favourite food, jumped boldly down. On seeking to return they were prevented by the overhanging sides of the pit, and in the morning the Maori hunter found them safely trapped. These pits may still be seen on remote ranges; they formed a fruitful subject for dispute; and a common claim made by a native in the present Land Courts is, that his ancestors hunted rats over the part under discussion.

But the Maori species seems to have been a vegetarian, and with him we have no more to do. Our rat on the other hand appears to have but little choice in the article of diet, eating indiscriminately berries and fruit, fish, flesh, offal, and carrion; eggs they have a special predilection for, and some amusing stories are related of their clever theft and adroit removal of these delicacies, under circumstances of unusual difficulty.

They are expert climbers, and any old bushman must have witnessed the celerity with which they run along a small twig or supplejack; in fact, they appear quite as much at home amongst the tree-tops as in the sewers of London or Paris. In the bush their numbers are prodigious; and if a party remain at a camp long, they become very bold and troublesome, causing sometimes thoughts of being eaten alive by them, which fate is said to have actually overtaken men in the sewers of Paris. With those tastes, then, coupled with their enterprising disposition and ferocious habits, it can be readily imagined how, after the slaughter of their Maori brethren, they should direct their attention to robbing birds' nests and eating the young.

After thus noticing the rats we now come to the birds, which have suffered most from their ravages; and it is a significant circumstance that, while some birds below a certain size have almost entirely disappeared, the larger ones seem to remain as plentiful as ever; and those of middle size, such as the kokako and tui, although diminished in number, still continue to enliven the forests with their song. This fact points to a defence of their nests, made by the larger birds with success, but doubtful in the case of the middle-sized ones, and depending on the boldness of the rat; while it would be almost hopeless in the case of the smaller ones.

Amongst the birds which are becoming scarce, the first we shall notice is the kokako, a brown bird somewhat larger than a tui, with a bluish tinge about the head and throat; it has a long-drawn note, somewhat nasal, but very melodious withal, and which harmonized well with a full chorus of birds; but this is now seldom heard.

The appearance of the tui must be so familiar to all as to need no further notice than a simple mention of the fact, that their numbers are sadly thinned within the last twenty years.

Amongst the birds which have altogether disappeared, we must include the bell-bird (korimako) and robin (pitoitoi). The former seemed to be

the first victims, and their disappearance dates some fifteen years back, since which time it has been a rare sight indeed to see one; this loss is much to be regretted, as the bell-bird was by far the best songster of the New Zealand forests.

The robin was a small brown bird of peculiarly gentle aspect and tame disposition, resembling in fact his English namesake in everything except colour. The disappearance of these birds began nearly about the same time as the bell-bird, and now the rising generation will scarcely ever have seen a single individual of the species.

It is somewhat singular, however, that while these and other birds have become extinct in this part of the island, some of the smaller kinds have suffered apparently but very little diminution; and with a reference to these we will conclude the chapter.

Most notable amongst the survivors are the fan-tail or fly-catcher, and the riroriro. No other bird forces itself so much on the attention of the dweller in the bush as the fan-tail. They haunt about a camp and find an easy subsistence on the flies which there congregate, darting about with outspread tail in pursuit of their prey, and giving vent to their feelings in a sharp, petulant note.

On resuming the occupation of an old whare at times, some of these little creatures will pay an early visit to those whom they evidently look upon as old friends and benefactors, and on such occasions they will plainly testify their satisfaction at a renewal of the intimacy.

The riroriro, which corresponds to the old country wren, is a small grey bird of unpretending appearance, but, like many unassuming individuals of our own species, they belie their looks, possessing a more than usual share of sagacity and instinct. Their nest is shaped like a pear, with a door in the side sheltered by a small veranda-like projection, and the natives aver that this nest is built so that the door is always turned in the direction opposite to the prevailing wind of that year. Finding a nest then in the spring, with the hole faced to the north, a season of southerly winds and consequent fine weather may be predicted, and vice versá.

It is said that the severity of a winter in North America may be predicted by the quantity of nuts found in the hoard of a squirrel, and similar instances of prophetic sagacity might be multiplied; in fact, instinct taken by itself is utterly beyond our comprehension, and cannot be accounted for by any effort of human reason. There is no doubt, however, that the bird is weather-wise beyond the common, and a well-known Maori song alludes to it thus:—“The riroriro sings, it is a sign of the approaching summer.” This peculiarity I can vouch for myself; on many occasions my attention was drawn by the continued singing of these birds, and it was