THE VICTORIAN NATURALIST. 77 



A DA.Y UP THE RUBICON RIVER. 



By F. L. Billinghurst. 



(Bead be/ore the Field Naturalists^ Club of Victoria, llfh August, 1902.) 



To most minds the name of the Rubicon River is associated with 

 a crossing ; but when, where, or how probably few know or care. 

 They merely know that to "cross the Rubicon" means to enter 

 on some enterprise from which there is no turning back, as did 

 the ancient Csesar when he crossed the original river of that 

 name, which divided Italy from Cisalpine Gaul. I am not aware 

 what kind of a river that was, or is, but we in Alexandra associate 

 the name with a lovely little swift-flowing mountain stream, 

 emptying itself into the Goulburn not many miles from the town, 

 a favourite place for picnics, where on a warm summer's day one 

 can lie in the shade of the tree ferns, or the lightwood trees, 

 listening to the babbling of the cool water, and watching, it may 

 be, a fine fat trout under the banks — for there are trout in the 

 stream, and good ones, too. A river to delight the heart of the 

 naturaUst, where the beautiful white and green Papilio 

 macleayanus may be seen by the dozen, with lalmenus, 

 Upitiephile aheona, and numerous other Lepidoptera of various 

 families and genera ; where big brown Cetonia beetles buzz past 

 in a terrible hurry, and huge Dragon-flies unknown to science float 

 in the air, or dart rapidly hither and thither after the gnats and 

 other small fry which form their daily bread ; a river where you 

 can fill your collecting box or bottle, as the case may be, without 

 undue exertion, and then have time to revel in the ferns and the 

 cold water — cold on the hottest summer's day — and go home with 

 a sensation that you have lived for one day at least. 



Feeling rather cobwebby last week, I thought a tramp up 

 the Rubicon, with or without the proverbial crossing, would 

 do me good, so got on my horse one morning, and a smart ride 

 of ten miles or so brought me well up the river, where, leaving my 

 nag at a friendly farm, I proceeded to enjoy the beauties of 

 nature as only a naturalist can. Being the month of May, insect 

 life was conspicuous by its absence, so I did not trouble myself 

 about it. But the birds! — there are always birds about — therefore I 

 looked at the birds, and admired them, and took particular note 

 of the various kinds I saw, and jotted them down in my memory, 

 and then I thought it might interest some of the bird-loving 

 members of the Field Naturalists' Club to know what sort of birds 

 may be seen up the Rubicon River on a sunny day in May, 

 hence all this prologue and its suite. 



My friend the farmer knows my proclivities, and informed me 

 before I left him that there was "a powerful lot of Satin-birds 

 about lately." This is the local name for the Satin Bower-bird, 

 Ftilonorhynchus violaceus, and I had not gone far before I struck 



