The most beautiful thing I have ever seen in Wellington was a midday picture in a garden on the Brooklyn hills one day this month, and in fact for several days. It was a pair of tui fluttering in the branches of a ngaio tree, and hopping down into close-quarters view, within a few yards of the window where I sat writing. I heard them before I saw them; there was no mistaking that chuckling gurgle, with a touch of the flute in it, “chuk-chuk-choo.” I was back in the bush again, that moment; it seemed too good to be true, the tui's notes in a garden within a mile of the city. But there they were, those lovely birds and a plump, well-rounded pair they were, in their glossy plumage with the parsonbird throat ruffle of white. They had found the town gardens to their taste, that was evident.

The pretty couple foraged a while, perfectly at home, and then whirred over the hedge to the next garden. One or other of them returned every morning, food-scouting; and sometimes before sunrise, we could hear the deep, rich “bong” from the hilltop garden near us that was their favourite haunt. There are eucalyptus trees there, the best things that have ever come out of Australia; and the red-gum especially is a meal-tree for the pretty honey-suckers.

Winter Food Supplies.

The tui is taking trustfully to the town gardens in many parts, and the plantations of gums and other food-trees are a certain source of food supply in the winter when the bush rations fall short. Wellington, Wanganui and many other urban centres are visited every year by little flocks of tui, and the bellbird too, is losing its shyness of the populous places. It is an enchanting sight, those confiding birds seeking their food among the gardens, perfectly fearless. They are quick to discover any food set out for them. Many people place saucers or shallow bowls of honey and water, or water sweetened with sugar where they can enjoy it without fear of prowling cats. Porridge and milk, too, is a welcome breakfast.

The custodians of the bird sanctuaries, Kapiti Island and the Little Barrier Island, have a host of callers for a touch of milky porridge every morning in the hungry time when most bush flowers and berries are off.

No Stranger Now.

The tui have moved on, but we have a flock of lively little tauhou, the white-eye, or silver-eye, pegging away at the scraps in tins hung on a tree for them. All day is their meal-time, as long as there is a bit of porridge or pudding or bread remaining. This week of writing their russet waistcoats seem to fit them more tightly every day.

When the little bird first appeared in New Zealand the Maori called it tauhou, meaning “stranger.” It is supposed to have come from Australia. It is a welcome and useful bird. It cleans up any insect or blight on the trees and plants. Like the fantail, it is never idle; you may see it more busy than any bee, darting from bush to bush and snapping up trifles everywhere.

The Maori Forager.

The Maori of the past generations, such men as the old Urewera bushmen I knew in my forestlore cruises of the ‘nineties, would have relished those fine fat tui, in the bird-taking season. His spearing and snaring methods were sensibly regulated; he had his close seasons for the birds, and the forest continued to furnish him with plenty of kaka parrots and tui and pigeons, year after year. The old bird-snarers told me that they found that the gun frightened the pigeons and the other birds away, and so they continued to use their ancient and noiseless methods.

In the South Island, the Maori explorers and the trans-alpine travellers relied largely on the weka or woodhen for food, as I mentioned in a recent account of routes between the West and East Coasts. There, too, the Maori had a thought for the future.

The old men of Arahura, and also a pioneer explorer of the Coast, told me that in crossing the Southern Alps from one coast to the other an expedition would usually exhaust the supply of weka for the time being; at Maruia, for example, or on the Hurunui transalpine route, they would camp and eat out all the birds procurable about the flats before moving on. For that reason, they would seldom return by the route they had taken, if they were coming back immediately; they would take another pass in order to be sure of a plentiful supply of weka and to give the birds on the first track time to increase again.

There was also the class of bush food termed generally by the Maoris “kai-rakau,” or products of the forest, such as hinau and other berries, and the roots of the ti or cabbage-tree; and the pith of the fern-tree; and sometimes even fungus. The hinau and tawa berries—only found in the lowland forests—had to be subjected to much pounding, steeping and drying before they were fit for food. The early pakeha explorers had often to fall back on some of those forest foods.