HJ McCooey 1885-

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Many strange notions are entertained by "Old Bushmen" respecting our snakes, and their opinions, strange to say, are always found, as we shall presently see, to clash with those of scientific men.
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It is true that he does not adduce proof in support of his assertion; but then it must be remembered that proof, as understood by men of science, is not at all necessary from the "old bushman's" point of view. Mere assertion and reiteration are sufficient for his purposes.
The "Old Bushman" is a somewhat mysterious or mythical personage, presumedly of great antiquity, and is supposed, when delivering his inspired utterances, to distort his visage in nine different directions at once, close the left eye, elevate the index finger of the right hand, and look in expressibly wise. His "experience," which always covers a period of 40 years, in many instances dates back to the days of Captain Cook, and far beyond the days of Captain Cook, till, to use the words of Lord Macaulay, "it is lost in the twilight of fable."
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THE KANGAROO AGAIN.

July 18, 1885 - SNAKE SWALLOWING.

I also noticed in the same issue another production of Mr. M'Cooey's on the black snake, and to my thinking he is wrong. Bushmen in New South Wales, and not all old ones either, know from experience that the black snake will swallow its young for protection, that is up to a certain size. I have seen a black snake startled on a warm sunny morning, and the young ones all out, presumably warming in the sun, and she would glide along, making a hissing noise, with her head six or seven inches above the ground, and have seen between 30 and 40 young snakes from six to seven inches long dive into her mouth, and when the last one disappeared she could scarcely move, and was easily killed, together with the 35 young ones she had just swallowed.

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August 1, 1885 - NATIVE IGUANA v. LACE LIZARD.

Of the accounts that have appeared in print—and there are many—the greatest weight has been given by herpetologists to those of Beauvois (1799, p. 371) and Ball (1915, p. 343), for both were trained observers. Yet Beauvois was, at the time of his experience, recovering from a serious illness that had greatly weakened him; and Ball, like so many others, recounted observations made years before as a boy at school.
The fact that this protective scheme is nearly always attributed to species of snakes that give birth to living young, instead of to egg-layers, is both a favourable and unfavourable criterion: favourable because it could be only these snake species whose young would be found in the company of their mothers, even for a brief time; unfavourable in that only in the case of these mothers could unborn young be inaccurately assumed to have been found in the mother’s throat or stomach, although really found in the uteri.
Reese (1942, p. 57; 1949, p. 174) believes that the existence of a habit of this kind should not be denied on purely negative evidence. The obvious reply is that if the habit is a myth, negative evidence will be the only kind available.

How stories of this kind may be duly confirmed in the retelling is suggested by the following chain: Ellen Gallwey (1934, p. 99) says that adders in England probably swallow their young for protection, as had previously been supposed, since a similar practice upon the part of rattlesnakes has been demonstrated by “Dr. Rudolph Menger, the American herpetologist.” But Miss Gallwey did not have access to Menger’s original paper; she had only second- or third-hand paraphrase. Actually, Menger (1905, p.15; 1913, p.154) merely recounts the observations of a friend; he makes no claim to having seen a rattler swallow its young. Incidentally, Menger asked a dealer who had handled 40,000 snakes within the previous 5 years whether he had ever seen such an occurrence, and received a negative reply.
This brings up another point, now of importance, that weighs against the protective-swallowing theory. Today there are annually born in the United States under accurate observation in laboratories and zoos, hundreds of broods of ovoviviparous snakes for every one under such observation 50 years ago. Yet, with all this multiplicity of broods, no mother has ever been seen to swallow her young for protection. Some of the mothers had been long in captivity, others but a few days when the young arrived. With all necessary allowances for the artificial effects of captivity, they would not completely nullify adherence to so ancient a custom if the story were true. In captivity, snakes may become tame and lethargic, yet they still retain many normal patterns of activity—the male combat dance, methods of courtship, and their ways of capturing and subduing food, for examples. Certainly some mother, of all the hundreds under observation, would by now have temporarily forgotten her cage and would have opened her mouth to protect her young. But none have done so.

This question is now satisfactorily settled. The platypus lays eggs, and Mr. Caldwell, Natural History Fellow of Caius College, Cambridge, has been credited with the honor of the discovery. Mr. Caldwell, though not if responsible to any scientific body in this country was nevertheless good enough to appear before the members of the Linnean Society of Sydney, and verify his discovery. He exhibited the egg shells, made a statement, and answered all questions put to him.
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It is no exaggeration to say that this is one of the most notable and important scientific discoveries of the nineteenth century. Students of the philosophy of Darwin are quite alive to the importance of this discovery
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Mr. H. J. M'Cooey arrived in Coonamble on Monday evening with the ovum, vascals, and twenty eggs of the echidna, obtained from a specimen dissected on the Merri Merri Creek, thirty-five miles west of Coonamble. This is the first discovery made of the kind in New South Wales. Mr. M'Cooey has reported it in extense to the Museum authorities and the Royal Society of Sydney. The subsequent discoveries of Mr. M'Cooey have thrown great light on this subject, for he has since found that the eggs of the echidna are laid, and taken into the pouch, carried about with the animal, and hatched by the heat of its body. Mr. M'Cooey also reports the discovery of a new species of bird captured near Trangie.

This peculiar and graceful bird is strictly confined to Australia. The genus is found in no other part of the world, nor can it he said that any representative genus or analogue of this most remarkable bird is as yet known to science. The proper place of this genus has been warmly disputed by many celebrated ornithologists, some placing it among the Insesores near to the wrens and thrushes, others among gallinaceous birds, such as megapodes and bustards. The illustrious Cuvier referred it to the former. There are three species of the genus Menura, viz., M. superba, M. Victoriæ (Queen Victoria's lyrebird), and M. Alberti (named in honor of the late Prince Albert), but it is with the first-named species I propose to deal in this article.
     Surrounded as we are in Australia by a galaxy of peculiar and magnificent birds, it is difficult indeed to say whioh one in particular is the most beautiful and most interesting. Even the late John Gould, that illustrious and immortal ornithologist to whom we owe so much, felt puzzled; but it is a remarkable fact that this eminent author, when contemplating our bird-fauna with ecstasy, out of the 700 Australian birds then known to science considered the lyrebird, if not the most beautiful, as certainly the most remarkable of all, and chose it as the most appropriate emblem for Australia. These are the exact words of that great Australian ornithologist: "Were I requested to suggest an emblem for Australia among its avi-fauna, I should, without the slightest hesitation, select the lyrebird as the most appropriate, it being not only strictly peculiar to that country, but one which will be regarded with the highest interest, both by the people of Australia and by the ornithologists in Europe."
     The lyrebird is about the size of a slender game fowl ; its general color is dusky brown. Compared with the male, the female bird is quite ordinary and unattractive, but it is the possession of a tail singularly graceful in design and formation that lends an extra grace and beauty to the male menura. The length of the tail varies from 24in to 32in, and the number of feathers that compose it range from twelve to sixteen. The under-surface of the tail is a mixture of silvery gray and ruddy brown or bronze, and ie only seen to full advantage when the bird is strutting, and its bronzed and silvery beauties re scintillating in the rays of the sun.
     In examining this bird, the student of ornithology is at the very outset confronted with, and astonished by, a remarkable series of antitheses, not confined to the structure of the bird alone, but in its habits and nidification.
     In the face of so many striking contrasts, so many contradictions, so many pecularities essentially its own, one can easily understand why the position of this bird in the kingdom of ornithology has been so much and so warmly disputed.

In the first place, one finds that the lyrebird has a tail which the brightest and most graceful bird in creation might be proud of, and feet of which the most common farmyard fowl might well feel ashamed. Again, the wonderful compass of its voice, its range, its melody, and its adaptation, entitle this bird to rank among thrushes and nightingales; but its coarse, uncouth feet degrade it to the farmyard and to the order Gallinæ.
     An essay on the lyrebird, however complete it might be in other respects, would be imperfect without some short reference to its astonishing powers of mimicry. It is essentially a mocking bird ; there is no phonetic sound that it cannot imitate. Not contented with imitating to a nicety the note of every bird that comes within its range, and every foreign sound that man introduces to its neighborhood—such as the sound of a crosscut saw and axes, the crack of the stock-whip, and the whistles of the steam engine it goes further and delights in imitating the solemn and mysterious voice of nature. The murmur of the stream, the roar of the mountain torrent, the gentle sighs of the wind, the loud and awe inspiring crash of thunder, the soft, mysterious rustle of tree leaves and ferns, the hises and moans of the ocean waves as they lash the shore and break upon the rocks—all these and other sounds are reproduced, with a reality and distinctness that hold the listener spellbound. The nidification of the bird contrasts strangely with the coarseness of its feet and the singular gracefulness of its tail. Judging by its feet one would expect it to lay its eggs in an open nest on the ground ; by its plumage and its voice it would surprise no one to find its nest on the highest of tree-tops. The nest is formed of strong sticks, ferns, roots, and loaves, made up and covered in or dome-shaped, generally placed on the ledge of a rook, and lined with moss, feathers, or grass. Again, the menura differs from the order to which it has been referred (that is the order Gallinæ), inasmuch as the birds "mate" during the season of nest-building and incubation, and the male bird assists to build the nest though he takes no part in the prosaic mysteries of incubation. Were the male bird even inclined to take a turn at the hatching, his tail would disqualify him, for he would have to leave it out of the nest, or thrust it in and stay outside himself, as the nest would not hold him and his tail.
     The lyrebird only lays one egg annually. Muchhas been said on this subject, much has been written, but there is no evidence to show that any one of the three species of lyrebirds ever laid even two eggs during one season, not to speak of more.
     I never met with two eggs in one nest, buts on seven or eight occasions I have found nests with one egg. On a single occasion I came across an old nest outside of which there were five eggshells, but this only goes to prove

either that five birds laid in the same nest, or more probably that one or more birds had laid in the nest for some years successively. Mr. Ramsay says on this point: "The lyrebird only lays one egg for a sitting. Only once or twice in twenty years have I met with a nest with two eggs, and there was nothing to show that two birds did not lay in the same nest. The female only sits, as far as I know."
    The bird is so shy that if it be discovered building it will destroy the half-formed structure, desert the locality, and build elsewhere. Or if the nest be completed, and the egg laid and nearly hatched, and anyone should touch the nest or handle the egg, the bird will desert both. The New South Wales lyrebirds begin to lay in July, and are included in the Game Act, which came into force on September 1. It would be just as well to protect these birds only on February 31—especially in leap year! But, seriously speaking, the Game Act of New South Wales is a farce and a failure. It is clumsily framed and clumsily administered.
     The egg of the lyrebird is about 2½in long by 1¾in in breadth. The shell is rough. "The eggs vary from stone to purplish brown, with darker dots and spots. Like all other eggs they fade slightly after being emptied" (Ramsay).
     It is stated by bushmen that the lyrebird possesses the gift of ventriloquism, but all the authorities I have consulted are silent on this subject. This is a question which would be extremely difficult to determine. I am not disposed to argue this particular point, but I may mention that I am not acquainted with any bird which possesses this rare gift, nor am I aware that the gift of ventriloquism is peculiar to any of the feathered tribe. I maybe in error, it is true, but whatever opinions may be held on this subject or expressed, I do not intend to set forth my reasons for believing that the lyrebird is not a ventriloquist, unless some standard authority be quoted against me.
    The lyrebird is too proud to submit to cage imprisonment, however young it may be when taken. It frets and dies. Even if the eggs be hatched by a farmyard hen, and the young bird treated with all the care that a knowlodge of poultry rearing can devise or suggest, the result is the same—the bird dies. The Menura superba was intended by nature to be free ; let me hope it may never be otherwise. The study of ornithology is not only interesting, but ennobling, instructive, and elevating. Birds are among the choicest of nature's various gifts to man ; they speak to us in language which is difficult indeed to misinterpret. They sing us into forgetfulness of our mundane surroundings, and awaken us again from our slumbers with joyous songs, which can only be compared to the sweet, mysteriousmusic of a dream. They impart to us lessons which we would do well to learn and imitate. They remind us of things pure and noble, bright, beautiful, and good. They are chaste emblems of love and happiness, of freedom, of light and joy.

H. J. McCOOEY.

Warren, N. S. Wales.

Wow! What an article!

Almost a manifesto, this is the most eloquent and passionate article by McCooey to date. His use of scientific language and concepts along with specialist ornithological terms (eg nidification is the act, process, or technique of building a nest) is eager and confident, if somewhat out of place in a down-to-earth publication like the Australian Town and Country Journal. McCooey is noticably complimentary to the scientific hierarchy whilst simultaneously downplaying the traditional bushman lore (his roots). He also makes a point of demonstrating his newfound critical reasoning skills with an ice cool account of once finding 5 eggshells outside a lyrebird nest which, a few short years ago would have been cause to challenge the scientific status quo, now provided an opportunity to support it. The ugly bush duckling had become the darling swan of science!

If McCooey was indeed the "discoverer of echidna eggs" then this is quite an achievement. This may be worth following up on...

A Lyrebird is either of two species of ground-dwelling Australian birds, that form the genus, Menura, and the family Menuridae. They are most notable for their superb ability to mimic natural and artificial sounds from their environment. Lyrebirds have unique plumes of neutral coloured tailfeathers.

Lyrebirds are among Australia's best-known native birds. As well as their extraordinary mimicking ability, lyrebirds are notable because of the striking beauty of the male bird's huge tail when it is fanned out in display; and also because of their courtship display.