No. in 
A.J. 
Data Campbell’s No. of 
No. Book. Eggs. 
THE JACKSONIAN OOLOGICAL COLLECTION. 
The ordinary cry of the Lyre Bird (J/. superba) is a whistling ‘ che-ock che-ock,” though to set 
down on paper anything that correctly represents it is practically impossible. Those who know will 
recognise the description ; but this cry is frequently followed by a burst of mimicry, in which the notes 
of all surrounding birds follow with bewildering rapidity and exactness. I often sat and patiently 
listened to it giving one of its concerts, and was greatly surprised with the accurate reproductions, 
especially with those of the Harmonious Thrush and Coach-whip Bird, the clear ringing notes of which 
were simply perfection. Here again the knowing bushman will at once understand that there is not, 
as might appear, a full rehearsal by forest songsters specially arranged for his benefit, but that the sound 
proceeds from a feathered humourist, who, either from sheer love of varied notes, or to deceive his 
natural enemy, is giving proof of his wonderful powers. I found that this mimicry is not alone confined 
to the calls of birds, but any other local sound or noise will serve as something to imitate. The distant 
thud of a woodman’s axe, the rattle of hobble chains, the clink of the saddle-carried pannikin, the 
howling of the dingo, and even the painful screeching of the sharpening or filing of a bushman’s cross- 
cut saw, are included in his repertoire. If a settler’s homestead is near, the Lyre Bird will also mock 
to perfection the crying of a child, the crowing of the cocks, the cackling of the hens, the barking of 
the dogs, and various other domestic sounds ; anything, in fact, of the nature of a bush sound, will be 
picked up and repeated with wonderful exactness. At Port Hacking, south of Sydney, I have heard 
it very accurately imitate the peculiar squeaking sound produced by the rowlock of a rowing boat, 
which the bird frequently has the opportunity of hearing, as boats pass up and down the many 
small branches of that sheet of water. When camped at the Don Dorrigo scrubs, in October 1898, 
and at Booyong, in the Richmond River scrubs in 1899, we frequently heard these birds. Every 
morning, with the first peep of the dawn, the reveille was sounded by one of them in the dense scrub 
near the camp, which was thick with undergrowth and yines, whilst underfoot the fallen leaves made a 
soft carpet, over which it should have been easy to stalk our game noiselessly. And yet at times we 
scarcely got sight of even a tail feather, but always that delusive call, now ahead, now to the right, and 
now apparently behind again, until one could only conclude that the bird was thoroughly enjoying a 
game of hide and seek. His traces were always plentiful ; the leaves and sticks being raked over for food 
till the ground looked like a barnyard at feeding time ; doubtless, many a luckless snail had been hooked 
out of his moist hiding place to furnish a tit-bit for the handsome pair that wandered and wooed in the 
lovely spot. As is the case with the handsome Dragoon Bird (/t/a) of our northern scrubs, the snail- 
stone is, by the way, another Lyre Bird trace ; in the midst of his vocal efforts the bird will pause to 
“wet his whistle,” and the listener may then often hear asharp tapping or chipping ; this is the Menura 
smashing a snail shell on the domestic altar, and a little search will frequently reveal the snail-stone, 
with the shell debris of past feasts scattered around it. The bird is a ground feeder ; worms, grubs, 
centipedes, beetles, and larvz furnishing his daily menu; hence, during the year of 1903, towards 
the end of a protracted drought, his tribe was found in larger numbers than usual in the few gullies 
retaining moisture in the impervious shade; the demands of hunger will, in fact, overcome his non- 
gregarious habit. 
Mimicry and yentriloquism are not, however, his sole accomplishments ; he is a bird of parts, and 
has his particular play-ground, where he will tread a solitary minuet with the daintiest of airs and paces. 
This is a thing seldom witnessed, for the AZexura will only disport himself thus when absolutely undis- 
turbed. Still, his playground, like that of the Bower Bird, is by no means uncommon, though, as 
indicated, the observer will seldom be lucky enough to sneak on the bird without that fatal sound 
which will at once bring the solitary performance toa close ; and it is nearly always solitary, though 
sometimes the mate shares in its fantastic coquetry. A single stick, ora little pile of twigs, or a few 
bright leaves set in the middle of a clear hollowed-out patch, provides a sort of dummy v#s-a-vis, and 
here he will prance, bow, and set to corners with a graceful abandon, betraying intense and self- 
complacent enjoyment, all the time keeping up his wonderful mimicry. This queer habit of the 
solitary dance must have a cause, though as yet no explanation of it has been adduced. It was only 
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