26 MATESHIP WITH BIRDS 



logs upon the hills. And everywhere about these 

 rugged heights, hiding the scars left by roving 

 prospectors, the pink and white daintiness of the 

 wax-flower (Eriostemon) is showing strongly, while 

 the fairy faces of a dozen less communal plants are 

 expanding daily "petal by petal to a laugh." In that 

 stern Spring of 1914 the particular wild-flower gar- 

 dens upon which these observations centre were 

 sadly depleted; so much so that a newspaper para- 

 graph in the following August deplored the effects 

 of the ravages of drought, flower-pickers, and the 

 settlers' cattle. But the hardy little plants made a 

 fine recovery within a few weeks, and a relieved 

 writer very willingly tendered his apologies to a 

 deputation of sturdy stock-owners, who took the 

 suggestion to mean that they did not feed their ani- 

 mals sufficiently! 



This, too, is wattle-time. August, in fact 

 (in these Southern areas, at all events), 

 has stronger claim than October on Ken- 

 dall's tribute to a "maiden with bright yellow 

 tresses." Particularly is this so in the bush favored 

 by the fragrant glory known as Acacia pycnantha, 

 the golden wattle. The aroma of this acacia is 

 stronger, more expansive, than any other species 

 known to me, unless it be that of a wattle with a 

 whitish-yellow blossom which I have seen, and felt, 

 flowering in North Queensland in the dying days of 

 Summer. 



Perhaps it is because of this heavy fragrance that 

 birds seldom build their homes in the flowering 

 bushes. Reflecting on this point when strolling 

 about a wattle-wreathed promontory of a country 



