BIRDS OF OUR BUSH 



tion that if one so much as breathed within a hundred yards 

 of this shy species, it would detect one's presence and 

 vanish. Such ideas of the wariness of the species under 

 notice, and of some others beside, we have found absolutely 

 without foundation. Anyway, we sat where we were for 

 a considerable time, almost afraid to move. We very soon 

 had proof of the extraordinary powers of mimicry pos- 

 sessed by the Lyre Bird as our particular specimen seemed 

 determined that our first experience of his kind should not 

 disappoint us. The screech of the Cockatoo, the call of the 

 Whistler, the Magpie, the Butcher Bird and the Rosella, 

 even the bark of a dog, were reproduced to such a degree of 

 perfection that we were unable to \find fault. These 

 imitations were interspersed with a shrill short whistling 

 note which we have found to be the natural call of the bird. 

 There were also short spaces of silence, the import of which 

 we knew not at any time. 



After we had heard for a little time this wonder of the 

 bush, our ambitions demanded sight of it also. With 

 great care, mainly unnecessary, we made our way along a 

 path to a fallen tree, and from this point of vantage we were 

 able to discern the famous tail of the male bird as its owner 

 danced — or rather marched — on a small mound amongst the 

 bracken. The remainder of the bird and his companion, 

 if she happened to be present, were hidden from view. 

 After we had watched the movements of the quivering tail 

 for five minutes or so, the concert ended. The tail, held 

 low, became passive, and then followed its owner silently 

 through the ferns. 



We subsequently observed the Lyre Bird at close quar- 

 ters many times in and around the Ferntree Gully district. 

 We also witnessed more closely the efforts of a male to 

 impress a seemingly hard-hearted female with the fervour 

 of his attentions. In the reserve which includes the well- 

 known fern gully at Ferntree Gully, at least one pair of 

 these noble birds have their headquarters — or, rather, they 

 had until a certain "bird-lover" shot one or both birds "for 

 scientific purposes." One morning early, while the mist 

 still hung on the hills, we heard the male bird imitating the 

 call of the Kookaburra from a direction in which we knew 

 that a fresh mound lay. This dancing mound was a 

 rounded eminence in the centre of a straggling patch of 

 bracken, and we were able to discern the shadowy form of 



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