THE NORTH ISLAND ROBIN 65 
bird, or indeed for that matter from any English 
bird save the Nightingale, such delightful bursts 
of prolonged continuous song. My first knowledge 
of the North Island Robin was in the back coun- 
try of Poverty Bay, where, in the late ’nineties, 
a considerable number still survived. There- 
abouts Robins did not haunt the huge sheet of 
forest then spread over the highlands between 
Gisborne and Opotiki. They were to be noted 
rather in the narrow belts of tall manuka, and 
amongst the woods less high and less thick of 
the more open countryside. In these glades the 
males would sing at a surprising distance from 
the ground, pouring forth their song from the 
topmost branches of considerable trees. T re- 
member on one occasion a male singing in warm 
soit rain for twenty minutes at a stretch. [ 
have known another, so preoccupied, so engrossed, 
that attempts to bring him near did not appre- 
ciably distract or cause cessation of song for more 
than a second or two. Nearly as often I have 
listened to singers perched only a few feet from 
the ground. In the case of a bird thus in full 
view every motion could be noted, the tail quiver- 
ing with excess of emotion, the inspiration ceasing 
only momentarily, ceasing only when from time 
to time the perch was changed. On many occa- 
sions my wife was with me during these delightful 
concerts. Comparing experiences on the spot, 
E 
