THE VICTORIAN NATURALIST. 133 



of a Eucalypt tree. It is a somewhat remarkable circumstance 

 that these robins' nests are rarely, if ever, taken on the mainland, 

 but in Tasmania and the intermediate islands. 



The Fire-tailed Finches were beautiful visitors to our camping 

 site, their lovely dark-grey pencilled plumage being most strik- 

 ingly enhanced by pink beak and rump of brilliant scarlet. 



When the name Thickhead is mentioned, invariably the risibility 

 of some members of the Club appears easily provoked, but I 

 assure them if they had the skinning of some of these birds they 

 would find, when negotiating the head, they would frequently be 

 in danger of splitting the skin, from the large size of the cranium ; 

 therefore, in this respect, the birds have been aptly named Pachy- 

 cephala. Two varieties of Thickheads were obtained — the Grey- 

 tailed and the Olivaceous. Of the former, both the male and 

 female possess very sweet notes — the latter has several peculiar 

 strong notes, while the bird is hard to discover in the thick tangle 

 of undergrowth where it loves to dwell. 



Touching the sea-fowl, we enjoyed glorious experiences amongst 

 them. The first to come conspicuously under our notice were 

 the penguins. They filled the night air with weird-like calls, which 

 arose everywhere from the bold, rocky shores around. 



Our leader appointed an afternoon to visit the rookery on the 

 camp side of Murray Pass. The locality was an ascent from the 

 sea of about i in 2 lor about 300 to 400 feet. Where the rocks 

 permitted thick crops of yellow-flowering Goodmia and tussocky 

 grass flourished under sheoaks. Hereabouts we found many 

 nooks in crevices of rock or under herbage tenanted with a penguin 

 sitting upon a pair of eggs or downy young. With considerable 

 spirit and with a free use of bill and claws the birds defended their 

 offspring — (in parenthesis, it may be added, to the discomfiture of 

 one or two of the party). It was decidedly noticed how highly 

 odoriferous most of the burrows were ; some we calculated had 

 been constantly occupied since the days of Captain Cook. 



At half-past seven, the morning of the 24th November, ten of 

 us, including lighthouse-keepers, man the whaleboat. At the 

 steer oar is a typical Norseman — hardy, keen-eyed, and of bulky 

 frame — in whose skill we have implicit confidence. We pull away 

 to North-East or what is locally called Mutton Bird Island, supposed 

 to be a good rookery for various sea-birds, and which has not 

 been visited for seven years or more. Fortunately the sea is calm, 

 for we understand the landing is difficult. Approaching the island 

 we see it is about half a mile across and between 200 and 300 

 feet high — a huge, coarse granite rock, with beetling walls all 

 round. We steer for a slight indentation upon the side, which 

 seems our only chance by which to scramble to the summit. The 

 rocks are prettily decorated with grey-coloured lichens and bright 

 green pig-face weed, which, with white starry flowers, trails over in 



