Professor Wallace—who does not, however, as it would appear, speak from personal knowledge—tells us that, “at the time of the bird’s greatest excitement, the wings are raised vertically over the back, the head is bent down and stretched out, and the long plumes are raised up and expanded till they form two magnificent golden fans striped with deep red at the base, and fading off into the pale brown tint of the finely divided and softly waving points. The whole bird is then overshadowed by them, the crouching body, yellow head, and emerald-green throat forming but the foundation and setting to the golden glory which waves above. When seen in this attitude the bird of paradise really deserves its name, and must be ranked as one of the most beautiful and most wonderful of living things.” Nothing is said about the hens here, but in the following description—the only one I know which comes from an eye-witness—they play their part, as will be seen, and as I have no doubt they should do in the other. The birds here seen belonged to another species of the _paradiseidæ_—the red bird of paradise, I think, which is almost as handsome, but of this I cannot be sure. “The two hens,” says Mr. Chalmers, who was travelling in New Guinea, “were sitting quietly on a branch, and the four cocks, dressed in their very best, their ruffs of green and yellow standing out, giving them a handsome appearance about the head and neck, their flowing plumes so arranged that every feather seemed combed out, and the long wires (some curious shaftless feathers characteristic of this family of birds) stretched well out behind, were dancing in a circle round them. It was an interesting sight. First one and then another would advance a little nearer to a hen, and she, coquette-like, would retire a little, pretending not to care for any advances. A shot was fired, contrary to our expressed wish; there was a strange commotion, and two of the cocks flew away, but the others and the hens remained. Soon the two returned, and again the dance began and continued long. As we had strictly forbidden any more shooting, all fear was gone: and so, after a rest, the males came a little nearer to the dark brown hens. Quarrelling ensued, and in the end, all six birds flew away.” There is not, it must be confessed, much power of description shown here, but it is from life, and at any rate the birds are not killed—a very redeeming point indeed. CHAPTER VI BIZCACHAS AND BIZCACHERAS—INTERESTED NEIGHBOURS—A PROVIDENT MOTHER—PRAIRIE-DOGS AND RATTLESNAKES—OWLS THAT LIVE IN BURROWS.