In the neighbouring regions of Papua or New Guinea, and the small isles in their immediate vicinity, extending only a few degrees on each side of the Equator, we find the seat of the wondrous Birds of Paradise, thus named from that peculiar union of splendour and elegance which seems to render them more worthy of the gardens of Eden than of a terrestrial home.
The great Bird of Paradise (P. apoda) may justly be said to surpass in beauty the whole of the feathered creation. The throat is of the brightest emerald, and the canary-coloured neck blends gradually into the fine chocolate of the other parts of the body. From under the short chestnut-coloured wings project the long delicate and gold-coloured feathers whose beautiful and graceful tufts are equally valued by the princes of the East and the ladies of England. The chocolate-coloured tail is short, but two very long shafts of the same hue considerably exceed in length even the long, loose plumes of the sides.
BIRD OF PARADISE.
Unable to fly with the wind, which would destroy their loose plumage, the Birds of Paradise take their flight constantly against it, being careful not to venture out in hard blowing weather. The Papuas climb, during the night, upon the high forest trees, where they have observed the birds to roost, and patiently await the dawn to catch them in nooses, or to shoot them with blunted arrows. The Portuguese first found these birds on the island of Gilolo, and as the Papuas tear off their legs before bringing them to market, it was for a long time supposed that they were destitute of these organs. The most absurd fables were founded on this imaginary deficiency: it was said that they passed their whole life sailing in the air, dew being their only food; that they never took rest, except by suspending themselves from the branches of trees by the shafts of their two elongated tail feathers; that they never touched the earth till the moment of their death; and the Malays still believe that they retire for breeding to the groves of Paradise. It is almost superfluous to add that the researches of modern travellers have fully proved the utter fallacy of these ridiculous tales.
The wondrous pendulous nests of the American Cassiques and Baltimores are equalled, if not surpassed, by those of the African Weaving Birds. These tiny architects generally suspend their structures to the ends of slender twigs, small branches, leaves or reeds, where they dangle freely in the air, and dance about merrily at every breeze. For greater security, many species always hang their nests over water, at no great distance above the surface, so that, however small the animal, monkey, or snake may be that would attempt to rob the bird of its young brood, its weight is more than sufficient to cause its immersion in the water, and thus put a stop to its burglarious intentions. As a further annoyance, the baffled invader may expect soon to have a troop of birds swarming about him like so many scolding beldames, for the weavers never can see one of their enemies without flying up to it with hoarse screams, shooting close to its body, and, when an opportunity offers, indulging in a passing peck.
SOCIABLE WEAVER BIRD.
The nests of the various species of weavers are very dissimilar in shape and design; some very long, others very short; some having their entrance from below, others at the side, and others again from near the top. Some are made of delicate fibres, and others of coarse grass; some are of so loose a texture that the eggs can plainly be seen through them, while others are so strong and thick that they will bear the roughest handling without going to pieces. That of the Mahali Weaver, a pretty bird about as large as our common starling, resembles in shape a Florence oil-flask, but instead of being smooth on the exterior, the ends of the thick grass stalks of which it is made, protrude like ‘quills upon the fretful porcupine,’ and pointing towards the mouth of the nest, which hangs downwards, serve as eaves whereby the rain is thrown off the nest.
If the dwellings made by the generality of Weavers may be likened to detached villas, each built apart from its neighbour, those of the social Grosbeak of South Africa, an allied species, deserve the name of populous cities, for here we find hundreds of feathered architects uniting their labours in the construction of one vast nest often large enough to shelter five or six men.