“Varmints I call ’em, an’ nothin’ else,” is the remark my old friend makes, as he goes towards the tool-house and takes from a shelf a hen Hawfinch and two young ones, the former probably the mother of some of the birds that are about, if not, indeed, of the whole brood, her plumage showing that she has been sitting. “People wants me to git ’em full-feathered old birds for stuffin’, but bless ye, ye might as well try to ketch weasels asleep. A cock Hawfinch is about one o’ the most artful customers as I knows on. The only time to get a clip at ’em is in winter, under the plum and damson trees. They gits there after the stones, any amount o’ stones lays jest under the ground, an’ they picks ’em out an’ cracks them easy. I gits plenty o’ young ones when peas are about--the old ones lets ’em come, but they take precious good care they don’t come off the tops o’ the trees themselves afore they knows there ain’t nobody about. Some says they’re scarce birds. I knows they ain’t--leastways not when my peas are ready to gather.” The Hawfinch is seven inches in length and has a thick head, short tail, and very strong bill. Crown and cheeks cinnamon brown, neck greyish, mantle chestnut. There is a black patch on the throat, the base of the bill, and the eye, and a white patch on the wing. The tail is white in the middle and darker at the sides, the underparts are greyish with a tinge of violet. The middle wing feathers are serrated in wavy curves, and look as if clipt with scissors, the bill is exceptionally strong, very thick at the base, and sharp at the point. It lays four to six eggs of a pale green colour slightly speckled. The nest is well-built and is placed in fruit trees, and in open spaces in the woods, at a height of from six feet upwards. The moral of the story of the gardener and the Hawfinch is that the gardener must protect his peas. THE CHAFFINCH. (_Fringilla coelebs._) The Chaffinch is a useful bird, and is also an ornament to the woods and gardens, not only by its lovely plumage, its friendliness, and its movements, but especially by its clear voice which rings like a silver bell. Its call-note is “_fink-fink_,” and it has a short, cheery little song. Through the whole laying and brooding season it is busy with the destructive grubs and insects, especially the little caterpillars and tiny beetles which destroy the buds on the trees. When the seeds are ripe it lives entirely on them, but almost exclusively on those which it is able to pick up from the ground. It is true that when a considerable number of these birds visit a vegetable garden they do a great deal of harm, but this is outweighed by the good they do. In very severe winters, it comes either in flocks or small parties with other starving companions--Yellow-Hammers, Siskins, Crested Larks, and Sparrows--into the villages, and even towns, and picks over the heaps of street refuse and gutter sweepings. It is still common with us in Hungary.