^°'g„7-] Obituary Notice. 22; 



Miss A. Fletcher, of W^ilmot, Tasmania, a member of the 

 A.O.U., inherits her father's love of birds, and has contributed 

 many interesting field observations to The Emu. The late Mr. 

 Price Fletcher was with his daughters (Misses J. and I. Fletcher) 

 in Tasmania when he passed away and was buried at the end 

 of the allotted span — " three score years and ten " — in a 

 cemetery in a forest of great gums — a fitting resting-place for 

 the beloved " Bush Naturalist." " Sleeping by the trees he 

 loved so." 



The following quotations are a few vivid pictures of bird life 

 culled from the late Mr. Price Fletcher's writings in The 

 Qjieenslandcr, which speak for themselves regarding powers of 

 observation and description : — 



Concerning the Black Falcon {Fah'o subniger') and other 

 Hawks : — 



"The cattle — a herd of, say, i,ooo— are slowly feeding along, extending 

 a line of 300 yards in width, (iliding in between and about the leaders are' 

 the Kites ; but higher up — for he must have height for his terrible swoop — 

 is flying our black pirate ; he disdains to keep in front, but circles round and 

 round from front to rear, his keen eye ever vigilant, his power e\er ready. 

 A poor little Painted Quail rises, the tiniest of its species, the meekest, the 

 most harmless of birds. He will not fly far ; the Kites will even try for him. 

 He runs the gauntlet of a dozen of them, but a Brown Hawk, who has been 

 flying unobserved among them, sees it, turns round, a flap or two of his 

 strong wings, and before the Kites are aware of his presence their prey is 

 whipped up and away from them. But look, look ! a large Partridge Ou'i'l 

 is up ; away it goes, with the swiftness of an arrow from a bow ; no Kite 

 can catch it ; it. at least, is safe — but, no, the cruel eye of our black 

 destroyer has sighted it. Oh ! what a swoop he comes down with, what a 

 whiz through the air his powerful wings do make ! Drop, my poor Quail, 

 drop in the grass, instantly drop, or you are dead ; it is not the Kites that 

 are after you, nor even the Brown Hawk, but the unerringly fatal, the 

 deadly Black Falcon ! You cannot outfly him. What a race for life ! But 

 it is useless, for with a thud which even we at the rear can hear are the terrible 

 talons driven into the poor Quail, and without the slightest cessation in his 

 majestic flight this powerful Hawk carries his prey up into the higher 

 regions, in order to devour it at leisure. Well he deserves his meal, for his 

 own skill has caught it ; but not yet is it his, for he has been watched by 

 another, a fellow companion equally powerful and swift as himself, and who 

 wants a share of the feast. A fight now ensues ; of course the bird that is 

 encumbered gets the worst of it, and after some screeching and clawing at 

 each other the Quail is dropped. Quick as lightning is this seen by the 

 second robber, who turns, dives down, and although the bird has already 

 fallen some yards, it is actually caught again before it can reach the ground. 

 There is something gloriously grand in this easy power of wing— a power 

 which even man may envy ; yet my sympathies are with the poor Quail ; 

 the others are at best but murderers ; they kill nothing that can resist- 

 simply slaughter the most innocent of birds. This law of cruel destruction 

 is indeed an enigma ; when will it be solved ? These P^alcons, like the 

 Kites, eat their prey on the wing ; they also feed on the grasshoppers. 

 .Strange to say, they are not quite so expert at catching them as the more 

 sluggish Kites ; still they are not far behind, and must destroy numbers. 

 They are not nearly so numerous as the Kite, or so gregarious in their 

 habits. The strong-flying plains Pigeon is seldom attacked by them, yet I 

 have seen it done several times, and then ensues a splendid race, for the 

 Pigeon does not, like the Quail, drop when pursued, but trusts to sheer 



