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 carefully, I felt convinced it was immature. I resolved to go back to the camp for my gun. I returned in half an hour's time, only to find the bird gone. I searched carefully around, and after a time spied it perched on a dead eucalypt, from which it dived down into the acacia scrub. I could see it still, and fired, knocking it over. It was a veritable Bower-Bird, but unmistakably in thin, immature plumage. I was packing it up when I heard a rustling, accompanied by a harsh note, in the acacias overhead. There, within a few feet of me, was a similar bird! I replied to the note, and to my great astonishment a third bird put in its appearance. The last arrival looked older. Its plumage was deeper in tone and had a distinct gloss. It presently hopped further into the scrub, and I crawled after it until I came to a sort of play-ground. There was no inverted arch, but a large number of small sticks had been carried to a clear space, with a feather or two and a few sandal-wood nuts. My bird had disappeared, but I called to it, and immediately got a reply. I repeated the sound, and the bird presently returned and hopped down to the play-ground. I continued to call, and to my great surprise got replies, accompanied by rustlings, from other parts of the thicket. The sounds got nearer, and presently I found myself the central object of interest to no less than seven Yellow-spotted Bower-Birds. This was very exciting, and I found it rather difficult to sit still. I was crouched down in the midst of the acacias, and, with the exception of one bird, all were in the branches overhead. The performance then commenced. The bird on the ground was presently joined by two others, which perched on very low branches near at hand. He then puffed out his feathers, showing the beautiful pink (not lilac) tract of plumage on his neck to great advantage. With various harsh cries he advanced into the centre of the cleared space and made a vigorous attack on some long, red-looking object. He advanced and backed, hopped from side to side, pecked vigorously, jumped into the air, and with much apparent ferocity made rushes at one of his immediate audience. I took this to be his mate. Now and again she uttered a short, harsh cry, but otherwise seemed to regard the demostrations made by the male as very matter-of-fact and hardly worthy of notice. I watched the performance at close quarters for over an hour, the remaining birds in the meantime studying me. They squatted rather than perched on the branches, the tarsus being quite invisible. Occasionally one or other uttered a harsh cry, or dodged a buffet from a passing Carter Honey-eater, otherwise their attitude was one of strained curiosity—their necks craned in my direction and their eyes staring.

The matinee being over, the male, followed by his mate, hopped up to the top of the acacias and flew off. I scrambled out and followed as best I could, but soon lost sight of both in the thick scrub. Occasionally I could hear their harsh notes, but gradually I lost sound of them too. So I turned back to camp. I had found my birds. The problem to be solved was—When and where would they breed?

I skinned and dissected the bird I had shot. It was a young female, the ovules being extremely small. I was not encouraged when I reflected she might easily have been one of a brood hatched during the summer rains.

In a year like 1909, when these rains had been so unusually copious, the breeding of many species of birds gets out of its ordinary routine, making the solution of such a problem as I had before me all the more uncertain. Taking a line from Mr. Sid. W. Jackson's experiences in