62 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



no sign of the chicks, and as the light was now better, and I saw 

 her actually pulling and swallowing, with her head always in 

 view, I could not have been mistaken. Having thus eaten for a 

 little, she settled herself down in the nest again. If the male 

 had come when she went off, I had not heard him, but it is true 

 that I had once or twice previously seen a bird form flit over or 

 amidst the tree-tops that I thought very like his. Unless we 

 suppose that the female caught a bird almost instantly, she 

 must either have received it from him or taken one that either 

 he or she had previously killed and stored somewhere. If the 

 male really entered the plantation before the female went off, 

 then for the first time he was silent, and has so continued. 

 I doubt my not hearing his sharp cry — so near as it always is. 



At about 7.45 the female went off again, flew a little, from 

 tree to tree, and uttered her cry, but sparingly. At 8 she 

 returns to the nest, stands upright on its rim for some ten 

 minutes, then covers the chicks. There was no feeding, and 

 nothing, I think, brought in. ShorUy afterwards there is the 

 cry of the male again. He pipes, as one may call it, at frequent 

 and short intervals, as usual, but the hen will not leave the nest. 

 Then, at about 8.25, he sweeps like a flash through the foliage, 

 down and then up on to it, stands there for one moment, and is 

 off with the same lightning speed. Then the female, who has 

 evidently received a donation, though it has been too quick for 

 me to see, stands up on the rim of the nest, and begins to tear 

 •it to pieces. At first she again appears to be eating it all her- 

 self, but during the latter part her head is bent down into the 

 nest so that I cannot see it, and she may then be feeding the 

 chicks. She then stands a little on the opposite side of the 

 nest's rim, and after a minute or two covers the chicks. At 

 about 9, as I was leaving, she again left the nest. 



June 25th. — As I enter the plantation, about 4.55 a.m., I hear 

 the cry of the male hawk in the usual part of it, the end near 

 the nest, that is to say, and in its immediate vicinity. The 

 female is then covering the young, but, in a few moments, she 

 rises, and, flying off, makes a little skirt round the bordering 

 trees, and then flies up amongst them to her mate, when, at 

 once, a little duet of delighted sounds is heard — those fair sounds 

 of wild things rejoicing, not to be matched in palace or drawing- 



