their panting bodies by a series of queer, sprawling marine gymnastics,
swim about buoyantly for a few minutes, are tumbled on to the sand, and
waddle with contented cheeps each back to its own birthplace among
hundreds of highly-decorated eggs, and hundreds of infants like unto
themselves.

The parents of the white-shafted ternlet (STERNA SINENSIS), the most
sylph-like of birds, with others of the family, ever on the look-out,
follow in circling, screaming mobs the disturbance on the surface of the
sea caused by small fish vainly endeavouring to elude the crafty bonito
and porpoise, and take ample supplies to the ever-hungry young. How is it
that the hundreds of pairs recognise among the hundreds of fluffy young,
identical in size and colour, each their particular care?

The picture "where terns lay" testifies to the solicitude of Nature for
the preservation of types. The apparent primary carelessness of the terns
in depositing their eggs is shown, when the chicks are hatched, to have
been artfulness of a high order. At least a dozen, if not more, young
birds were sharply focused by the camera, but so perfectly do their
neutral tints blend with the groundwork of coral, shells and sand that
only three or four are actually discernible, and these are perplexingly
inconspicuous. A microscopic examination of the photograph is necessary
to differentiate the helpless birds from their surroundings.

On another island within the Barrier Reef several species of sea-birds
spontaneously adapted themselves to altered circumstances. They, in
consonance with the general habits of the species, were wont to lay their
eggs carelessly on the sand or shingle, without pretence of nests. A
meat-loving pioneer introduced goats to the island, the continual
parading about of which so disturbed the birds, and deprived them of