THE OSPEEY. 



153 



their size. At first I thou<,'-ht it was an effort 

 at nest-building", but as they constantly pullcl 

 it to pieces, and never used it except in hij^h 

 winds, it was plain to see that their oliject was 

 only to obtain a temporary shelter. 



Next to the brilliant Gouldian Finches, which, 

 by the way, were called Painted Flinches' 

 locaily, I loved the small blue-eyed Doves from 

 the northwest of Australia better tlian any other 

 (jf my feathered pets. These little darlings 

 lived by themselves, and from the original pair 

 given to me I reared a large and numerous 

 family. They were gentle and sweet as doves 

 should be, of a lovely pearl-gray plumag^e, with 

 not only blue ej'es, but large turquoise-blue 

 wattles round them, so that the effect they made 

 was indeed blue-eyed. They met with a trag^ic 

 fate, for I turned some eight or ten pair loose in 

 the garden grounds of the Perth (xovernment 

 House. Alas! within a week of their being" set 

 at liberty not one was left. They were much 

 too confidingly tame to fend for themselves in 

 this cold and cruel world. Half-wild cats ate 

 some, hawks pounced on others, but the saddest 

 of all the sudden deaths arose for their love of 

 me. Whenever I was to be seen, even inside of 

 the house, a dove would fly to me and dash itself 

 ag"ainst the plate-giass windows, falling" dead in 

 the verandah. They did not seem able to judge 

 distance at all, and it was grievous to know they 

 met their death through their devotion to their 

 mistress and friend. 



A dozen miles to windward, opposite the flour- 

 ishing port of Fremantle, Western Australia, 

 lies a little island with a lighthouse on it, known 

 on charts and maps as Rottnest. It was aston- 

 ishing what a difference in temperature those 

 few miles out to sea make, and on this tiny islet 

 was our delightful summer home, for one of the 

 earliest governors had built, years before, a 

 little stone house on a charming" site looking" 

 across the baj'. 



I was comparatively petless over there, for I 

 could not well drag large cages of birds about 

 after me, when i wasdifticult enough to convey 

 chickens and ducks across the somewhat storm3' 

 channel, so I hailed with delig"ht the oft'er, made 

 by a little island bo}', of a half-fledged Hawk, as 

 tame as it is in a Hawk's nature to be. There 

 was no question of a cag"e, and I am sure 'Alonzo' 

 would not have submitted to such an indignity 

 for a moment, so he was established on a perch 

 in a sheltered corner of the upstair verandah 

 outside my bedroom door. I fed him at short 

 intervals — for he was very voracious — with raw 

 meat, and he took rapid gulps from a saucer of 

 water; but he sat motionless on his perch all 

 day, only coming on my hand for his meals. 

 This went on for two or three weeks, when one 

 morning at earliest daj^light I heard an unusual 

 noise in the verandah, and just got out in time 

 to see my little Hawk spreading his wings and 

 sailing" off into space. He had, however, been 

 wise enough to devour all the meat left in readi- 

 ness for his breakfast. Of course I gave him up 

 for lost and went back to bed thinking" sadh' of 

 the ingratitude and heartlessness of Hawk na- 

 ture. I certainly never expected to see nn' bird 

 again, but a few hours later, as I was standing 

 in the verandah, I stretched out my hand as far 



as I could reach, when lol the little Hawk drop- 

 ped like a stone from the cloudless blue and sat 

 on my arm as composedly as if he had never left 

 the shelter of his home. It is needless to saj-^ 

 that the return of the prodigal called forth the 

 same rapturous gi'eeting and good dinner as of 

 yore. After that it became an established 

 custom that I should every evening put a saucer 

 of chopped-u]) raw meat on a table in the veran- 

 dah just outside my window, and a pannikin of 

 water to serve for the Hawk's early breakfast, 

 but he forag"ed for himself all day, coming back 

 at dusk to roost in the verandah. It was curi- 

 ous to watch his return, for he generally made 

 many attempts before he could hit off the exact 

 slope of the roof so as to get beneath it. After 

 each failure he would soar away out of sight, 

 but only to return and circle round the house 

 until he had determined how low to stoop, and 

 then like a flash he darted beneath the project- 

 ing ea\ es. Apparently it was necessary- to 

 make but the one effort, for there was no pop- 

 ping in and out or uncertainty, just one majestic 

 swoop, and he would be on his perch, as rigid 

 and unruffled as though he had never left it. 



When our delicious summer holiday was over, 

 and the day of return to the mainland fixed, it 

 became an anxious question what to do with 

 the Hawk. To take him with us was of course 

 out of the question, but to leave him behind was 

 heartrending. Not only should I miss the ac- 

 customed clatter of saucer and pannikin at ear- 

 liest streak of dawn, but not once did I ever hold 

 my hand out during the day that he did not drop 

 on it at once. He never could have been far off, 

 although no eye could follow him into the deep 

 blue dome where he seemed to live, poised in the 

 dazzling sunshine air. But Alonzo settled the 

 question for himself a couple of days before we 

 left, by suddenly deserting his old home and 

 leaving his breakfast untouched. We watched 

 in vain for his return on two successive eve- 

 nings, nor did he drop on my hand for the last 

 two days of our staj-. I then remembered that 

 on the last evening he had come home to roost I 

 had noticed another Hawk with him. and rather 

 wondced if he intended to set up an establish- 

 ment in the verandah. But I suppose the bird- 

 elect found fault with the situation, and pro- 

 bably said that, though well enough for a 

 bachelor, it was not suitable for the upbringing 

 of a family, and so the new home had to be 

 started in a more secluded spot, and the shelter- 

 ing roof knew its wild guest no more. 



I am aftlicted with a Cockatoo! I can't 'curse 

 him and turn him out', for in the first place I 

 love him dearly, and in t "le nest he is a sort of 

 orphan grandchild towards whom I have serious 

 duties and responsibilities. And then he arrived 

 at such a moment, when every heart was soften- 

 ed by the thoug"ht of the Soudan Campaig"n with 

 its frightful risks and dangers. How could one 

 turn away a suppliant Cockatoo who suddenlj' 

 and unexpectedly presented himself on the eve 

 of the Battle of Omdurman, with a ticket to say 

 his owner had gone up to the front and he was 

 left homeless in Cairo? It would have been 

 positively brutal, and then he was the friend- 

 liest of birds! No shyness or false pride about 

 hi)n. He had already invited my pretty little 



