80



Mr. G. A. HEUMANN,



for its shapely little frame. For an outside covering she had brought

along tiny bits of hardened white moss, such as one finds on old

trees. To an unobservant eye the nest was absolutely safe. While

this little hen was busily working, her mate in his gorgeous attire of

scarlet breast and red cap was enjoying himself in the sunshine

catching insects. I could not help thinking how alike Nature is in

man or beast; in many countries even now the women do the hardest

share of the work, the British race being pretty well the only one

where women enjoy the liberty and respect due to them. Perhaps

even amongst the bird-world some day a suffragette movement may be

inaugurated, and then there is no telling what will happen to the

cock birds. The yellow robin (popularly known as “ yellow Bob ”)

was already setting ; they are birds I always liked well, silver grey

head and back and bright yellow front. They are very cheeky

little birds, coming to the garden and are not afraid to catch up a

mealworm thrown to them.


Transgressing a little, I must tell you that whilst I am writing

now, a melodious grey thrush is sitting on the railings just outside

my verandah whistling gloriously. This pair is always round my

house, though they are plentiful everywhere, and I noticed them

carrying sticks into one of the turpentine shrubs at the back. Of

all the singers in the Australian bush they and the butcher birds,

the worry of my life, are decidedly the finest and inost pleasant to

listen to. However, to return to our excursion. It is strange how

one learns to look for and to find birds’ nests ; anyone interested in

Nature seems to possess the gift to put one’s hand on them as it were.


Leaving this bird sanctuary we travelled five or six miles back

towards Sydney to a flat part of the country where all bird-life seems

to have vanished. I remember this pla.ce to be an ideal one for hare

shooting, one could always make sure of half-a-dozen in a morning.

That day we never saw one. The unfortunate drought which has

passed over this lovely land last year has left its awful evidence,

even in so close a proximity to Sydney. Every few yards one would

come across the bones or the carcass of a sheep. They looked as

having died but a day ago, the fleece being held up by the ribs

which still remained in their natural position. It seems strange

that not even the skins were collected for they were heavy with



