That the weka will survive in considerable numbers even on the mainland seems likely. The fate of the two kinds of kiwi, the big brown roa and his small grey cousin, seems more doubtful. Both are the most timid, harmless, and helpless of birds. All their strength and faculties seem concentrated in the long and sensitive beaks with which they probe the ground or catch insects that flutter near it. In soft peat or moss they will pierce as deeply as ten inches to secure a worm; and the extraordinary powers of hearing and scent which enable them to detect prey buried so far beneath the surface are nothing short of mysterious. Their part in the world that man controls would seem to be that of insect destroyers in gardens and orchards. Perhaps had colonists been wiser they would have been preserved and bred for this purpose for the last fifty years. As it is man has preferred to let the kiwis go and to import insectivorous allies, most of which have turned out to be doubtful blessings. Among both kiwis and wekas the males are the most dutiful of husbands and fathers. After the eggs are laid they do most of the sitting, and at a later stage provide the chicks with food. The female kiwi, too, is the larger bird, and has the longer beak--points of interest in the avifauna of a land where women’s franchise is law. Very different is the division of labour between the sexes in the case of the kakapo or night-parrot. This also is classed among flightless birds, not because it has no wings--for its wings are well developed--but because ages ago it lost the art of flying. Finding ground food plentiful in the wet mountain forests, and having no foes to fear, the night-parrot waxed fat and flightless. Now, after the coming of the stoat and weasel, it is too late for its habits to change. The male kakapo are famous for a peculiar drumming love-song, an odd tremulous sound that can be heard miles away. But though musical courtiers, they are by no means such self-sacrificing husbands as other flightless birds. They leave hatching and other work to the mothers, who are so worn by the process that the race only breeds in intermittent years. Tame and guileless as most native birds are apt to be, the kakapo exceeds them all in a kind of sleepy apathy. Mr. Henry tells how he once noticed one sitting on wood under a drooping fern. He nudged it with his finger and spoke to it, but the bird only muttered hoarsely, and appeared to go to sleep again as the disturber moved away.