Reminiscences of a Field Collector.



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land-owner, somewhere in the locality of what is now known as

Murrumbeena (Vie.) It is true the landlord warned us off his

grounds, but we had found a bronze-winged pigeon’s nest in a knot

of mistletoe, with the bird sitting, and we were loth to leave.

Presently we espied the owner sneaking down upon us along an

acacia hedge. One of us shouted, “ Look out, lie’s got a gun,” and

away we sped. There was a “ bang,” and buckshot scattered about

us. We have not been in that paddock since. Another shooting

incident was connected with a bullock. In an open paddock near

Oakleigh (Vic.) we were charged by a wild Gippsland bullock. The

beast would have certainly horned us had not one shot it in the

face, and temporarily stayed its progress. We were sorry, but there

was no other means of escape.


On two occasions horses bolted with the coach I was on,

each time from the same cause -^-namely, a thoughtless tramp

basking in the sun alongside of the road—his head on his swag and

his 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 consisted 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 evidently

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

the 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

poeti’y heaped upon the head of the unfortunate “ sundowner.” I

never knew that a coach-driver’s vocabulary was so inexhaustible.


Incidently, through collecting trips I have enjoyed some

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



