others, and they seem proud of the superiority.  The varied-honey-eater visits flower after flower with something of method.  The sun-bird flashes from raceme to raceme, sampling a dozen blooms, while his noisy rival sips with the air of a connoisseur at one.  There is a spell in the nectar of the flame-tree as irresistibly attractive to taste of birds as the colour is to the sight of man.  Although the tree bursts into bloom with truly tropical ardour, they await the coming banquet with unaffected impatience.  Then one of the prettiest frolics of the sun-bird is revealed.  Time cannot lag with such gay, saucy creatures, so while they wait half a dozen or more congregate in a circle and with uplifted heads directed towards a common centre sing their song in unison.  Whether the theme of the song is of protest against the tardiness of the tree, or of thanks in anticipation, or of exultation in race, or of rivalry, matters not; but one is inclined to the last theory, for none but males take part in it.  The sun glints on their burnished breasts, their throats throb, their long bills quaver with enthusiastic effort, and the song still matters not, for it is but a thin twittering, so feeble and faint as to be inaudible a few yards off.  Patience and stillness are the price of it.  And with a squeak in chorus the choir disperses, to meet and sing again in a few minutes in another part of the reddening tree.

“Moor-goody”

Aptly imitating its most frequent note, blacks have given the name of “Moor-goody,” to a sedate little bird rarely seen away from the jungle, and then only in the shadiest of bushes.  Many of the birds are distinguished and named in accordance with their notes.  “Wung-go-bah” describes the noisy pitta; “Wee-loo” the stone plover; “Coo-roo” the tranquil dove; “Piln-piln” the large-billed shore plover; “Kim-bum-broo” the fasciated honey-eater; “Calloo-calloo” the manucode; “Go-bidger-roo” the varied honey-eater, and so on.

“Moor-goody” (shrike thrush) has the most tuneful and mellow call of all, and in obedience to the general law which forbids beauty to sweet-voiced birds, is soberly clad in two shades of brown, cinnamon the breast, dust the back.  But it is of graceful form, and soft of flight as a falling leaf; the eyes are large and singularly tender and expressive.  Often terminating in a silvery chirrup, the note, varied with melodious chuckles and gurgles of lulling softness, is exceedingly pleasing, the expression of a bird of refinement, content and sweet temper.  Coming at frequent intervals from the jungle or the heart of the mango trees or acalypha bushes, and wheresoever foliage is thickest, the sound is always welcome, as it tells of some of the most desirable features of the tropics—­quiet, coolness, and the sweet security of shade.  It tells, too, of the simple life spent in seclusion in contradistinction to the “envious court” of the roysterers in the glare of the leafless flame-tree.