A GIANT HYRAX AND CHINA'S MYSTERY BEASTS OF BRONZE

H.J. Oppenheim's bronze Chinese sculpture of a mysterious beast resembling a giant hyrax (public domain)

On 30 November 1935, a British magazine called The Field published an article by F. Martin Duncan entitled 'A Chinese Noah's Ark', which surveyed a selection of Chinese works of art from an exhibition that was being staged by London's Royal Academy. Duncan's article included photographs of several exhibits - one of which (its photo opening this present ShukerNature article) was a small bronze statuette of an exceedingly strange animal.

The statuette was owned at that time by H.J. Oppenheim, and as can be seen here, the creature that it portrays bears little resemblance to any modern-day species - which presumably explains why it was referred to in the exhibition as a mythical animal. Overlooked by cryptozoology, moreover, the bronze was soon forgotten beyond the perimeters of the art world. Today, it is housed in the collections of the British Museum, London, to whom it was bequeathed in 1947 by Oppenheim.

During the early 1980s, however, an article in the magazine Smithsonian concerning the Warring States period in China (480-222 BC) included a photograph of a near-identical bronze statuette. It was one of 151 items in an exhibition of Chinese art from the Warring States Period on display at the Smithsonian Institution's Freer Gallery of Art. This statuette and several others of the same type, representing the same animal, had been found in 1923 near the village of Li-yu, in northern China's Shanxi province.

This time, the animal was called a "fanciful tapir-like beast" (despite the fact that it looks nothing like a tapir - lacking the latter's characteristic nasal trunk, and possessing very much shorter yet proportionately sturdier limbs, disproportionately large ears, hooves that were circular rather than claw-like, and scaly skin), with the comment that it seemed to have no practical or ritual function. Not long afterwards, Brown University ungulate expert Dr Christine Janis serendipitously came upon the article - while browsing through some magazines in her doctor's waiting room! (And during the mid-1980s I sent her a copy of the photograph from The Field article.) Moreover, while visiting Sydney, Australia, she was able to purchase a life-sized replica of one of these bronze beast statuettes – quite possibly of the Freer specimen as it closely resembles this particular one, and the Freer Gallery has indeed made available for purchasing purposes official replicas of theirs, produced by New York's Alva Studios.

Christine's replica specimen of one of the bronze Chinese mystery beast statuettes (© Dr Christine Janis)

A photograph of the original Freer statuette can be accessed on this gallery's official website (click here). It is stated there to be from the Middle Eastern Zhou dynasty (existing during the Warring States Period), and, more specifically, to date from the early 5^th Century BC. Its dimensions are given as: height, 11.2 cm; length, 18.3 cm; diameter, 6.3 cm. The following details are also included:

"This quadruped was crafted with considerable detail, especially in the modeling of the animal's face, its short, hoofed legs, and its scaled rotund body. Despite the clear features, the identity of the animal remains obscure, as does the precise function of the bronze figure. The collar of cowrie shells, twisted rope bands, striations, and scale patterns suggest that this animal was also produced in the Houma workshops in southern Shanxi Province."

Christine had no problem in classifying its mysterious 'tapir' - due not only to her specialised knowledge of ungulates, but also to the fact that she had actually kept smaller modern-day versions as pets.

Rock hyrax Procavia capensis (© Chris 73/Wikipedia)

The beast of the bronzes was a hyrax - one of those superficially rabbit-like creatures also termed conies or dassies, but supplied with small hooves and an anatomy that unmasks them as diminutive relatives of the proboscideans (elephants, mammoths, and mastodonts). However, this particular example appeared to be far from diminutive.

Indeed, as she subsequently explained in a paper published in 1987 by the now-defunct International Society of Cryptozoology's scientific journal, Cryptozoology, Christine became convinced that it was meant to represent a certain giant form of hyrax from China's late Pliocene (and possibly early Pleistocene too). This pig-sized creature was Pliohyrax, currently known to have been represented by at least three different species. If Christine is correct, then Pliohyrax must have persisted into historic times. (Incidentally, there were some even bigger, earlier species of hyrax, belonging to the aptly-named genus Titanohyrax, that are estimated to have been as big as rhinoceroses!)

Fossil skull portion of Pliohyrax graecus (© Ghedoghedo/Wikipedia)

The head of the bronze beasts closely compares to those of modern-day species of hyrax - and so did that of Pliohyrax. In contrast, their body is hippopotamus-like - but although no post-cranial remains of Pliohyrax are presently known, Christine noted that the high position of the eye sockets in its skull (comparable to those of the hippo) indicates that it might have been semi-aquatic like the hippo. It may therefore have possessed a similar body shape too, as fossil ungulates with hippo-shaped bodies tend to have these elevated eyes.

Nevertheless, there was one notable problem when attempting to reconcile the bronze beasts with any type of hyrax - whereas the latter have several hooves on each foot, the feet of the bronze beasts have only one hoof apiece. Christine, however, has proposed that this discrepancy indicates that the animal was one known from mythology rather than one personally seen by the sculptor. Presumably, therefore, the giant hyrax had indeed survived long beyond the Pliocene, and had once been well-known to mankind in China, becoming incorporated into their mythology, but had died out prior to the Warring States Period.

There is also an equally plausible alternative to this possibility, as proffered once again by Christine. A hyrax the size of Pliohyrax would be much heavier than today's notably smaller species, and may therefore have evolved a more compact type of foot structure with a pad underlying the foot - resembling the feet of pigs and hippos. Perhaps this is what the sculptor was attempting to convey when producing the bronze statuettes - hence Pliohyrax may have lingered into the Warring States Period after all. As there is no evidence of its survival today, however, we must assume that it subsequently became extinct - or perhaps, like many other large, sluggish, inoffensive beasts with succulent flesh, it was exterminated by hunters.

Front view of Christine's replica statuette (© Dr Christine Janis)

Finally: While researching this fascinating subject, I discovered a beautiful life-sized replica of the Freer Gallery's bronze beast statuette on the website of an auction house called Invaluable. Produced by Alva Studios, the statuette was sold on 28 September 2013 for US$ 100, but its listing remains on the auction house's site (click here). In addition to the description of the original statuette given in the Freer gallery, Invaluable's listing also includes the following details:

"Losses to the ears on this replica piece. Labeled 'Authentic Copyrighted Replica Made From the Original At the Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, By Alva Studios, Inc., New York'."

Its listing contains several photographs too, including this one:

Official replica of the Freer Gallery's bronze giant hyrax-like statuette, sold by Invaluable in 2013 (© Invaluable)

This ShukerNature blog article is a greatly-expanded, updated excerpt from my book In Search of Prehistoric Survivors.

FROM DEVILISH GECKO TO DERIVED DRAGONET - YET ANOTHER PHOTO-MANIPULATED METAMORPHOSIS

The deceptive 'dragonet' photo doing the rounds online (photo-manipulation originator unknown).

The photograph opening this present ShukerNature blog article has been brought to my attention on numerous occasions with requests as to whether the animal that it depicts is real.

Some have wondered whether it may be a species of flying dragon Draco sp. – i.e. one of those famous little agamid lizards (up to 8 in long) native to southeastern Asia whose greatly elongated ribs are connected to one another on each side of its body by a wing-like membrane that enables the creature to glide passively (though not actively fly) through the air after leaping from the trunk or branch of a tree.

Beautiful 19^th-Century engraving of flying dragons Draco volans (public domain)

I have even received enquiries as to whether this photograph was of a real species of dragon, or, alternatively, some gliding lizard-like reptile that had mysteriously survived from prehistoric times into the present day. None of these options is correct, of course, though there were indeed at least three notable and very different types of gliding lizard-like reptile alive at one time or another in the ancient world.

Although unrelated to the modern-day Draco agamids, Kuehneosaurus latus was outwardly similar, inasmuch as it too possessed wing-like gliding membranes consisting of elongated ribs interconnected on each side by a membrane. However, recent aerodynamic studies indicate that it used these 'wings' not for gliding but rather for parachuting. Up to 2.3 ft long, this species was formally described and named in 1962 by P.L. Robinson, and existed in southwest England during the late Triassic Period, around 237-201 million years ago.

Restoration of Kuehneosuchus latissimus (left) and Kuehneosaurus latus (right) in life (© Nobu Tamura-Wikipedia)

So too did a much longer-'winged' relative, Kuehneosuchus latissimus, also formally described in 1967 by Robinson, although some researchers have suggested that this latter species may simply have been a sexual morph of Kuehneosaurus, but adapted for true gliding rather than merely parachuting. These two species (if indeed they are separate species) are the most advanced members of the small taxonomic family Kuehneosauridae, which is housed within a long-extinct order of archaic reptiles known as eolacertilians or dawn lizards.

A more basal species was Icarosaurus siefkeri, known from a single specimen found in 1960 by teenager Alfred Siefker while exploring a New Jersey quarry, and came from the Lockatong Formation. It is housed in New York's American Museum of Natural History.

Restoration of Icarosaurus siefkeri in life (© Nobu Tamura-Wikipedia)

A second type of prehistoric lizard-like glider but fundamentally different from any other currently known to science was Coelurosauravus, a genus of basal diapsid reptile containing two species – C. elivensis (described in 1928) and C. jaekeli (described in 1930). Around 16 in long in total length, these also possessed a pair of wing-like gliding membranes, but the membranes' struts were not elongated ribs. Instead, they were lengthy rod-like structures constituting newly-evolved dermal bones, unique to this reptilian genus.

The two species variously lived in what is now England, Germany, and Madagascar during the late Permian Period, approximately 260-250 million years ago. Fans of the science-fiction television series Primeval will know that the aerial reptile kept by the team as a pet and named Rex is a Coelurosauravus, though Rex is much bigger than known specimens, and is also capable of active, powered flight, whereas real Coelurosauravus species could only glide passively.

Restoration of Coelurosauravus jaekeli, from Germany (© Nobu Tamura-Wikipedia)

Very different again was a third type of prehistoric gliding lizard-lookalike – Sharovipteryx mirabilis, formally described in 1971 and known only from its holotype, which had been discovered in 1965 in the Madygen Formation, Dzailauchou, on the southwest edge of the Fergana valley in what is now the independent Asian country of Kyrgyzstan. It dates from the middle-late Triassic Period, approximately 225 million years ago.

What makes this species so distinctive is that unlike all other reptilian gliders, its gliding membranes surrounded its pelvic girdle. It belonged to the taxonomic order Protorosauria.

Restoration of Sharovipteryx mirabilis (© Dmitry Bogdanov-Wikipedia)

But as the dragonet in the photograph opening this ShukerNature article is none of these creatures, what exactly is it?

In fact, it is a gecko, but not one that has ever been breathed into life by either Mother Nature or evolution. Its species is the satanic leaf-tailed gecko Uroplatus phantasticus, named after its somewhat devilish, fantastical appearance and its leaf-like tail. Formally described in 1888 by prolific English zoologist George A. Boulenger, and indigenous to Madagascar, it is the smallest species of leaf-tailed gecko within the genus Uroplatus, measuring only 2.6-6 in long in total length.

Needless to say, however, although it is certainly very eyecatching morphologically, this does not extend to its possessing wings. When I saw the dragonet photograph a while back, I recognised straight away that it was merely a novel photo-manipulation of some original photograph of U. phantasticus. Consequently, it did not take long for me to uncover the latter online, which turned out to have been been snapped by Piotr Naskrecki. And here it is, alongside its derived dragonet:

The original Uroplatus phantasticus gecko photograph (left) and the dragonet image derived from it via photo-manipulation (right) (© Piotr Naskrecki/photo-manipulation originator unknown)

Another longstanding internet hoax picture is duly unmasked, though whoever is responsible for creating it from the gecko photograph remains unidentified.

My thanks to Facebook friend Carl Kelsall for most recently bringing the dragonet photograph to my attention and, in so doing, inspiring me to pen this exposé.

Rex from Primeval (© ITV Studios/ProSieben/Impossible Pictures/Treasure Entertainment/M6 Films)

HORNING IN ON INDONESIA'S SCALY RHINOCEROSES

Chromolithograph of a female Javan rhinoceros imported by London-based animal dealer Charles Jamrach from the Sunderbans in India to London Zoo, where, sadly, it only lived for just under 6 months in 1877 (public domain)

In 1941, Willy Ley noted in his book The Lungfish and the Unicorn that at some stage during the middle portion of the 1920s, a Dr P. Vageler - regularly contacted by zoos wishing to replenish their animal collections - was seeking some specimens of the Asian rhinos when he met up with J.C. Hazewinkel, a noted big game hunter. After learning that Vageler required new rhinoceroses, Hazewinkel showed him some photos of eight that he had shot in Sumatra, and which appeared to be new in every sense of the word. For the type that they represented — although familiar to the natives, who called it 'badak tanggiling' (translated as 'scaly rhinoceros') - seemed to differ greatly from the form familiar to Vageler on Sumatra.

Unlike the known, two-horned Sumatran rhinoceros Dicerorhinus sumatrensis, the badak tanggiling bore just a single horn. If this had been the only difference, it could have been explained as a mere freak of nature. However, Hazewinkel stated that the female badak tanggiling was often totally hornless, and that the form as a whole had scaly armour and attained a length of 10 ft. In contrast, the female Sumatran rhinoceros is rarely if ever hornless, and the species as a whole is hairy rather than scaly and only attains a length of 8—9 ft.

J.C. Hazewinkel posing on the carcase of the first in the series of Javan rhinoceroses shot by him in Sumatra (public domain)

As Dr Vageler readily recognized, the Sumatran rhino thus became an unlikely candidate for the badak tanggiling’s identity. In his coverage of this episode, Willy Ley stated that Hazewinkel’s photos convinced Vageler that a second species of rhinoceros existed on Sumatra, and that in reply to his requests Vageler was promised living specimens of it to send on to various zoos worldwide, but they never arrived. Ley concluded his account by stating that the badak tanggiling therefore remains a shadow in our zoological encyclopedias, but: “...it may, however, be rediscovered almost any day”.

From all of this it would seem that Ley considered the badak tanggiling to be a wholly unknown, undescribed species. In fact, its identity is surely no mystery, for this enigmatic creature is clearly Rhinoceros sondaicus, the Javan rhinoceros. Not only is it of comparable size to the badak tanggiling, has characteristically scaly armour, and is a one-horned species whose females are indeed sometimes hornless, but at the time of Vageler and Hazewinkel it did exist on Sumatra (but this was not widely known outside scientific circles). Indeed, the last known Sumatran specimens of the Javan rhino did not die until World War II.

The first one-horned rhinoceros shot in Sumatra by J.C. Hazewinkel (public domain)

There is a further, more specific, piece of evidence confirming this identification. On 23 December 1933, the Illustrated London News published an article by Hazewinkel, in which he described his pursuit and shooting of the first of eight specimens of large, scaly, one-horned rhinoceros on Sumatra during the mid-1920s. The photos of the animal dispel any doubt as to its identity - one that Hazewinkel, moreover, freely announced. It was a Javan rhinoceros. Indeed, echoing the general unawareness concerning the existence of this species on Sumatra at that time, Hazewinkel had entitled his article ‘A One-Horned Javanese Rhinoceros Shot in Sumatra, Where It Was Not Thought to Exist’.

Close-up of the first Javan rhinoceros shot in Sumatra by J.C. Hazewinkel, revealing its distinctive scaly armour (public domain)

Clearly, there can be no question that those eight Javan rhinos shot by Hazewinkel on Sumatra in the mid-1920s are one and the same as the eight Sumatran badak tanggiling shot by him and mentioned to Vageler by him during that same period. Moreover, as I discovered when researching this subject further, in 1926 Vageler actually published a short paper in Berliner Illustrirter Zeitung (plus two others a year later in Science News-Letter and Umschau) in which he formally described Sumatra's Javan rhinoceros merely as a new variety (not even a new subspecies) of the Javan rhinoceros, naming it Rhinoceros sundaicus [sic] var. sumatrensis.

Javan rhinoceros engraving from 1872, by Hermann Schlegel (public domain)

Evidently, therefore, in spite of Ley's apparent assumption to the contrary, Vageler did indeed recognise that Sumatra's one-horned rhinoceros belonged to the Javan rhinoceros's species, and was not a separate, hitherto-unknown species at all.

Captive Javan rhinoceros, probably in India, photographed in c.1900 (public domain)

According to Joseph Belmont, another animal collector for zoos, a mysterious beast known as the scaled rhinoceros allegedly existed amidst the inhospitable, fever-ridden swamps of Java. Writing in Catching Wild Beasts Alive (1931), Delmont reported that this cryptic creature, supposedly distinct from the known species of Javan rhinoceros, had only been shot twice, with no living specimen ever having been obtained.

However, as already revealed in this present ShukerNature blog article, the ‘armour’ of known species of Javan rhino is noticeably scale-like, quite different from that of its closest relative the great Indian rhinoceros Rhinoceros unicornis. Consequently, it would once again seem that the creature in question is Rhinoceros sondaicus after all.

Photograph of the Javan rhinoceros exhibited at London Zoo in 1877, in which its scale-like armour can be readily perceived (public domain)

This ShukerNature blog post is excerpted and expanded from my books Extraordinary Animals Worldwide and Extraordinary Animals Revisited. Check them out for more accounts of mysterious and controversial forms of rhinoceros.

An adult Javan rhinoceros and calf, as depicted in a colour engraving from 1839 (public domain)

OUTING THE FALSE BIRDS OF PARADISE, INNING A COUPLE OF NOT-SO-FALSE ONES, AND REVIEWING SOME ONCE-AND-FUTURE(?) ONES

Late 19^th-Century painting of an adult male King of Saxony bird of paradise (public domain)

There is no question whatsoever that the birds of paradise, a taxonomic family (Paradisaeidae) whose members are predominantly endemic to New Guinea but also name-check a few representative species inhabiting Australia and certain Indonesian islands, include among their number some of the world's most breathtakingly beautiful avian forms ever beheld by the eyes of humankind. In these species, the breeding plumage of the males erupt in a veritable explosion of feathered flamboyance – cascades of fiery streamers, ostentatious racquet-plumed head and pompom-plumed tail quills, an extravagant riot of ruffs, crests, tippets, lyrate extremities, and a glossy, scintillating, polychromatic surfacing of shimmering iridescence.

Moreover, so varied in form are the 40-odd species currently recognised by science that there has been much controversy down through the years regarding their comparative taxonomic affinities to one another, the possibility that certain rare preserved specimens are not mere hybrids as traditionally deemed but may represent species that are now extinct (click here for my ShukerNature blog post documenting these so-called 'lost birds of paradise'), and whether some species are not birds of paradise at all. It is with this last-mentioned, little-publicised category, the false birds of paradise, that this present ShukerNature blog post is concerned.

The most recent Paradisaeidae species to be accepted by science was the ribbon-tailed bird of paradise Astrapia mayeri, discovered to the west of Mount Hagen in New Guinea during 1938 and formally described a year later.

Errol Fuller's beautiful painting of a male ribbon-tailed bird of paradise (the female lacks this species' eponymous plumes) as featured on the front cover of my book The New Zoo: New and Rediscovered Animals of the Twentieth Century (© Errol Fuller/Dr Karl Shuker)

Between then and the 21^st Century, a total of either 43 or 45 Paradisaeidae species had generally been recognised by ornithologists (not everyone classified the growling riflebird Ptilornis intercedens and the bronze six-wired bird of paradise Parotia berlepschi as full species). In February 2000, however, the publication of an extensive taxonomic study conducted upon this family's members by ornithological researchers Drs Joel Cracraft and Julie Feinstein, featuring mitochondrial gene analyses and morphological comparisons, provided some very startling surprises – exposing no less than four longstanding members as false birds of paradise. They have been since been duly evicted from Paradisaeidae and rehoused elsewhere.

19^th-Century painting of a pair of Loria's satinbirds (male on left) by John Gould (public domain)

Three of these paradise-plumed pretenders constituted the former subfamily Cnemophilinae, whose trio of species had long been a source of ornithological contention as to whether their affinities did indeed lie with – or, more precisely, within – Paradisaeidae. Stripped of their 'bird of paradise' monikers, they are now referred to as satinbirds on account of their very soft plumage, and are known in full as: Loria's satinbird Cnemophilus loriae, the crested satinbird C. macgregorii, and the yellow-breasted or lobe-billed satinbird Loboparadisea lobata.

19^th-Century painting of a pair of crested satinbirds (public domain)

The Cracraft/Feinstein study provided clear molecular and morphological evidence that these species were sufficiently discrete from all other birds of paradise for their entire subfamily to require recategorisation as a distinct taxonomic family in its own right – Cnemophilidae. It constitutes a basal family within the superfamily Corvoidea, alongside Paradisaeidae, Corvidae (the crows), and many other passerine families.

Painting of a yellow-breasted satinbird by John G. Keulemans, 1897 (public domain)

As for the fourth false bird of paradise, Macgregoria pulchra, the only member of its genus and hitherto known as MacGregor's bird of paradise, which was formally described and named as far back as 1897, Cracraft and Feinstein had an even bigger shock in store. This was because their findings showed that it was not even a member of the superfamily Corvoidea, let alone the bird of paradise family Paradisaeidae. Instead, it was identified unequivocally as a honeyeater, i.e. belonging to the family Meliphagidae (whose numerous members occur widely across Australasia, the Pacific, and even into Bali), which in turn is housed within the superfamily Meliphagoidea.

Painting of MacGregor's honeyeater by John G. Keulemans, 1897 (public domain)

Having said that, I must confess that this latter taxonomic turnabout did not come as a major surprise to me because Macgregoria pulchra, now known as MacGregor's honeyeater, bears a very close external resemblance to two particular species of honeyeater – the common smoky honeyeater Melipotes fumigatus and the recently-discovered wattled smoky honeyeater Melipotes carolae, both of which, like Macgregoria, are native to New Guinea. Sometimes, of course, outward similarities are merely the result of convergent evolution rather than being indicative of close genetic affinity, but in this particular case their morphological resemblances were indeed mirrored by their genetic comparabilities.

Wattled smoky honeyeater (bottom left) depicted on an Indonesian postage stamp in my collection

And now for a couple of not-so-false birds of paradise.

Of all the many spectacular, valid Paradisaeidae members in existence, my personal favourite is the truly extraordinary King of Saxony bird of paradise Pteridophora alberti, or, more specifically, the adult male of this species. Only the size of a starling, with predominantly black and yellow plumage, what sets it entirely apart from all other birds of paradise – and, indeed, all other birds of any kind – is the pair of enormously long, ribbon-like plumes born upon its head. Each one is more than twice the total length of the bird itself and resembles a streamer composed of tiny enamelled scallops or mini-flags (earning its species the alternative name of enamelled bird), blue on one side and pink on the other. These two plumes are independently erectile, and during courtship the male variously directs them forwards over his head, downwards and forwards beneath his perch, backwards, and even directly away from one another horizontally in his enthusiastic semaphore-like attempts to attract and retain the attention of the much more sombre-looking female, who lacks these incredible plumes.

Taxiderm specimen of a male King of Saxony bird of paradise (with a taxiderm MacGregor's honeyeater behind it) at Tring Natural History Museum (© Dr Karl Shuker)

Native to New Guinea, this marvellous species was formally described in December 1894 by Dresden Museum ornithologist Adolf B. Meyer, commemorating in both its common and binomial name King Albert of Saxony. However, when the first skins had been brought to Europe, they had been denounced as fakes due to the ostensible implausibility of the male's head plumes, and even after Meyer had recognised that they were genuine and accordingly described this species, not everyone was convinced about its authenticity.

Indeed, after reading Meyer's description, esteemed English ornithologist Richard Bowdler Sharpe, famed for his lavishly-illustrated two-volume tome Monograph of the Paradiseidae or Birds of Paradise and Ptilonorhynchidae or Bowerbirds (first edition published in 1891), remarked in apparent disgust that even a fool would know that this bird was nothing more than an artefact. By 1898, however, when the enlarged, second edition of his work appeared, Bowdler Sharpe had clearly changed his mind, not only including in Vol. 1 an account and painting of a male King of Saxony, but even referring to it as "a wonderful form".

Tom Iredale's book Birds of Paradise and Bower Birds (© Tom Iredale)

Nevertheless, doubts were still expressed by a few voices here and there for some time to come. Perhaps the last, but most memorable, were aired as recently as 1950 by Australian ornithologist Tom Iredale in his book Birds of Paradise and Bower Birds, and not only about this species. Indeed, he devoted an entire (albeit short) chapter to what he referred to as false birds of paradise. Three in number, the suspects in question were introduced by him as follows:

"…some false Birds of Paradise, such as Wallace's which is obviously only a glorified Friar Bird [a genus of honeyeaters, Philemon, in Meliphagidae], and the Enamelled [i.e. King of Saxony], which may be anything save a relative of any of the foregoing [i.e. the genuine birds of paradise]. A bird like Macgregoria may be a honeyeater."

Named after British naturalist Alfred Russel Wallace, who in 1858 discovered this gorgeous species in its Moluccan homeland (it is the westernmost of the true birds of paradise), Wallace's standardwing Semioptera wallacii does bear a passing resemblance to the friar birds, particularly with regard to its head's appearance. However, the study of Cracraft and Feinstein fully vindicated its traditional classification as a bird of paradise – as well as that of the King of Saxony (which they revealed to be most closely allied to the six-wired birds of paradise, genus Parotia).

19^th-Century painting depicting two male and one female Wallace's standardwings (public domain)

Iredale's book attracted much criticism from other ornithologists due to the above and many other novel, controversial, and unsubstantiated opinions put forward by him. Perhaps the most scathing response, however, came from renowned taxonomist/tropical explorer/ornithologist Prof. Ernst Mayr. Having spent considerable amounts of time seeking and observing birds of paradise in their jungle homelands, Mayr verbally tore Iredale and his book into shreds via a searing 3-page review published in January 1951 by the Australian journal Emu. In it, Mayr totally dismissed Iredale's above-quoted speculations concerning false birds of paradise by way of a single but highly vitriolic sentence:

"Merely a study of the displays would show that the suggested relationships are absurd."

Iredale died in 1972, which meant, sadly, that he was never able to have the last laugh on Mayr and his caustic vituperation, which he would certainly have done. For although their study confirmed that Wallace's standardwing and the King of Saxony bird of paradise are bona fide Paradisaeidae members, as we have already seen here Cracraft and Feinstein also revealed that Macgregoria is indeed a honeyeater! Mayr, conversely, did not die until 2005, at the grand age of 100, so he may well have been aware of this reclassification of Macgregoria, but even if so, his thoughts on the matter do not appear to have been recorded.

One thing is certain, however – had Iredale also lived to learn of it, and had subsequently encountered Mayr, the atmosphere between them would have been anything but paradisiacal, that's for sure!

Painting of the silktail by John G. Keulemans, 1873 (public domain)

Leading on from false birds of paradise and not-so-false birds of paradise, let me now conclude this ShukerNature blog post with a brief review of some once-and-future(?) birds of paradise. Ever since their respective scientific discoveries and descriptions during the 19^th Century, three species of very enigmatic bird have been variously categorised within and summarily ejected out of Paradisaeidae on numerous occasions by numerous ornithologists, and even today, with sophisticated genetics-based analyses readily to hand, their precise taxonomic positions remain much-debated but ultimately unresolved.

Native to Fiji, the silktail Lamprolia victoriae was formally described and named in 1874 by German naturalist Otto Finsch, who freely confessed to being very perplexed as to where it should be categorised within the passerines' taxonomic classification. Since then, this small, velvet-black bird has continued to elicit bewilderment within successive generations of ornithological researchers, having been variously assigned to the birds of paradise, the Australian robins (Petroicidae), the fairy wrens (Maluridae), the monarch flycatchers (Monarchidae), and, following a molecular study published in 2009, within a sister clade to the fantails (Rhipiduridae). If the silktail ever did prove to be a bird of paradise, this would be very notable from a zoogeographical standpoint, because it would constitute the only known species native to a South Pacific locality.

A 19^th-Century painting by John Gould depicting a pair of lesser melampittas (public domain)

No less mystifying are the two members of the genus Melampitta, from which they derive one of their two common names (the other one being ground-thrush). The more familiar of these two species is the lesser melampitta M. lugubris, whereas its larger relative, the greater melampitta M. gigantea, is less well-known; both species are endemic to remote rainforests in New Guinea. As their name indicates, in outward appearance they resemble black pittas, and were once classed within the pitta family (Pittidae), but in later years they have been transferred widely from one family to another, including the babblers (Timaliidae), the logrunners (Orthonychidae), the quail-thrushes and allies (Cinclosomatidae), the white-winged chough and apostlebird (Corcoracidae), and, inevitably, the birds of paradise.

This latter link was seemingly reinforced in 1987 by molecular studies involving the analysis of DNA-DNA hybridisation data obtained with the lesser melampitta, but more recently a closer affinity with those false birds of paradise the satinbirds has been proposed. Not surprisingly, confronted by such a daunting diversity of classifications, many ornithologists nowadays allocate to the melampittas a taxonomic family of their own, although some also acknowledge this to be more a categorisation of convenience than a realistic attempt to resolve the longstanding riddle of their true identity.

And finally: could there be any bird of paradise species still awaiting scientific discovery? Click here and here to find out!