134 MATESHIP WITH BIRDS 



are not there one day they will be there the next, 

 announcing their presence with a faint, tremulous 

 "He-e-e-re." Watch closely, then, and you will see 

 a faint flutter of wings in the tree-tops, and pre- 

 sently a rosy-hued male or grey-garbed female will 

 come into view, twinkling gauzy wings in a re- 

 markable fashion typical of the species. No other 

 bird known to me has this pretty habit developed 

 to such a pronounced extent. The quivering of the 

 wings affected by the Shrike-Robins and Shrike- 

 Tits is a thing apart, an ecstatic motion born of 

 nesting-time; moreover, the rose-breasted birds of 

 Autumn do not so much quiver their wings as 

 impart to them a winnowing motion, now stretch- 

 ing them above the back, now drooping them about 

 the feet, while filtering light gives to the extended 

 feathers a delicately translucent quality. And when 

 the bird takes flight from tree to tree it resembles 

 nothing so much as a long-tailed butterfly. 



I hope I have not developed into the officious 

 showman in respect of my friends the bush birds, 

 but there is always delight in taking an appreciative 

 visitor to make the acquaintance of this particular 

 Robin, whose beautiful presence is one of the chief 

 features of the tea-tree glades in Winter that is, 

 for those whose eyes and ears are sufficiently skilled 

 to catch the faint, insect-like chirp and slender little 

 form. There was a Sabbath afternoon in May when 

 two grave and reverend signiors, one a Scottish 

 divine and the other a University lecturer, found 

 themselves wandering on and on through a tea-tree 

 glade, and enjoying, quite as much as an ordinary 

 bird-lover, the sermon preached by the Rose Robins 

 on the wisdom of being chiefly merry and bright. 



