THE WOMBAT. 



barrels, or not being such a' gun or fowling-piece as is 

 habitually raised at arm's length and fired without other 

 support from the shoulder." The importation of these guns is 

 also prohibited. Proclamations may be made of close 

 seasons for any native game in any locality, but aboriginals 

 are not to be punishable for contraventions of the law with 

 regard to such game. — Argus. 



In connection with the above, we would like to point out 

 that the indiscriminate slaughter which takes place by 

 so-called " sportsmen," especially when the open season has 

 just begun, is not a whit better than that caused by the 

 swivel guns. We not infrequently hear of a party of half a 

 dozen men shooting several hundred ducks in a day, often in 

 weather when the birds will not keep till the end of the day, 

 and going about afterwards bragging of it as if they had done 

 something of great note. We are fond of a little shooting 

 ourselves, but not such " sport ! " 



Reports are appearing in all the papers lately of the 

 immense damage done to farmers and fruit growers by the 

 birds which, they say, are in unusual numbers this season, 

 and every possible means seem to be being taken to destroy 

 them. Perhaps they are in large numbers on the farms, but 

 a day's journey through the bush in the northern parts of the 

 colony will disclose a different state of affairs. Hardly a 

 bird is to be heard for miles in many places. The late dry 

 season has apparently cut off their supply of insect food, so 

 that they have naturally resorted to the cultivated parts. If 

 those short-sighted agriculturists have any measure of success 

 in their efforts to thin out the birds, they will indeed be 

 preparing a rod for their own backs, as they will assuredly 

 discover when next season's crop of insects comes round. 

 Can they have already forgotten what grasshoppers, for 

 instance, are capable of ? 



" The summer came, and all the birds were dead ; 



The days were like hot coals ; the very ground 

 Was burnt to ashes ; in the orchards fed 



Myriads of caterpillars, and around 

 The cultivated fields and garden beds 



Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found 

 No foe to check their march, till they had made 



The land a deserc without leaf or shade. 



Then they repealed the law, although they knew 



It would not call the dead to life again ; 

 As schoolboys, finding their mistake too late, 



Draw the wet sponge across the accusing slate." 



Longfellow. 



