on the lyre bird.



217



go, all I should see would be a streak of brown amidst the green of

the leaves or the dark shadows of the bushes.


By dragging myself along on my stomach, I managed to get

within the shelter of the bramble bush, about five or six yards away

from where the cock bird was performing. The hens were either

perched low down or standing in the shadows of the mass of tall

bushes that surrounded the open space, watching the performances

of the male bird ; whether more than one male bird took part I could

not ascertain. The proceedings were much as follows. I have no

notes taken at the time and I may not now remember all the birds

that were imitated on that particular occasion, but the following

w T ere some of them.


After a few moments of dead silence I heard the whistling

notes of the harmonious song thrush, both the run of four notes, so

familiar to all who visit the Australian bush, and which has given

the bird the local name of “ Boh Bob Whitehead,” and in addition

were some of the other whistling notes of the same bird. After

repeating these notes a few times there was a dead silence, when

from the ‘ seat ’ burst forth the hearty laugh of the laughing jackass,

followed again by a rather lengthy pause, the cock bird listening

and the hen birds bestowing on him their admiring gaze and humbly

awaiting the warning of the cock bird, before presuming to attempt

to escape from any threatened danger. On being satisfied that no

lurking danger was to be feared, the cock bird burst forth in the

wailing cry as “of some lost spirit,” which is the note of the great

black funeral cockatoo, followed as before with a dead silence. And

then a strange rustling sound and a noise of scratching came from

the other side of the sheltering bush. Had I been able to see as

well as I could hear, this is what would have met my gaze. The

lyre bird spread his magnificent tail, then shook and rustled it,

which caused the sound I was listening to, all accompanied with

scratching and various antics. This was followed by the sweet,

full notes (which always remind me of the notes of the nightingale)

of the yellow-breasted thickhead. Several other of the bush birds

were imitated, and amongst them was the shrill squeak of the grey

crow shrike, and I think the wattle bird was another, though I

cannot now recall them all; interspersed between all this mimicry



