In Van Diemen’s Land I have seen it in the depth of winter in the gullies on the sunny sides of Mount Wellington; and it is my opinion, that instead of migrating they only retire at this season to such localities as are sheltered from the bleak south-westerly winds which then so generally prevail, and where insects are still to be found. The bird is also subject to the same law on the continent of Australia; but as the temperature of that country is more equable, its effects are not so apparent; and in support of this opinion I may adduce the remark of Caley, who says, “The species is very common about Paramatta; and I do not recollect having missed it at any period of the year.” It is generally found in pairs, but I have occasionally seen as many as four or five together. It inhabits alike the topmost branches of the highest trees, those of a more moderate growth, and the shrouded and gloomy foliaged dells in the neighbourhood of rivulets: from these retreats it darts out a short distance to capture insects, and in most instances returns again to the same branch it had left. While in the air it assumes a number of lively and beautiful positions, at one moment mounting almost perpendicularly, constantly spreading out its tail to the full extent, and frequently tumbling completely over in the descent; at another it may be seen flitting through the branches, and seeking for insects among the flowers and leaves, repeatedly uttering a sweet twittering song. The Fantail is rather a late breeder, scarcely ever commencing before October, during which and the three following months it rears two, and often three broods. Its elegant little nest, closely resembling a wine-glass in shape, is woven together with exquisite skill, and is generally composed of the inner bark of a species of _Eucalyptus_, neatly lined with the down of the tree-fern intermingled with flowering stalks of moss, and outwardly matted together with the webs of spiders, which not only serve to envelope the nest, but are also employed to strengthen its attachment to the branch on which it is constructed. The situation of the nest is much varied: I have observed it in the midst of dense brushes, in the more open forest, and placed on a branch overhanging a mountain rivulet, but at all times within a few feet of the ground. The eggs are invariably two in number, seven lines long; their ground colour white, blotched all over, but particularly at the larger end, with brown slightly tinged with olive: the young from the nest assume so closely the colour and appearance of the adults, that they are only to be distinguished by the secondaries and wing-coverts being margined with brown, a feature lost after the first moult. The adults are so precisely alike, that actual dissection is necessary to determine the sexes.