may be called a "blue" jay, having more of that
color in his plumage than even the long-crested, he belongs to the
_Aphelcoma_ group--that is, he is without a crest.

Every observer of eastern feathered folk is familiar with our "little
boy blue," the indigo-bird, whose song is such a rollicking and saucy
air, making you feel as if the little lyrist were chaffing you. In
Colorado, however, you do not meet this animated chunk of blue, but
another little bird that belongs to the same group, called the "painted
finches," although their plumes are not painted any more than those of
other species. This bird is the lazuli bunting. He wears a great deal of
blue, but it is azure, and not indigo, covering the head, neck, most of
the upper parts, and the lining of the wings; and, as if to give
variety to the bird's attire, the nape and back are prettily shaded with
brown, and the wings and tail with black. But his plumage is still more
variegated, for he bears a conspicuous white spot on the greater
wing-coverts, and his breast is daintily tinted with chestnut-brown,
abruptly cut off from the blue of the throat, while the remaining under
parts are snowy white. From this description it will be seen that he is
quite unlike the indigo-bird, which has no brown or white in his
cerulean attire. Handsome as Master Indigo is, the lazuli finch, with
his sextet of hues, is a more showily dressed bird; in fact, a lyric in
colors.

The habits of the two birds are quite similar. However, the lazuli
seemed to be much shyer than his relative, for the latter is a familiar
figure at the border of our eastern woodlands, about our country homes,
and even in the neighborhood of our town dwellings, when there are
bushes and trees close at hand. My saunterings among the mountains took
me into the haunts of the lazulis, but I regret to have to confess that
all my alertness was of so little avail that I saw only three males and
one female. One day, while rambling among the cottonwoods that broidered
the creek flowing south of Colorado Springs, I was brought to a
standstill by a sharp chirp, and the next moment a pair of lazulis
appeared on the lower branches and twigs of a tree. There they sat quiet
enough, watching me keenly, but allowing me to peer at them at will
with my field-glass. I could not understand why birds that otherwise
were so shy should now permit a prolonged inspection and manifest so
little anxiety; but perhaps they reasoned that they