bird than as a 
denizen of the wood, for it is so remarkably shy and retiring in its habits that it keeps itself 
sedulously out of sight, and though bold enough in the pursuit of food, invading the gardens 
and orchards with considerable audacity, it yet has a careful eye to its own safety and seldom 
comes within reach of gunshot. 
It cares little for open country, preferring cultivated grounds, woods, and copses, and is 
very fond of orchards and fruit-gardens, finding there its greatest supply of food. This bird 
seems to feed almost wholly on buds during their season, and is consequently shot without 
mercy by the owners of fruit-gardens. The Bullfinch has a curious propensity for selecting 
those buds which would produce fruit, so that the leafage of the tree is not at all diminished. 
Although the general verdict of the garden-keeping public goes against the Bullfinch, there 
are, nevertheless, some owners of gardens who are willing to say a kind word for Bully, and 
who assert that its mischievous propensities have been much overrated. 
It is true that the bird will oftentimes set hard to work upon a fruit-tree, and ruthlessly 
strip off every single flower-bud, thereby destroying to all appearance the prospects of the 
crop for that season. Yet there are cases when a gooseberry-bush has thus been completely 
disbudded, and yet borne a heavy crop of fruit. The reason of this curious phenomenon may 
probably be, that some of the buds were attacked by insects, and that the kind of pruning 
process achieved by the Bullfinch was beneficial rather than hurtful to the plant. 
The Bullfinch affords a curious instance of the change wrought by domestication. 
In its natural state its notes are by no means remarkable, but its memory is so good, and 
its powers of imitation so singular, that it can be taught to pipe tunes with a sweet and flute- 
like intonation, having some of that peculiar ‘‘woody” quality that is observable in the 
clarionet. It is always captured very young for this purpose, and from the moment of its 
capture its instruction begins. The teacher keeps his birds separate, and always plays the tune 
to be learned upon some instrument, such as a bird-organ or a flageolet, as soon as he has 
given them their food. The latter instrument always turns out the best birds, as those which 
are taught with the bird-organ acquire that mechanical precision of note and total absence 
of feeling which renders the notes of a grinding organ so obnoxious to musical ears. 
The birds are always apt to forget their lesson during the moulting season, and if they are 
permitted at that time to hear other birds, they pick up notes that are entirely foreign to the 
air which they are meant to perform, and so make a sad jumble. I once knew a piping Bull- 
finch, a very amusing bird, who had forgotten the first two or three bars of “Cherry-ripe, 
and always used to commence in a most absurd manner in the very middle of a phrase. 
He always finished with a long whistle, as of surprise, and then began to chuckle and hop 
about the table as if greatly charmed with his own performance. He had a great wish to teach 
me to pipe, and used to give me lessons every time I saw him. Sometimes I would pur- 
posely go wrong in the tune, when he would break off his piping, scold harshly, and begin 
afresh. 
The Bullfinch is a remarkably tamable and loving bird, and is easily affected by predilec- 
tion or dislike for different persons, generally holding fast by its first impulse. The bird 
which I have just mentioned was most absurd in the violence of his feelings. He was fond of 
scudding about on a bare mahogany table, and liked to lift up knitting-needles and let them 
fall, merely for the pleasure of hearing them rattle against the wood. But towards the lady to 
whom the said needles belonged he had an unappeasable enmity, and so jealous was he, 
that when she was working at the same table, she dared not touch her thread or scissors 
without looking to see whether Bully were near, for if he could do so he always dashed across 
the table and pecked her fingers, hissing loudly with anger, and all his feathers ruffled up. 
The lady who was in possession of General Bern gives a very interesting account of a Bull- 
