Birds of N.S. Wales I have caught and kept. 237


much a curiosity as even the once plentiful native bear. With the

Scrublands they too have gone, for little of the original virgin

forest is left standing, and up to the present day acre after acre is

ruthlessly and needlessly cut down, and valuable timber burned up

even to mountain heights which no cow will climb to look for food.

These sun-baked and barren ridges are now forming a melancholy

back-ground for the more fertile fields at their foot. I mention this

to show that it will not be long before the Australian Scrublands are

a thing of the past, and with them will go the many birds which

once enlivened those dense forests. Going—as the black fellows

and the native bears have gone. Every lover of nature must there¬

fore be grateful to the old gentleman mentioned for setting aside a

small tract of maiden scrub where no shooting is allowed, and where

the native birds of this locality find a refuge and an asylum. As

may be imagined, this sanctuary is thickly populated with Scrub-

birds. Situated on the banks of an arm of the Tweed river, it

commands an ideal position. Stepping out on the lawn from the

bungalow opposite early in the morning, the heart of the bird lover

is gladdened by the calls and songs of the hundred and one birds in

the opposite Scrub. The Coach-whips are heard on every side,

cracking, so that they almost make the air vibrate. The mournful

call of the Koel, the booming of the Wonga-Wonga Pigeon, the

croaking of the Eegent birds, the whistle of the Honey-eaters, and

the crying of the Gat birds mingle together in weird harmony.

From the plains floats across the call of the Swamp Pheasant and

the cry of the Orioles. Once in a way the peculiar whistle of the

Dragoon birds {Pitta) mixes with the rattle and milling noise of the

Satin Bower-birds, and so I might go on enumerating many more

calls and songs which greet the morning. But as the sun rises

behind the forest, and the huge trees, overgrown with creepers of all

shapes and sizes, throw their shadows in the tranquil waters of the

river, little by little the many voices cease, and soon only a solitary

crack of the Whip-birds or the croaking of the Bower-birds floats

from the thicket across the river to break the peaceful tranquility of

the winter’s hot forenoon.


It was here we decided to try our luck, and having received

kind permission from the owner as well as the authorities—for all



