400 Ml*. R. Swinhoe on Formosan Ornithology. 



what at the range I fired appeared to rae a small Buzzard, was 

 a no smaller bird than the Spotted Eagle. 



February 21. — In some bamboos close to the mountain- 

 village where we had passed the night, a Sibia auricularis was 

 singing the same run of notes over and over again repeated with 

 little valuation. They were sweet and agreeable, but in style so 

 like those of Copsychus saularis, that before I saw the bird I 

 knew what the songster was. 



One small species in a grove bothered me exceedingly. The 

 little fellows were all over the trees, each one chattering and 

 twittering, and moving about in a most desultory manner. I 

 got at last a fixed glance at one of them, and observed that it had 

 a white ring round the eye. I thought I had discovered a new 

 species of Zosterops. I stood entranced, watching their antics. 

 A small Woodpecker was crying near me. I turned from him. 

 I did not heed a pair of Hypsipetes that were sitting and calling 

 to one another on the top of the tree over head. At last with 

 trembling hand I fired. Down fell the bird. I rushed to pick 

 it up, and was just in time to snatch the booty from a monstrum 

 horrendum in the form of a large Tropidonotus that was in the act 

 of seizing it. But my bird was only the Alcippe morrisonia. My 

 silent solitary acquaintance of a few days previously, when I had 

 occasionally observed it clinging to the sides of trees like a Nut- 

 hatch, was here in moderately large parties, and as noisy as any 

 other noisy little species. Subsequently I heard the bird on 

 many occasions uttering its loud harsh notes. It is in habits 

 like a diminutive Garrulax. 



Dicrurus, Budytes, Motacilla, and other birds of the plains 

 were common enough on this cleared delta, between the two 

 mountain-streams. The low woods were without leaves, and it 

 was very hot. I tried to persuade my guides to descend and 

 cross the stream to the mountain -jungle, but they said that 

 they were leading me to the Green Doves. True enough, on 

 the side of a rise they pointed out several Green Doves perched 

 on the trees. We clambered up the hill, and on a high tree in 

 the ravine on the other side sat a Green Dove. One of the 

 hunters fired at it, but it only flew to another tree. I fired, and 

 a shower of feathers was scattered from its rump. It flew still 



