The Wilderness 



doubt. I hope it is not characteristic of us that in naming him we 

 should have overlooked his rare beauty and pounced on his little weak- 

 ness, though I cannot help thinking that in more aesthetic lands he 

 would have had a name more suited to his beautiful song. 



The butcher-bird since I must call him so is our best autumn 

 singer, but in the spring his place is taken by the grey thrush. He 

 is next, I think, on the list of our songbirds, and his sweet ringing call 

 holds all the freshness and joy of spring. He is such a darling bird 

 to have about the place. He perches on the redgum or the wattles, 

 which stand in line with the white cedar, and he looks down at me 

 with his big round eye in the friendliest fashion. So graceful he is, 

 too, and so elegant in his neat grey coat, that I always place him in 

 my mind amongst the beautiful birds, though some might call him 

 plain. 



Whilst you might dispute the grey thrush's claim to beauty, no 

 one can deny that of two other of my songbirds, the two thickheads, 

 or thunderbirds, as they are sometimes called, because they burst 

 into song after a clap of thunder or any sudden noise. The yellow- 

 breasted one is very gorgeous, with his white throat and black face ; 

 but the rufous-breasted one is handsome, too. Sometimes he breaks 

 into a whip-like note, which has earned him the name of " ring-coachie " 

 amongst small boys. Once, on a rare occasion, the coachwhip bird 

 himself sent his call up from the little creek. As every one knows, the 

 coachwhip bird is a shy, furtive creature, rarely seen by anyone but 

 real bird observers, though his voice is common enough in the gullies. 

 We are nearly a mile away from the gully where he lives, and he must 

 have crept up through the intervening gardens to have a look at the 



