38 IN AUSTRALIAN WILDS 



to a fern bower. On the deep mould of unnumbered 

 centuries our feet fell softly, without sound. The 

 light was dim, and one felt that noise was foreign here, 

 that the place was sacred to silence. This fancy 

 soon passed away; for we were at the home of the 

 Lyre-Bird, and eyes and ears became alert. The 

 nest, a bulky structure, was built between the trunks 

 of two lofty Tree-ferns, about ten feet from the 

 ground. Green fronds, and several dead ones, were 

 drooped around the "doorway." I clambered up, and 

 put a hand into the nest. Immediately a shrill pro- 

 test sounded. There was a downy chick inside, with 

 a feeble body but powerful voice, and its penetrating 

 alarm notes brought the mother bird on the scene. 

 She leaped lightly to a bough of an adjacent tree, and 

 ran up and down it, uttering notes that suggested 

 both anger and solicitude. I returned to earth; the 

 Lyre-Bird remained on the limb for a minute, and 

 then flew to her nest. We retired a few yards, to 

 watch. The bird appeared to be satisfied that her 

 offspring was not in peril, and, leaving the nest, she 

 foraged in the vicinity till we became tired of in- 

 action. 



"She is tame enough," remarked our leader, and 

 he proved his words by approaching the bird and 

 touching her with a short stick. But as soon as her 

 nursery was approached she became restive. On 

 the bough, evidently a favourite perch, she stood, 

 watchful. The camera was used, but the light was 

 not sufficiently strong to give good results with quick 

 exposures. The photographer was only nine feet 

 away, and his subject, save for little movements, was 

 wonderfully obliging. It was lack of light alone 

 that caused failure. We boiled the billy and lunched 

 near the nest, and all the time the female Lyre-Bird 

 was visible; sometimes, apparently unconcerned, she 

 came so close that the firelight gleamed on her 

 plumage. 



