252 Campbell, Reminiscences of a Field Collector. fisfA^rii 



knees drawn up before him— a scarecrow sufficient to frighten 

 the meekest of horses. Returning from Ferntree Gully with a 

 Lyre-Bird's nest sewed in some sacking — which, by the way, 

 together with a pair of birds, I donated to the Royal Scottish 

 Museum, Edinburgh — we had just crossed Dandenong Creek, and, 

 turning a sharp curve, the pair of horses suddenly caught sight 

 of the recumbent figure. However, we did not break a buckle. 

 The other occasion was in Riverina. This time the team con- 

 sisted of four-in-hand. Being on the box seat, I noticed the 

 figure of a man ahead upon the ground (I thought the driver saw 

 it too, but he e\'idently did not). I immediately thought of the 

 Dandenong Creek episode, and called to those inside to " look out 

 for some fun." No sooner had I uttered the words than the 

 team left the track and tore through the timber, a great bushy 

 tree nearly sweeping the driver off his seat. However, courage 

 and good horsemanship steadied the team before any damage 

 was done. It was a very narrow escape, and we were miles from 

 anywhere. But you should have heard the poetry heaped upon 

 the head of the unfortunate " sundowner." I never before knew 

 that a coach-driver's vocabulary was so inexhaustible. 



Incidentally, through collecting trips T have enjoyed some 

 sport fishing — seine fishing by the sea (notably on island excursions), 

 and hooking, with rod and line, cod and plump perch out of the 

 broad-bosomed Murray. And members who went with the 

 R.A.O.U. to Kangaroo Island will remember the creeks there 

 alive with bream, which were sometimes hooked two at one cast 

 of the line. But I never took to shooting birds for sport. 

 " Virtue has its own reward." On that strip, once sand and 

 scrub, between St. Kilda and Sandridge (Vic), which is now a 

 forest of houses, known as the Beaconsfield-parade, I used to 

 kill snakes and pick up Dottrels' eggs in doublets. There were 

 swamps contiguous, teeming with wild fowl. At a wheeling 

 feathered flock one day a man fired. Out of the destruction two 

 Wood-Ducks fell near me. As the man was not legally entitled 

 to them, I bagged both birds and bolted home. 



Numerous Ducks used to fly overhead in small flocks up and 

 down the River Yarra. At evening they usually flew up stream, 

 offering tempting shots for long-ranged guns. One evening, 

 when "mooning" near Como Swamp, Toorak. I heard a distant 

 shot round the bend, and some considerable time afterwards a 

 fine, fat Black Duck fell at my feet, stone dead. There being 

 nobody about. I quietly picked up the bird and took it 

 home. 



Once I was in a slight railway accident. The carriage in which 

 we were travelling left the rails, and bumped considerably when 

 off the right track — indeed, nearly capsized before the train was 

 pulled up. What concerned me most was a bright and beautiful 

 clutch of Kestrel's eggs which I had, unblown, in a "billy" 

 beneath the seat. I took the eggs that day from a crevice of a 

 chff overhanging the Werribee River. 



