52 TROPIC DAYS 



Years of observation have shown that the weather does 

 control the habits of some birds — birds of distinct and 

 regular methods of life. Two such are common — the 

 nutmeg pigeon and the metallic starling. Both species 

 leave this part of the North during the third week of 

 March, flying in flocks to regions nearer the equator. 

 For several weeks the starlings train themselves for the 

 long Northern flight and its perils, dashing with im- 

 petuous speed through the forest and wheeling up into 

 the sky until they disappear, to become visible again 

 as black dots hurtling through space when the sunlight 

 plays on their glossy feathers as the course of the flock 

 is changed. With the rush of a wind of small measure 

 but immense velocity, the flock descends earthwards, 

 manoeuvring among and over the trees, perfecting itself 

 by trials of endurance and intricate alertness. The 

 birds return during the first week in August, in small 

 and silent companies, to reoccupy favourite resorts in 

 common. The nutmeg pigeons are also of exact habit, 

 the time for their return generally coinciding with that 

 of the starlings. This year (1916) both birds were 

 noticed just after the scene-shifter had swept the hills of 

 mists, and now other birds seem to have awakened to the 

 conditions which the starlings and the nutmegs brought 

 with them from hotter lands. The swamp pheasants 

 are whooping and gurgling, and that semi-migratory 

 fellow, the spangled drongo — a flattering name, for he 

 jangles but does not spangle — sits on the slim branch] 

 of the Moreton Bay ash which held last year's nest and 

 chatters discordances in the very ears of his responsive 

 mate. They will start building a loose nest on the 

 brittlest branch forthwith, and while the lady sits on 

 her three eggs he will screech defiances to the high 

 heavens and perform aerial gymnastics with delirious 

 delight. 



