November, 1943 The Queensland Naturalist 69 
ladders about. After I'd nearly stoned myself trying to 
throw a stone attached to a piece of rope across the limb 
and haul it down, I had to give up. If I got a stone 
sufficiently heavy to puli the branch down, I had not 
sufficient strength to throw it. 
In the spring, too, the grey thrush delights us with 
his vocal efforts. He builds his nest lower down. I 
found an old one this year on the second bottom branch 
of a hoop pine — not very beautiful, but wonderfully 
cosy ! I have often noticed that when we have a bird 
with a good strong voice, he will be surrounded by a lot 
of smaller birds. The call of the one seems to infect 
them all so that often in your ramble you will walk into 
a regular concert. The Rufous whistler will often 
attract a crowd; he is a cheerful soul and although he 
spends the whole year with us he means the winter to 
me. The heat of the summer quiets him a bit, but later 
he just sings and sings and sings — not a song, but a 
rhapsody. His whip-crack and prolonged slurring whistle 
are sure to be heard if you take a walk any time of the 
year, but never to such advantage as in the winter. He's 
such a gentleman, too. I do love a little polish. The 
white-throated warbler also spends the whole year with 
us, and the white-headed si tel la. This is the only tree- 
creeper I have in my domain, although the white- 
throated tree-creeper may be heard on One Tree Hill. 
The si tel las rush about in family parties and look rather 
amusing as they tear upside down down tree or up, as 
the case may be. Bear with me but a while, and I will 
tell you about the mopoke that went to sleep in the 
fernery. There it sat on the slat roof sheltered from 
the westerly and snoozing in the morning sun. The 
interesting part about it was that the next night about 
dusk it flew up on the back verandah with such a sur- 
prised look on its face, made a quaint sound as if to say, 
"How d'you do," and flew off again. I really think it 
wondered if it had dreamt the previous evening — its 
evening — and had come to make sure. Then there are 
our owls, our swallows, and our willie wagtail. The owl 
wakes us all up about 2 in the morning by repeating its 
call notes 1 5 to 20 times. It's the most doleful, 
monotonous sound you ever heard. Our welcome 
swallows have 4 babies and have flying lessons from our 
electric light-wires. They can fly now, but are still fed 
