It is amongst the birds of paradise, however—and especially in the case of the great bird of paradise, the loveliest, perhaps, of all—that we see the courting antics of birds exhibited, if not in their greatest perfection, at least in their most overpowering beauty. Here the gathering-place, instead of being on the ground, is amongst the tree-tops, and a tree of a specially lofty kind is chosen, which, by virtue of its spreading head and scantiness of foliage, is well adapted for the purpose. Here, in the early morning, the birds assemble, and the males, which alone possess those magnificent plumes, or, rather, fountains of feathers, that spring from beneath the wings on either side, display them now to the best advantage, elevating them, spreading and shaking them out, and keeping them all the while in a state of quivering, tremulous vibration. Amidst this soft and spray-like shower, tinted of a soft mauve and a deep golden orange, the emerald feathers of the neck and the pale, straw-coloured ones of the head, as the bird turns it excitedly from side to side, gleam and sparkle, whilst the wings are raised and opened, making, as it were, a basket out of which the plume-jets spring. In the intervals between these exhibitions, the birds fly from branch to branch of the wide-spreading tree-top, their plumes now trailing behind them, and looking as beautiful, almost, in another way, as they did just before when specially exhibited. Not that there is much order in the birds’ performances, or, rather, it is order in disorder. Though rivals, emulous of one another’s actions, yet each of them plays its own independent part. No two, it is probable, out of, perhaps, a score composing the assembly, acts in just the same way at just the same time, and thus the whole space is filled, each moment, with a varied scene of exquisite, ethereal loveliness.