292 THE ZOOLOGIST. 
from the north-west which falls during the spring and autumn 
months; fed by numerous creeks and tributaries from every 
converging gully, its volume increases, it rushes noisily and 
impetuously over its rough boulder bed, till the junction of the 
Havelock, the Lawrence, and the Clyde swells its waters into a 
large river. The leafy, rugged mountains which imprison it 
present almost every conceivable variety of outline; jagged peaks 
crowned with snow; countless moraines point out where the 
avalanche and snow-slip have thundered down into the valley 
below. The river is bordered here and there by grassy flats, 
hanging woods of timber trees, in which the brown-tinted Totara, 
the silvery Phyllocladus with its purplish points, the small-leaved 
Kohai, and the soft bright foliaged ribbon-wood contrast well 
with the dusky hue of the dark-leaved Fagus; far above, dwarf 
vegetation in all the wonderful variety of alpine shrubs and 
flowers, struggles up the steepest slopes, adorning the frowning 
precipice and foaming cascade, lending its aid in forming scenes 
of picturesque and romantic grandeur, in which rich and varying 
tints of perennial verdure gratify the eyes of the spectator with 
their beauty. This is the home of the Kea—amongst holes and 
fissures in almost inaccessible rocks, in a region often shrouded 
with dense mists or driving sleet, where the north-west wind 
rages at times with terrific violence; here the Green Parrot may 
be observed, entering or leaving crevices in the rocks, or soaring 
with motionless wings from peak to peak, far above the screaming 
Kaka or the chattering Parroquet; the swift-winged Falcon is 
perhaps the sole intruder in its wild domain. At early dawn its 
peculiar note is heard, very like the mewing of a cat, though in 
some of the more secluded gullies it may be noticed throughout 
the day; it really appears to wake up into activity at dusk, being, 
to acertain extent, nocturnal in its habits. It is scarcely less 
gregarious than its congener N. meridionalis; in the moonlight 
nights of winter, numbers have been observed on the ground 
feeding; it can hardly be deemed an arboreal bird in the strict 
sense of the term. 
The rigour of a hard winter, when the whole face of the alpine 
country is changed so as to be scarcely recognisable under a deep 
canopy of snow, is not without its influence on the habits of this 
hardy bird; it is driven from its stronghold in the rocky gully, 
and compelled to seek its food at a far less elevation, as its food 
