Small-billed Tit (Acanihiza tenuirostris).—I was glad to renew my acquaintance with this Acanthiza, which I added to the avifauna of this State in 1903. I obtained the first Western Australian specimens at Lake Austin in that year. I believe these specimens were referred to Mr. Zietz, who declared them identical with the types of A. tenuirostris from South Australia. There is yet a large tract of country to be bridged over before the geographical range becomes continuous.
In Western Australia I have as yet never met with this Acanthiza away from the samphires. Indeed, it seems to exclusively haunt the margins of the salt lakes, where this plant and a few varieties of the Salsolaceæ abound. I cannot recollect ever seeing it perch in a bush, or even in tea-tree scrub, though the latter is abundant enough around certain of its haunts. It is an inconspicuous little bird, gifted with very feeble powers of song, though its call note is distinct and peculiar. To me these notes resemble the syllables "Tip-tip-tip" uttered rapidly but with a distinct glassy ring about them. Possibly it has a song, but I have only heard this call note between the sexes. I have watched the parents feeding their young, and have also watched pairs before the breeding season had set in. They seem to spend most of their time busily searching the samphires or salt-bush for insect life as they flit from bush to bush, and as the observer moves towards them they are rather wary, and, unlike other species of Acanthiza, will not permit of a near approach.
I was very keen on getting the nest and eggs of this species. The nest has already been described by Mr. A. W. Milligan, from an example I obtained containing young at Lake Austin. It was only after repeated visits to Lake Violet that I located a pair, and, as I knew this Acanthiza was an early breeder, I spared no trouble and pains in my efforts to find their nest. All was in vain until too late for eggs, for, though I did eventually find the nest of this particular pair, the young had already flown. In dealing with these small species one wants a reasonable amount of calm, sunny weather. In the remarkable season of 1909 such weather was conspicuous by its absence. Bitterly cold and strong east winds, often varied by rains from the south or south-west, accompanied by still heavier gales, prevailing well into September. However, despite my non-success with this particular pair, I was not beaten. On the 26th August I went to take a photograph of the big lagoon in Lake Violet. My objective point was the highest sand-hill I could find. To reach this I had to cross a samphire flat and then pass through a small belt of tea-tree scrub. On the other side of this was a mixed growth of samphire and salt-bush, with a few dead or dying bushes of various species. I was just entering this little belt of vegetation when I heard the familiar "Tip-tip-tip" of A. tenuirostris. I pulled up, and, unslinging my camera, began to watch. I caught sight of what I took to be the male, and I could also hear the female replying to his call at no great distance. For some time I could make nothing out, and, concluding I might be too near the nest, I walked over to where I could see the male. He met me, and I commenced a systematic search. I was not long in finding a small, neat, domed nest, low down in a salt-bush, the male meanwhile perching close at hand and continually calling to the female, who, however, did not venture near. The nest contained three eggs. But I did not quite like the look of things. Malurus leucopterus was about, and the nest was suspiciously like that of a Malurus—very well woven and rather elongated. I walked away and sat down to watch, hoping the female would go on. After a quarter of an hour I got tired of this. Incubation had not commenced, so I determined to photograph the nest and return again to settle its identity. As soon as I set up the camera the male came back and watched the proceedings, but the female kept persistently away. It appeared to me she was most often calling at a point behind me and some five chains away. I made up my mind that if the present nest proved to belong to a Malurus leucopterus her own home would be somewhere in that direction. I returned to the spot next day, and, quietly walking up to
