202 
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL. 
I suspect the dark patel knows something about that. But 
of birds which are not game the trees were full. Criniger , 
the Yellow Bulbul, with his loud and hearty voice, was 
everywhere, and the Green Bulbul and the bright little 
Bronzed Drongo and the Racket-tail and others more than 
we could stop to note. From one of the loftiest trees a 
great Hornbill went off at our approach, his neck stretched 
rigidly out, his monstrous bill open, as if gasping with the 
effort to carry his great weight through the air, and the 
strong flap of his wings making a strange noise in the sky. 
We now began to ascend a small preliminary hill. We 
stopped for a moment to admire a curiously shaped and 
brightly coloured spider. Its web was a beautiful piece of 
work, and in the centre there was a white silk mat, on 
which it reposed. But when we looked at it too closely, it 
suddenly put itself on the other side of the mat. We 
looked round on the other side, and it was back on this. 
The threads which radiated from the mat were far too 
close to let its body pass between. They were elastic, ot 
course, and it could easily have pulled them apart with its 
feet and struggled through ; but it did not seem to do this, 
or indeed to do anything. It simply ceased to be here and 
was there, like a conjurer’s shilling. However, we had no 
