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Wellington heads to Napier, a distance of more than a hundred miles. I have observed that it is 
only the bird in adult plumage that ventures far out to sea, in the wake of the steamer ; the young 
birds prefer to keep near the shore — probably they lack the strength of wing necessary for a prolonged 
sea-flight. 
The Hon. Mr. Ballance related to me an anecdote which has furnished my artist with material 
for the pretty woodcut at the end of this article. On the Wellington west coast Mr. James Gear had 
cut some large water-courses for the purpose of draining the Ngakaroro swamps. For some consi- 
derable time after they were opened, these drains carried out to the sea masses of swamp vegetation, 
clumps of negrohead, &c., and occasionally live eels of considerable size. This was in the old coaching 
days ; and on one occasion when Cohhs’ coach was passing this spot (my informant being one of the 
passengers) a Sea-Gull was observed tugging at some object on the beach and apparently in difficulty. 
The coach was stopped, and it was then found that the bird was held firmly by the bill and unable to 
make its escape, the captor being a large eel, weighing probably 6 lbs. or more. The Gull had 
evidently, in its inexperience, inserted its bill into the open mouth of the eel for the purpose of tearing 
out the tongue ; when the jaws of the latter closed in upon it, the teeth becoming firmly fixed on the 
bird’s forehead and rendering escape impossible. It was another illustration of “ the biter bit,” and 
all the unfortunate Sea-Gull could do was to flap its wings violently and by raising the head of the eel 
off the ground, drag its body slowly along the sands. The Native Minister of course liberated the 
bird, and the eel was consigned to the boot of the coach. 
On the Otaki beach I once saw a Sea-Gull with only one leg. It moved about with apparent 
comfort and safety, using its wings pretty often to steady its body. 
Simpkins, a publican at Whakatane, obtained a female of this species, when quite young, from 
White Island, a distance of some thirty-five miles. It became perfectly tame, answering to the name 
of “ Hinemoa,” and coming into the house at meal-times to be fed. When about two years old it 
suddenly disappeared, and after a lapse of six months it returned with two young ones, which have 
since become quite domesticated. By last advices both old bird and young were still inhabitants of 
the yard, and evinced no desire to leave it *. 
The young bird has a very shrill cry, and as it grows older this changes to a prolonged squeal. 
It runs after its parents long after it is fledged and able to take care of itself; and it may be distin- 
guished, almost at any distance, by the peculiar manner in which it arches its back and follows the 
movements of the older birds on the sands. 
The adult bird utters a loud laughing note when alarmed or excited, and at other times a short 
peevish whistle like Jceeo-heeo. The last occasion on which I visited a nesting-ground of this species 
was on the island of Motiti, in the Bay of Plenty, on January 17, 1885. It was situated on the 
summit of a high table rock, covered thickly with native Mesembryanthemum. The nests were neatly 
formed of dry grass and placed right in the midst of the spreading plant, which, in this exposed 
position, was of very stunted growth. The young birds in their woolly jackets had left the nests but 
were still on the rock, and allowed us to handle them without any resistance. On our departure, 
however, they descended and hid themselves, whilst the old birds mounted guard on the highest crags, 
their snowy plumage gleaming in the sunlight and their forms strangely magnified against the back- 
ground of blue sky. On our return, an hour later, the “ woolly jackets ” had commenced their ascent 
of the rock, hnt paterfamilias with a low note of Jco-ko-ko, which was apparently quite intelligible to 
the young birds, warned them of impending danger, and they were immediately invisible. 
* I remember, wlien I was a boy, having a tame one on the Mission Station at Tangiteroria, ninety miles up the Wairoa 
river. On reaching maturity it suddenly disappeared, and we supposed it had fallen a victim to some predatory hawk ; hut six 
months afterwards it returned, bringing with it a mate from the sea, and after sojourning a few hours took its final departure. 
This remarkable exercise of memory in the bird, for it could be nothing else, is very interesting and suggestive. 
