A JANUARY DAY AT REGENTS PARK 11 



birds in these gardens, but the apteryx without doubt 

 is the oddest of all existing feathered bipeds. Wing- 

 less, tailless, thick-legged, long-beaked, and brown- 

 coated, she is about as queer a specimen of a bird as 

 can well be imagined ; and, as a climax to her eccen- 

 tricities of behaviour, persists, though a spinster apteryx 

 living in more than conventual celibacy, in laying enor- 

 mous eggs, each of which weighs one-fourth as much 

 as the parent bird. Several emus, however, were 

 trotting about in the open air, and were pecking here 

 and there at the grass, or poking their long necks over 

 the rails of the enclosure, as gaily as in the summer 

 months, though the ground was frozen to a strong 

 hardness, firm ice was at their feet, and the sounds of 

 boys sliding were heard just outside the fence. 



There are, of course, far too many beasts and birds 

 in this collection to be separately examined, so I turned 

 my steps towards the tunnel, walking casually through 

 the parrot house, and dropping a word or two of 

 recognition to my garrulous acquaintances, and then 

 passing out to pay a visit to the piping crows of Aus- 

 tralia, who were chattering away in the open air, brisk 

 and saucy as ever, and always ready for a conversation. 

 One of them, the white-backed species, was singularly 

 lavish of his conversational powers, and engaged in a 

 contest of strength on the spot. First the bird 

 whistled a few wild notes, and then paused, while I did 

 the same. Twisting his head on one side, and looking 

 up knowingly with one eye, he waited for my lead, and 



