BAGGING A PRIZE 121 



of course I did not get him. The very fates seemed 

 to be against us, for every time I had seen a male bird 

 "fair and square," there was some hitch about the 

 rest of the programme, and when I did get a good shot, 

 it was always a female. 



We began to feel discouraged, but concluded to try 

 just once more. So, going a long way down, I seated 

 myself in good position on the hillside, where I could 

 command a view of the fern below and the bank 

 beyond. "Now," I said to myself, " let one come, and 

 if I do not shoot him, I will pitch the gun into the 

 brook and start for Melbourne." 



I had not waited long, when bang went Shelley's 

 gun, the shot dropping all about me, but " nary " a 

 bird came my way. I began to think I was sold again, 

 when, just as I was getting up to go, I saw a bird run 

 out of the scrub and make for the fern on my left. 

 Taking deliberate aim, I fired. The smoke came back 

 into my face, so that I could not see the effect of my 

 shot. I ran down the bank, jumped the brook, and 

 there on his back lay a fine male lyre-bird, in the 

 best of plumage. His tail was more than a yard long, 

 and beautifully banded with dark brown, rusty red, 

 and white. I felt happy enough as I started up the 

 bank, carrying my prize, his beautiful tail half spread, 

 and nearly touching the ground. Shelley had shot a 

 female lyre-bird, and fired at a large wombat, which 

 was asleep in its hole, with its head half out. The 



