a very promising spot, as the broken and tangled mass of branches and débris on the ground at the head of the tree would form a safe and natural retreat for the Atrichornis. I worked all the eastern patch first, which was much more extensive than that on the western side of the log, and I began to lose hope regarding success in this patch; so at 10.30 a.m. I visited the growth on the western side of the log, and in the centre of the third tuft I examined—which was rather close to the log and much spread out and open—I found a rounded mass of dead and thoroughly bleached grass (Carex). This was really a dome-shaped nest, and the material from which it was constructed was so old-looking and thoroughly weather-worn that it had the appearance of having been built a few seasons ago. At first glance I thought it might belong to some small scrub marsupial or rodent, so I knelt down, and, on examining it closely, found it had a neat, round opening on the north-west side, and that the nest resembled that of an Atrichornis. In order to view the interior of the structure through the small round opening, I had to bend the tuft of grass back a little, and was thus enabled to look in, finding, to my delight, that it was undoubtedly the nest of Atrichornis rufescens, and contained two eggs, typical of those I took 12 years ago. The nest was situated down the slope, 65 yards westward from the western side of the large heap of débris wherein I had first seen and heard the male Atrichornis on Friday, 7th October. It did not stand quite upright in the grass, and had a slight inclination to lean westward. Possibly a scrub wallaby or other animal may have walked over the tussock, thus causing it to be opened out so much and the nest moved from the perpendicular.
The nest was constructed of dead grass (Carex longifolia) and leaves, and lined inside with the same hard, cardboard-like material or dried wood-pulp as before, and the eggs rested in this rounded and hardened receptacle, devoid of any other lining. On close examination of this hard and remarkable lining, one finds that it is dried pulp of soft and decayed wood and grass that the bird had probably worked up and put together while in a wet state. To remove the eggs I took the lid off a small round matchbox and fastened it to the end of a large straightened safety-pin, which acted admirably as a sort of ladle. They were heavily zoned at one end with reddish-brown markings, and were typical, but appeared somewhat incubated—probably about seven days. The pair of eggs measure in inches—(a) 0.87 x 0.69, (b) 0.87 X 0.70.
My next most important endeavour was to capture the female, so I returned to camp and got the lantern and butterfly net. After a long, hot walk I arrived back at the scrub. I cut a strong stick, about 10 feet long, and securely tied the green butterfly net to it. I put both eggs back into the nest, and got under cover to watch developments. It was now 12.30 p.m., and at 1.15 I heard a gentle rustling in the grass and dead leaves on the ground along the western side of the thick log of pine, near
