out in front, and screeching. As it grew older it sometimes pecked at my hand when thrust into the nest and always screeched. This, however, was never long sustained, except on movement of the hand, and it remained quite still if the hand were still.

I watched it carefully till it was nearly fledged, but one day I heard the distress signal several times in rapid succession. On reaching the place I found the poor creature dead in the nest. It had suffered no apparent injury, there were no signs of damage to the nest or of any struggle, and the only conclusion I could come to was that it had been bitten by a tiger snake (Hoplocephalus curtus). The nest was in the side of the gully, about 5 feet from the bottom, and easily accessible to animals and reptiles. The snake had, I think, put its head into the nest, been pecked by the bird, and after at once biting it had withdrawn and disappeared. I made careful search to confirm this view, but could not, as the place afforded no chance of seeing a snake track of any kind. Had a fox killed it, the bird would undoubtedly have been dragged out of the nest. The snake, as every bushman knows, is of a very enterprising nature and particularly partial to exploring nests of birds, whether on the ground or in trees and scrub. I have nearly tramped on one crawling along a scrub-suspended fallen tree, at a height of 10 feet from the ground, the snake being there probably with the dual view of getting direct sunlight and young birds, and I for less laborious and quicker progress than was practicable in the tangled vegetation on the ground.

In the case of another nest near I found there was no sign of any old bird until the young one screeched on being touched. Then, like a flash, the female bird was on the spot, uttering notes somewhat similar to those of a "clucking hen." On seeing me she flew first into a tree fern, watching intently meanwhile, then onto the ground and scratched away, gradually working up almost to within kicking distance. All this time she quietly imitated three or four notes of the magpie and those of a few other birds. When any movement was made she jumped or ran away a few yards and resumed her quest for grubs. When the young one screeched rapidly several times in succession the mother, after giving her answering call, "koo-wuk', koowuk'," made a noise like a woman in hysteria. She calmed down when the young one stopped its noise, and with a grating, purring noise floated down to the ground and resumed scratching.

The young one when found on August 11, 1900, was probably about two days old. It had down on the crown and upper back, the rest of it being bare, showing the whole of the skin to be of a bluish-drab color. The abdomen was an abnormal size and the vent large, characteristics of all the young found. On September 11, on my approaching the nest, the young one jumped out, but was caught, when it screeched and struggled violently, using its feet vigorously. It

was most unwilling to enter the nest and acted like the other one when placed therein. On September 16 I again visited the nest with a view to photographing it, but, as feared, found it empty.

Another young one nearly full grown sat up silently in the nest when found, but when touched it struggled and screeched, using its claws freely. In this case the female bird came rushing up at once, but on seeing me darted back into the scrub and ran round the nest, making meanwhile her "koo-wuk', koo-wuk'," and in addition the "elungk, clungk," or "buln, buln," that lyre birds make when undisturbed in the scrub. This nest was within half a mile of Jumbunna township, in an easily penetrable patch of scrub, which probably accounted for the timidity of the parent bird.

For the descriptions of nest, egg, etc., reference should be made to Mr. A. J. Campbell's and Mr. Robert Hall's descriptions in their publications. Nevertheless, I shall give a few further personal observations. Nests have been found in various places. The one most favored by the bird in South Gippsland is the side of a deep channel cr creek under a slightly overhanging bank, with ferns and leaves about (see plate v). Another favorite one is among the roots of a large fallen tree several feet from the ground with vegetation growing out of the contained earth. In the Baw Baw and Walhalla districts Mr. J. Easton tells me that a large proportion of the nests. occurs in tall stumps of trees. All the nests are placed so that the bird can have a clear space through which to fly or float out of sight on the approach of danger.

It has been stated that once a lyre bird's egg has been touched by human hands the bird deserts the nest. However true this may be in individual cases, it by no means is general. On August 26, 1900, I found a nest in South Gippsland and handled the egg. Between this date and September 13 I handled the egg on six different occasions. On the last visit the egg was quite cold, and the nest appeared to have been deserted, but on again visiting it on the 15th a young one, apparently just hatched, was in it. The young bird was partially covered with down, as in the cases of those already mentioned. On September 23, 1900, the feathers were just showing through the skin on the top of the wings and the upper back. Further observations on this I had no opportunity to make, on account of leaving the locality. During this survey several abandoned nests, each with one egg, were found. In these cases I do not think that the nests had been voluntarily abandoned, but that the birds had been killed. All the young birds mentioned in this article were sent to the National Museum, Melbourne, where they can be seen in the scenic case of the lyre birds.

a A. J. Campbell, Nests and Eggs of Australian Birds, pp. 510-523; Robert Hall, The Insectivorous Birds of Victoria, pp. 171–176.

DANCING GROUNDS.

These dancing grounds are open spaces, generally about 3 feet in diameter, situated preferably in a rather clear place in a patch of dense scrub. In some cases they are raised several inches above the general level of the surrounding ground, while in others there is little or no difference in level. The surface, which is flat, appears to have been scratched up by the birds, and the sticks, roots, and pieces of grass or creepers thrown to one side. Numerous examples have been noted in various parts of eastern Victoria, but in no case have I seen any evidence of a beating down of the surface. They all had a more or less freshly scratched appearance. On only one occasion have I been fortunate enough to see the birds dancing. This was on the top of Mount Wild Boar, about 8 o'clock on a foggy morning (March 19, 1896). When walking quietly alone along a track I suddenly heard and immediately saw two male birds performing on one of these grounds. They were alternately advancing and receding, turning, bowing, whirling, hopping, and running about round the ground. While doing this they raised and lowered their tails repeatedly. Sometimes they put their heads through their raised tails, and, turning them, seemed to be admiring the lyre designs thereon. At the same time they were, in rather subdued tones, whistling beautifully and mimicking all the forest birds. One female bird walked quietly round the dance, making a few short, hen-like notes, and pretended to pick up a grub here and there and to be unconcerned about the dance. She, however, cast occasional glances at the male birds, and was doubtless making her choice of a mate. I was in a hurry to search for a missing horse, and could not watch them for more than a few minutes, so quietly went past and left them undisturbed.

MIMICRY.

The lyre bird is an extraordinarily good mimic. No sound is too difficult for it to reproduce, and the imitation, in the case of all sweetly musical notes, is an exact reproduction of the originals, while of those of a harsh nature it is a highly refined imitation. Its rendering of the rich liquid notes of the gray magpie (Strepera cuneicaudata), the butcher bird (Cracticus destructor), the gray thrush (Collyriocincla harmonica), and the magpie (Gymnorhina leuconota and G. tibicen) is superb; similarly with the chirp and twitter of the small scrub wrens and tits. In the case of the laughing jackass (Dacelo gigas) the harsh, grating, laughter-like effort of this quaint bird is rendered in a manner so refined as to afford a pleasing contrast with the original. The swish of the coach-driver's whip, the sound of the saw and ax, which I have heard on the Blacks Spur and near Marysville, are perfect deceptions, and the rapidity with which the notes of various