it is, it may be surmised that the numerous colony inhabiting it, which may then amount to some two or three hundred souls, or perhaps more, is shortly about to emigrate, since the weaver-birds, like most other ones, do not care to occupy the same nest, for two seasons in succession. Instead, when the breeding-time comes round again they build another one, and it is in this way that the whole space of the dome is gradually taken up, though a large part of it always remains unoccupied. As many as 320 nests have been counted, which would make 640 birds, were there a pair to each; but a considerable number of them—perhaps half—must have been old ones, no longer in use. What proportion such old nests bear to the new ones I do not know, so when I say that a colony of weaver-birds may number some two or three hundred souls only, it is in order to be on the safe side. But how delightful to see and be able to watch such a colony as this, clouds of the birds continually flying in and out, or clustering together amongst the branches, or on the outside of the thatched roof of their common house, all chirping and twittering, flying off every now and then with a whirr, and descending again with another one. Add to this, the ordinary daily vivacity of the scene, the occasional approach of a hawk or a monkey—a baboon, perhaps, or a whole party of baboons. How great then would be the commotion, hundreds of incensed, twittering little creatures flying out in swarms and dashing about the intruder, who, being thus mobbed, would probably soon find discretion to be the better part of valour. The hawk, however, might, and probably frequently does, take his toll before going. As in our own country, he is no doubt accustomed to being mobbed, and does not mind it much. With regard to the monkeys, they would be extremely glad to get any of the weaver-birds’ eggs, and still more, perhaps, the birds themselves, but the nest—to give the whole collective structure this name—is built in such a way as to render this difficult. It hangs in the air, and slants outwards as it descends, so that a small monkey getting on the top of it might find it difficult to avoid slipping down, whereas the massiveness of the structure is such as to deter even the baboons from trying to pull it to pieces. Whatever the reason, they do not apparently endeavour to do so. Perhaps the swarm of angry birds alone is sufficient to keep them off, or possibly, being always accustomed to see these great house-like structures amidst the branches, they look upon them as a part of the tree itself. The birds, of course, would not be likely to choose the most exposed branches to build on, but still, judging from the illustrations one sees, these nests cannot be said to be inaccessible. The smaller monkeys, however, are not so very common in South Africa—whilst baboons are less arboreal than monkeys generally are. Some people write, indeed, as if they had given up climbing altogether, but if they had seen them,