Bird Notes from Far and Near. 
143 
There were four chicks in the nest, but all except the one 
I handled were as silent as the grave. They were exceedingly 
ugly. Their plumage gave no promises of the gaudy colors 
it has assumed by this time, when the adult stage has been 
reached. It was streaked with white, and the bills seemed to be 
so much out of proportion to the bodies that the heads hnng 
forward, as if they were too heavy to be raised. The nest was 
unlike the nests of other Kingfishers I have seen. Apparently an 
old hole had been used. It was only a few inches deep in the 
wood, but it had been hollowed out in order to make one large 
chamber. There was no tunnel. The entrance was straight on 
to the chamber, which was so small that the chicks were huddled 
together very uncomfortably. At daybreak next morning I 
visited the nest, expecting to see the parents, but I saw nothing 
of them on that occasion or at any other time, although I watched 
at all times of the day. The condition of the chicks showed that 
their wants had been carefully attended to, and I came to the 
conclusion that they must have been fed at night. 
From the N.Z. He? aid. per F. HowE. 
Fantails take advantage of suitable trees near the banks 
of the Mahinapua creek to build their nests and rear their young. 
I have never seen Fantails in larger numbers than near Hokitika. 
Both the Black and the Pied species showed themselves at all 
times of the day. I do not intend to enter just now into the con- 
troversy that has been carried on in "Magister's" column in 
the Otago Daily Times as to whether the Black and the Pied are 
two true species, but I was impressed with that fact that I never 
saw two black or two pied fantails together; the pair always 
consisted of a representation of each colour. Nature, as a rule, 
is very fair in her gifts. She seldom gives many in one direction. 
This seems to account for the fact that although the Fantail's 
appearance and manner are charming, it is utterly devoid of song 
and has a rather unpleasant squeaking note, in which there is 
absolutely no music. There is no native bird that has the same 
pretty little flight. It alights silently on a bough or a twig, opens 
and shuts its fanlike tail, turns round several times, and then 
takes a short but remarkably rapid dive into the air, and up it 
comes again, to light once more on its bough and show off its 
