152 



THE OSPKEY. 



unable to adjust the balance required by that 

 ponderous bill all in a moment. 



For many months after his arrival the Toucan 

 was at least an unobjectionable pet and very 

 affectionate. He used to g-ently take my ting-ers 

 in his large gaudy bill and nibble them softly 

 without hurting- me, but I never could help 

 thinking what a pinch he might give it if he 

 liked. His inoffensive ways, however, only 

 lasted while he was very young, for in due 

 course of time he began to utter discordant yells 

 and shrieks, especially during the luncheon 

 hour. This could not be borne, and the house- 

 steward — a most dignified functionary — used to 

 advance towards the cage in a stately manner 

 with a tumbler of water concealed behind his 

 back which he would suddenly tting over the 

 screaming bird. The Toucan soon learned what 

 Mr. V's appearance before his cage meant, and 

 even ceased his screaming at the mere sight of 

 an empty tumbler. These sudden douches, or 

 else his adolescence, must have had a bad effect 

 on his temper, for he could no longer be petted 

 and played with, and any tinger put within 

 reach of his bill suft'ered severely. Then he got 

 ill, poor bird, and the Portuguese cook was called 

 in to doctor him. But the remedies seemed so 

 heroic that I determined to send the Toucan 

 away. I could not turn him loose in the garden 

 on account of his piercing screams, so he was 

 caught when asleep, packed in a basket, and 

 conveyed to the nearest high woods, where he 

 was set at liberty, and I can only hope he lived 

 happy ever after, as a less gaudy and beauteous 

 variety of Toucan is to be found in those virgin 

 forests. 



As might naturally be expected, there are 

 many beautiful birds in the large botanical 

 gardens of Trinidad in the midst of which 

 Government House stands. It used to be a 

 great delight to me to watch the darting Orioles 

 flash past in all their golden beauty, and some 

 lovely, brilliantly blue, birds were also occa- 

 sionally to be seen among the trees. I was 

 given some of these, but alasl the^- never lived 

 in captivity, and after one or two'unsuccessful 

 efforts I alwaA-s let them out of the cage. The 

 ubiquitous Sparrow was there of course, and so 

 was a rather larger black and yellow bird called 

 the 'Qu'est-ce que dit?" from it's incessant cry. 



In these gardens the Orioles built their large 

 clumsy nest of dried grass without any precau- 

 tion against surprises; but I was told that in the 

 interior of the island, where snakes abound, the 

 •Corn-bird'— as he is called up-country— has 

 found it expedient to hang his nest at the end 

 of a sort of grass rope some six feet long. This 

 forms a complete protection against snakes as 

 the rope is so slightly put together that no wise 

 serpent would trust himself on it. Sometimes 

 the Oriole finds he has woven too long a nest, 

 so he half fills it with leaves, but after heavy 

 rains these make the structure so heavy that it 

 often falls to the ground, and from this' cause I 

 became possessed of one or two of these nests 

 with the six or eight feet of dangling rope. 

 Anything so quaint as these numerous nests 

 swinging from the topmost branches of lofty 

 trees cannot well be imagined. It is impossible 

 to reach them by climbing or in any other way 



except shooting away the slender straw rope, 

 which rifle-feat might surely rank with winning 

 the Oueen's Prize at Bisleyl 



It has also interested me to examine birds' 

 nests in the different colonies to which the wan- 

 dering star of my fate has led me, and I have 

 observed a curious similarity between the 

 houses made with and without hands. For in- 

 stance, take a bird's nest in England, where 

 human habitations are solid aiul carefully fin- 

 ished, and you will see an equal finish aiul 

 solidity in the neatly constructed nest with its 

 warm lining and lichen-decorated exterior. 

 Then look at a bird's nest in a colony with its 

 hastily constructed houses made of anj* slight 

 and portable material. You will find the major- 

 ity of birds' nests equally makeshift in character 

 and style, just loosely put together anyhow with 

 dried g"rass, and evidently f)nly meant for ordi- 

 nary use. I saw one such nest of ^Yhich the 

 back must have tumbled out, for a fresh leaf 

 had been neatly sewn over the large hole with 

 fibre. In strong contrast, however, to such 

 hastily constructed bird-dwellings was a nest of 

 the 'Schneev("iger which came to me frcjm the 

 foot of the Drakenburg Mountains in Natal. 

 Beavitifully made of sheep's wool, it had all the 

 consistency of fine felt. It w^as a small hanging* 

 nest, but what I delighted in was the little out- 

 side pocket in which the father of the family 

 must have been wont to sit. The mouth of that 

 nest was so exceedingly small that at first I 

 thought that no bird bigger than a bee could 

 have possibly fitted into it, but I found that it 

 expanded quite easily, so elastic was the ma- 

 terial. One could quite picture the domestic 

 comfort, especially in so cold and inhospitable 

 region, of that tiny menage. 



I always longed to make a journey to the north- 

 west of Western Australia expressly to see the 

 so-called "Bower-bird' at play. This would have 

 necessitated very early rising on my part, how- 

 ever, for only at dawn does this bird — not the 

 true Bower-bird, b^- any means — come out of his 

 nest proper, and lie on his back near the heap 

 of snail shells, &c., which he has collected in 

 front of his hastily thrown-up wind-shelter, to 

 play with his toys. It is marvellous the distance 

 those birds will carry anything of a bright 

 colour to add to their heap, and active quarrels 

 over a brilliant leaf or berry have been observed. 

 A shred of red flannel from some explorer's 

 shirt or blanket is a priceless treasure to the 

 Bower-bird and eagerly annexed. But the wind- 

 shelter of coarse grass always seemed to me 

 quite as curious as the heap of plaj'things. The 

 photographs show me these shelters as being 

 somewhat pointed in shape, very large in pro- 

 portion to the bird, and with an opening some- 

 thing like the side door in a little oldfashioned 

 English country church. This habit of hastily 

 throwing up wind-shelters is not confined to 

 this bird only. I was given some smaller birds 

 from the interior of Western Australia, and 

 at the season of the strong northwest gales 

 — such a horrible, hot wind as that was — I found 

 my little birds loved to have a lot of hay thrown 

 into their big cage with which in a single morn- 

 ing they would build a large construction re- 

 sembling a huge nest, out of all proportion to 



