154 



THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER. 



a mango tope. It is visible a long way off, and audible 

 too, for it resounds with the screams of the green parrots, 

 as they wheel in circles round it, or all, with spreading 

 tails, settle at once on the topmost twigs, a spectacle of 

 inimitable grace. There are no mangoes now, but this is 

 the breeding season with parrots, and in the gnarled 

 boughs of an old mango-tree there are always holes. For 

 the same reason mynas seek the tope, and the " blue jay," 

 so called, and the little green "copper-smith" hooting 

 ventriloquistically. This does not exhaust the list, for, as 

 you pass under a large tree, a very round face, with the 

 expression of Mr. Punch, looks out of a hole, and then a 

 little spotted owl flits silently to the lowest bough of an- 

 other tree. In two seconds it is joined by another, and 

 there the two sit and bob their heads and stare at you, and 

 go through a pantomime which would ruin the reputation 

 for sanity of any other bird than an owl past all redemp- 

 tion. I am sure there is some mistake about this spotted 

 owl. The owl proper of the poets is distinguished for 

 solemnity : this is a madcap. Tennyson's owl sits alone 

 and warming his five wits ; this sits in twos and has not 

 five wits to warm, or I am much mistaken. Shakespeare's 

 owl sings to-whoo, and likewise the one that Wordsworth's 



