AND OTHER BIRDS 81 



when I saw her moved, it was impossible to doubt 

 her feelings towards her young. With claws 

 gripping the rough totara bark, leaning forward 

 to the utmost, and peering into the hollow where 

 sat the grey twins, this effortless music was 

 poured over them like a benediction. As I 

 listened, bending to catch the low flow of sound, 

 there seemed to be in it something that man 

 can never fully comprehend the joy of a crea- 

 ture utterly happy in its hour, with no ache, like 

 man of sorrow that clouds the past, with no sad 

 foreknowledge, like man, of sorrow to come. 

 There was nothing, I feel sure, of the future in 

 that song, that future which is always to man a 

 clogging weight, and the clinging curse of his 

 high estate. The forest air was delightful; the 

 sun shone warm; that was enough for the bird. 

 Perhaps this Kaka's song was of freedom in the 

 wilds, of sun and rain and wind, not consciously 

 known, but felt, and their deliciousness finding a 

 vent, as love, too, does, in song, or joy of children 

 in their play. Perhaps it was the song that, as 

 they melt and blend, the sun shines, the water 

 reflects, and the wind spreads everywhere; for 

 light, like water, can wet the leaf till it shines 

 as in a shower ; for water can murmur in the tops 

 like wind, and roar through the forests like a 

 leaping sea ; for wind can patter in great drops 

 through the breathing greenery, or pour itself 

 like a tide through the swaying boughs. 



The vocal powers of the Kaka are by no 

 means sufficiently appreciated. No bird in the 

 woods, I believe, has more tender, flute-like 

 notes; nor can I imagine anything more joyous 

 than the clear ringing "TJ-wiia, u-wiia," of the 

 male bird's cry when circling round about his 

 nest. 



