little known species. My only encouragement was in the fact that my friend Mr. J. T. Tunney had seen a specimen about 50 miles to the north-west of Lake Way some twelve years ago. His further information that it was the only one he saw during his travels on the Murchison was not too cheering, but I resolved to leave no stone unturned in my endeavours to get the nest and eggs. One result of Mr. Sid. W. Jackson's successful trip to tropical Queensland after the eggs of the Tooth-billed Bower-Bird was to make the nest and eggs of the present species the only remaining blank in the series of BowerBirds' eggs in Mr. H. L. White's great collection. To fill this blank was a great incentive in itself.
Inquiries (accompanied by sketches of the play-ground) of local sportsmen resulted in nothing but discouragement. No one had seen such structures or had encountered such a bird. One of the more intelligent blackfellows, however, to whom I showed a sketch of a play-ground, looked thoughtfully at it for a time, and then laconically uttered the words "Milly Pool." The latter locality had been described to me as "a creek in the hills." This was very misleading, and in driving out we actually passed by the pool, under the impression it was just a casual sheet of water due to the exceptional rains. However, it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, for by over-shooting the mark I was led to other things. In a tract of York gums near a shallow clay-pan I thought I saw an unfamiliar-looking Ptilotis, and I resolved to return to the spot and investigate further. Fortunately we overtook some stockmen, who told us we had passed by Milly Pool, and from their description we recognized in the clay-coloured sheet of water on the fiat some seven miles behind us our real destination. There was nothing for it but to return. On arrival, after unloading my gear, I soon had my tent up, under two small, shady casuarinas, and next day was hard at work. I turned south. A mile from my tent, and a quarter of a mile from the extremity of the lower sheet of water, was a dense thicket of acacias. The latter were growing on the verge of open country, grassed for the most part, but with patches of salt-bush and lines of small flooded gums. Still further south thick scrub of vigorous growth occurred, chiefly of the mulga family, but with occasional gums and some exceptionally fine casuarinas and beef-wood trees, with a host of smaller bushes whose names I am unacquainted with. Half a mile to the west was the foot of a gently rising elevation, whose summit perhaps may have been 200 feet above the surrounding plain. As I walked alongside the acacia thicket admiring the vivacity of the numerous Carter Honey-eaters I caught sight of a thick-set bird perched in a large hakea bush. It was craning its neck, and appeared to be very curious as to my presence. I approached cautiously until I was within 6 feet of the bird, which, except for moving its head from side to side to get a better view of me, did not change its position. It occasionally gave vent to a harsh, disagreeable sound, like a very old man clearing his throat. I could only see its lower parts distinctly, so I imitated as well as I could the sounds it was making. This had the desired effect. It hopped lower down, and I could clearly see the spotted upper parts and silvery feathers of the head. There was no lilac visible on the nape, and the plumage had a thin, immature look about it. Also the angle of the gape was yellow. I had no gun with me, and was very uncertain what to do. There was not a sign of another bird like it to be seen. After watching it, and studying the plumage very
