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Parrakeet so numerous as in this tangled retreat, especially at the season when the tutu-hemes have 
ripened and are hanging in drupes from ever, branch. I have seen a nattve lad enter this thicket 
which is open below and matted overhead— and, armed only with a flax noose at the end ot a 
slender rod, catch numbers of them with perfect ease, by slipping the loop over the head of the 
unsuspicious bird. , , 
My son met with it in the stunted woods in the Owhaoko-Kaimanawa district, when the whole 
country was under snow. 
At irregular periods, after intervals of from seven to ten years, this Parrakeet (in company 
with the preceding species) visits the settled and cultivated districts in astonishing numbers, swarm- 
in., into the gardens and fields, devouring every kind of soft fruit, nibbling off the tender shoots on 
the orchard trees, and eating up the pulse and grain in all directions. Sir William Fox gave me a 
graphic account of one of these sudden irruptions in the South Island m the summer ot 1870-71, 
when great injury was done to the crops. The last of these visitations occurred in the early part of 
1886, and the one before that at the close of 1877. On each of these occasions much public interest 
was excited by the occurrence, and many theories (such as the devastation of the country y 
fires) were put forward to account for this recurrent “plague of Parrakeets. Whilst the newspapeis 
were busy with these more or less colourable theories, the birds vanished as suddenly as they had come. 
There is a widespread popular belief that the movements of certain species of birds indicate 
approaching climatic changes, or form a sort of index to the seasons ; and it would not be difficult to 
find and multiply apparent proofs of such a connection. But the theory, as generally accepted, is true 
only to a certain extent. Everyone is probably aware that birds, of all animals (except perhaps fiogs), 
are the best natural barometers. For example, to every native colonist the vociferous cry o t le 
Sparrow-Hawk betokens change ; the altitudes at which these birds habitually fly make them 
susceptible to the slightest change of temperature, and to all observers of outdoor na ure ley 
announce the fact with no uncertain sound. Even our little Wood-Robm, which keeps near the 
ground and never leaves the seclusion of its forest home, is so ready to detect any atmosp eric 
disturbance find to predict by its peculiar note a change of weather, that it is commonly called 
the “rain-bird” in many parts of the country. The presence on a calm day of the snow-white 
Gannet sailing majestically over our harbours and, ever and anon, plunging headlong into 
the placid waters, or of a flock of playful Sea-Gulls coming inland to rest themselves in our 
fields and pastures, is a sure indication that a storm is brewing at sea, although theie may be 
no actual appearance of it at the time. But, of course, it does not follow from such instances 
as these that any species of bird can foresee an impending change of season, oi, by any latio- 
cinative process, prepare for it by migration. So far as I understand the facts, the case is simply 
• The failure, more or less complete, of their natural food (which in itself is often a sa e 
indication, of seasonal derangement) necessitates the migration of all birds dependent on such food- 
supply to other parts of the country in search of the ordinary means of subsistence. An as t e 
migration always precedes the other evidences of climatic change, the popular notion that birds are 
instinctively prophetic in the matter of seasons is easily accounted for. The sudden eruption of 
Parrakeets in the South Island, referred to above, to such an extent as to be an actual pest is, it 
seems to me, but an illustration of this natural law of cause and effect. This pretty little Parrakeet 
is strictly an arboreal bird. It is an inhabitant of the woods, and, besides being well distributed its 
plumage is so admirably suited to its natural surroundings by the law of assimilative colouring that 
although it exists in tens or hundreds of thousands, it is rarely seen, and except to the lovers of 
nature°and bush-craft its very existence is almost unknown to the colonists. But when, from some 
unknown cause, there is a failure of its everyday food-supply, the fact is proclaimed by the sudden 
and unexpected appearance of countless numbers of these birds in our cultivated fields, gardens, and 
