beyond the pronouncement of their own name. We have sometimes thought it an odd thing that the same word, which, when heard as a wild cry through the wooded wildernesses of New Holland, excites the natives to the use of that murderous weapon called the boomerang, should now, in many courtly houses, and even in royal palaces, be a note associated with love and kindness to the inferior creatures. But so it is. On the deserving character of cockatoos we need not dwell, although it is not always merit that meets reward. Some seasons back, a good old lady in London left a considerable annuity to a cockatoo,—that is, she bequeathed the interest of a sum of money to be paid to a certain individual (an unfeathered biped) so long as, and no longer than, her favourite bird should be well cared for and kept in life. We need scarcely say that, like all other annuitants under similar circumstances, it enjoys the best of health, and its keeper (who is, in a financial sense, its partner) dare not even scold it when it screams. Many others, we hope and doubt not, also live in ivory palaces, and fare sumptuously every day. This they owe partly to their own good conduct; partly to what M. Guizot calls civilisation. Capt. (now Sir George) Grey (in his "Travels in Australia") presents us with the other side of this picture. He there tells us that, perhaps as fine a sight as can be seen in the whole circle of native sports is the killing of cockatoos with the kiley or boomerang:

"A native perceives a large flight of cockatoos in a forest which encircles a lagoon; the expanse of water affords an open, clear space above it, unencumbered with trees, but which raise their gigantic forms all around, more vigorous in their growth, from the damp soil in which they flourished; and in their leafy summit sit a countless number of cockatoos, screaming and flying from tree to tree, as they make their arrangements for a night's sound sleep. The native throws aside his cloak, so that he may not even have this slight covering to impede his motions; draws his kiley from his belt, and, with a noiseless, elastic step, approaches the

lagoon, creeping from tree to tree, from bush to bush, and disturbing the birds as little as possible: their sentinels, however, take the alarm; the cockatoos farthest from the water fly to the trees near its edge; and thus they keep concentrating their forces as the native advances. They are aware that danger is at hand, but are ignorant of its nature. At length, the pursuer almost reaches the edge of the water, and the scared cockatoos, with wild cries, spring into the air; at the same instant the native raises his right hand high over his shoulder, and, bounding forward with his utmost speed for a few paces, to give impetus to his blow, the kiley quits his hand as if it would strike the water; but when it has almost touched the unruffled surface of the lake, it spins upward with inconceivable velocity, and with the strangest contortions. In vain the terrified cockatoos strive to avoid it: it sweeps wildly and uncertainly through the air, and so eccentric are its motions, that it requires but a slight stretch of the imagination to fancy that it is endowed with life; and with fell swoops is in rapid pursuit of the devoted birds, some of whom are almost certain to be brought screaming to the earth. But the wily savage has not yet done with them. He avails himself of the extraordinary attachment which these birds have for one another, and fastening a wounded one to a tree, so that its cries may induce its companions to return, he watches his opportunity, by throwing his kiley or spear, to add another bird or two to the booty he has already obtained."

The majority of cockatoos are white, parts of the plumage having a faint rose-coloured blush, or slight tinge of yellow; the under side of the crest, when raised, usually exhibiting a richer hue of scarlet or yellow. Of all the pale-coloured kinds, the most beautiful is that named after Mr. Leadbitter. But a better known and much more common species is the sulphur-crested cockatoo (Pl. galeritus). It must have a greatly more extensive range than most other birds, if, as many, and we think with good reason, suppose, that the white cockatoo of Van Dieman's Land, that of the continent of Australia, and the species found in New Guinea, are all identical. It is very destructive to fields of new-sown grain and ripening maize, and is, consequently, hunted and shot down in great numbers; but it is still very numerous in New Holland, moving about in flocks varying from a hun

dred to a thousand individuals. It prefers the open plains and well-cleared lands to the denser brushes near the coast; and, except when feeding or reposing on trees after a repast, the presence of a flock, though unseen, is soon indicated by their discordant, screaming notes, the noise of which may be slightly conceived by those who have sustained the captive cry of a single bird, and should be thankful that they are not encompassed by five hundred. "Still," says Mr. Gould, in a praiseworthy spirit of endurance, "I ever considered this annoyance as amply compensated by their sprightly actions, and the life their snowy forms imparted to the dense and never-varying green of the Australian forest;" a feeling shared by Sir Thomas Mitchell, and recorded by that excellent surveyor in a still higher strain, when he states that, "Amidst the umbrageous foliage, forming dense masses of shade, the white cockatoos sported like spirits of light." These birds build in trees, and also in the fissures of rocks. For example, the white cliffs bordering the Murray in South Australia, are annually resorted to by them in thousands, and are said to be almost honeycombed by their proceedings. The females lay two eggs, of a pure white.

One of the most extraordinary of the parrot tribe is an anomalous species (as so many products of those far southern countries prove to be) belonging exclusively to New Zealand. It is named Strigops habroptilus by Mr. George Gray, and most people would, on a first introduction, take it for an owl. It is a large bird, of a greenish colour, mottled and streaked with black, and is known in New Zealand, where, however, it is very rare, under the name of kakapo, an evident and not very successful attempt in a new species to call itself cockatoo. The most singular fact in its history is, that it is a nocturnal creature, resorting, during the garish light of day, which all the others look on as a gladsome thing, to darksome burrows formed beneath the roots

of trees, or among masses of overshadowing rock. It feeds on the roots of ferns and the outer covering of Phormium tenar, the New Zealand flax.

A small and peculiar group of Australian birds belongs to the genus Nestor. (See the figure.) The Phillip Island species (Nestor productus) is confined to the very limited locality from which it takes its name, - an insulated spot (near Norfolk Island), not more than five miles in circumference. In fact, it is believed to have recently ceased to exist in the wild state, and might now be regarded as an extinct species, except for a few forlorn captives, which still survive in bondage. It feeds among the blossoms of the white Hibiscus, sucking the honey of their flowers. The structure of the tongue is remarkable, not like that of the true honey-sucking parrakeets (Trichoglossi), furnished with a brush-like termination, but with a narrow, horny scoop on the under side, which, with the extremity of the tongue, resembles the end of a finger with the nail beneath. We know little of the natural economy of this species. A tame one, seen in Sydney, instead of waddling in the awkward way peculiar to most parrots, according to Mr. Gould, leaped lightly "like a crow." We don't think crows leap, although, when in a hurry, and with the help of their wings, they make way with a hopping motion. Two we saw this morning were walking; that is, they advanced first one foot and then another. But, to return to our parrot. Nestor's voice is harsh and inharmonious, sometimes resembling the barking of a dog. The sexes scarcely differ in plumage, although the young have little of the rich red and yellow markings of the under portions of the plumage in the adult state. What a strange and unaccountable contrast is presented by the extremely restricted existence of this species, now confined to a few cages in Sydney, and the almost boundless distribution of certain other birds (the turnstone,

for example), which wing their unimpeded way by sea and land through every region of the earth!

We may state that, notwithstanding the supposed extinction of the preceding species, the opinion is maintained by some that the New Zealand bird called Kaka is identical with it. The latter is described by the Rev. W. Yate, who says it feeds on all kinds of fruit, berries, and farinaceous roots. It bites holes in trees, in which it makes its nest, and lays four, sometimes five eggs, of a pure white. Three birds are generally found together in the same hole,— one male and two females; and during the season of incubation, the nests, though separated, are so close together that either of the mother-birds can sit upon the eggs, feed their neighbour's young, and cover them with one of her wings, without leaving her own nest, or neglecting her own offspring. It is much larger than any other New Zealand parrot, possesses all their mischievous qualities, and, although it learns to imitate the human voice astonishingly, its natural cry, while ranging through the woods, is extremely harsh and disagreeable.*

Another and extremely beautiful Australian group is that of the grass parrakeets (Genus Euphema), of which the bill is almost concealed by the long feathers of the face. The blue-banded species is a summer resident in Van Dieman's Land, arriving there in September, and departing in February and March. It runs along the ground, making its

way nimbly among the various grasses, on the seeds of which it feeds. It is easily domesticated, and forms a most delightful and interesting pet. The "ground parrakeet" of the Australian colonists is Euphema elegans, a bird which congregates during the hot seasons wherever there is water

We take Mr. Yate's statement from Maunder's "Treasury of Natural History," an excellent and accurate compendium of zoology.