THE IDYLL OF THE BLOSSOM-BIRDS 93 



plished, Red-Bird gave a prideful little tinkle and 

 flashed away. 



"Sir," said I, with Pickwickian fervor, "you are 

 a humbug!" 



Behold, though, how easy it is to misjudge even 

 a tiny bird! In very few minutes the brilliant 

 Cardinal, he whom I had rashly assessed as a 

 shirker, was back at the nest feeding his devoted 

 mate. He left me quite penitent, and when, a few 

 minutes later, he came again and fed the two babes, 

 I took back all I had ever said or thought of the 

 Scarlet Honey-Bird as an unpractical dandy. 



To any bird-lover with knowledge of both South 

 and North of the big State of the Tropics, memories 

 of the Cardinal Honeyeater must ever be associated 

 with that other little beauty of the blossoms, the 

 Sun-Bird. Sired by a sunbeam, born of a flower 

 that is Mr. E. J. Banfield's impression of this dainty 

 creature that flits day-long about the scarlet 

 hibiscus flowers on Dunk Island. My first sight, 

 there, of the vivid little male bird will remain long, 

 as long, perhaps, as the initial glimpse of the radiant 

 creature remained with the pioneering Macgillivray, 

 the naturalist of H.M.S. Rattlesnake, after he met 

 the Sun-Bird back in the 'forties. 



With its olive-green back, blue bib, and yellow 

 breast sheening in the tropic sun, my bird sat in 

 proximity to a flowering bush of hibiscus. Occasion- 

 ally he broke into a semi-plaintive, semi-placid 

 'Turr-r-r," rather like the call of an English Gold- 

 finch in anxious mood. Again, there would well 

 from the bright breast a spirited chatter, not unlike 

 that uttered by its kin-spirit, the Spine-billed 



