have furnished a lovelier background or more picturesque setting to the scene than those soft grey mountains, melting away into the bright blue sky.

"Our artist was delighted, and eagerly set down every scratch she could, while "our author," afraid of forgetting something, begged from two or three friends the smallest scrap of paper to make notes on, and at last received out of a little girl's pocket an old envelope, which was literally "worth its weight in gold.”

"Look! there's a lady sketching us," said one of the platform party, happily ignorant of the other enemy silently standing behind. "Never mind. Let her do it! Which lady ?"

be seen all over the moors, following the Duke on a shooting pony, was not among the least amused of the spectators.

"Her Grace" is not one of the fashionable beauties, and I never heard whether she is clever or not; but with the afternoon sun shining on her cheerful face under the neat hat, with her simple, pretty muslin gown, and her kind words and smiles for everybody about her, our Duchess was really a credit to her strawberry leaves. Her Islanders, in their sturdy, independent, yet truly Highland devotion, evidently thought so. They neither intruded upon her, nor stared at her, but every one when addressed by her unhesitatingly put forth his right hand, which she as frankly accepted.

"Nonsense, stay where you are," commanded a pleasant-voiced little lady. "We'll all sit still, and let the artist do what she likes."

Which she did, and there they are, spectators of the final race, at least so far as they could be done.

The commanding little lady began chatting to the people round the platform. "And how do you do, Mr. and is your wife quite well?" stooping over to shake hands with a very homely person, who blurted out an awkward "Yes, ma'am," and was reproved by another man adding pointedly, "Thank you, your Grace, his wife and daughter are just behind."

Who were at once brought up and shaken hands with by "her Grace," who seemed to know everybody, as of course everybody knew her. Simple in dress and frank in manner, the Duchess among her own island people, to whom she was evidently the Duchess, the only Duchess in the world, was a pleasant sight to see, and her own evident enjoyment added to that of those about her.

The final show was a horse-race, not at all of the Derby and Ascot type. The competitors were chiefly farm-horses, ridden barebacked, and the gyrations they made, and the difficulty there was in getting them to start at all, or to keep the assigned course when they had started, proved a source of intense amusement. But there was certainly no betting, no making of "books," for the races; it was all honest down-right fun. The Duchess, a notable horse-woman, who may

search of tea, the only beverage available, for the Duke wisely discourages the sale of alcoholic drinks throughout the island. Consequently it is, for a whisky-loving race, a tolerably sober island. You may go about it at any hour of the day or night and never meet a drunken man or woman. Nor, though it is scarcely a wealthy community, do you ever witness in it that squalid poverty, that total degradation of manners and morals, which, alas! is not wholly confined to towns. We also, spurred on by hunger, began to think we would omit the end of the sports, and be beforehand with the world in getting tea at the all-important inn. Already symp toms of frolic being over and work begun appeared in the shape of a lovely herd of cows brought in to be milked, which the farmer, the same burly old fellow with whom the Duchess had shaken hands, hastened to see after, turning back more than once to shout in an anxious voice, to a slim and stylish and ultra-fashionable young lady, "Annie! Annie! dinna forget to take up the bull."

Highland bulls are proverbially mild of nature, yet we quickened our pace up the lane to the inn-door, where, by great favour, the landlady condescended to give us tea down-stairs, the parlour up-stairs being made ready for the Duchess. A very dainty teatable it looked, when we dared to peer inbread and butter, scones and cakes, jam and honey-as we knew to our cost, when, asking for honey, we were told that there was only one tiny pot to be had, "and the Duchess had got it."

We did not grudge it to her. We only

hoped she would enjoy her tea, for she deserved it. She had spent a whole afternoon in sharing her people's pleasure, making others happy and herself too, let us hopefor these things are always mutual.

One of the strongest impressions left by these Island Sports of ours, was the relationship between the lord of the soil and his people, a sort of feudal friendship, existing for generations, and riveted by the present generation into a tie of respectful devotion, often most touching to see. Every face brightens when you speak of the Duke and Duchess, whose yearly arrival at their ancestral castle and at the two smaller houses which they have on the other side of the Island, is hailed with enthusiasm. "The Duke knows personally every tenant he has," was said one day. And as for the Duchess, when after years of waiting, her Grace came that year with a little Lady Mary, a ninemonths-old baby, there was not a mother

on the Island who did not seem as proud as if the child had been her own.

It is the personal relation, the power to see the master's face and shake the mistress's hand, to interchange all the small charities which are so great a bond between rich and poor, avoiding patronising on the one hand, and subserviency on the other-it is these things which make the tie between landowners and land-labourers so pleasant and so secure. But the duty, a duty as momentous in its degree as that from child to parent, parent to child, must be accepted as such, not only believed in but fulfilled.

Would that this lesson could be taught in another island, within a few hours' sail of this happy island of ours! one which ought to be, so great are its possibilities, "first flower of the earth and first gem of the sea," yet which is-we all know what! Is there no noble or gentle blood in Ireland, people of "the ould stock," for which the genuine

-has survived in any other part of the world; but in Australia a pouchless animal would be as great an anomaly as a marsupial in England.

I need scarcely explain that when the young of the marsupiana are born they are of exceedingly minute dimensions, and quite incapable of coping with the many trials of the world. They are therefore transferred to a pouch, or "marsupium," which is formed by a fold in the skin of the abdomen, and there they remain until they are strong enough to get their own living.

As this pouch has to bear a considerable weight, especially when the young are nearly large enough to lead an independent life, it is supported by two bones that project from the front of the pelvis. These bones are, in fact, ossified tendons, and it is a remarkable fact that they exist even in the male, although he, of course, needs no pouch. They are also found in the duck-bill, which not only has no pouch, but actually lays eggs like a bird.

Several of these marsupians, especially the petaurists, bear a close resemblance to certain animals of the Old World, and in consequence, when English colonists began to oust the natives and settle in the country, they bestowed on most of the animals the names of those creatures with which they were familiar. So we find, according to that very accommodating nomenclature, badgers, cats, wolves, mice, rats, squirrels, monkeys, and bears.

Fortunately there was one animal for which they could find no analogy, and therefore retained its own name of "Kangaroo" (Macropus). This is, moreover, the typical example of the marsupians, and has therefore been placed in our present group of phases of animal life. There are many species of kangaroo, and I shall therefore only give a few lines to the Great Kangaroo (Macropus major), the adult male of which is popularly called the "Old Man," or "Boomer."

It attains very large dimensions, a hundred and sixty pounds being the average weight of a fine specimen, and its total length between seven and eight feet. Its mode of progress is peculiar, though not unique, as it is paralleled by the jerboas of the Old World and all the hopping birds.

The fore legs are very small, being seldom used for progression, and, in fact, acting the part of hands, as we see in the squirrel and other rodents. The normal mode of progression is by leaps, sometimes only extending for a few inches, but, when the animal

is fleeing from an enemy, covering several yards. On one occasion the tracks of a hunted boomer were measured, and each leap was found to cover "just fifteen feet, and as regular as if they had been stepped by a sergeant.' One of these animals ran for eighteen miles and swam two miles, the entire chase occupying about two hours.

On level ground high-bred horses and dogs in full training can be tolerably sure of running down a kangaroo; but if the animal can make its way to broken and rocky ground, especially where the trunks of fallen trees beset the track, it can mostly make good its escape.

When brought to bay it is as formidable an antagonist as the stag itself. It has no horns, but it has hind feet, and at the tip of the fourth toe there is a claw of great length, shaped like a bayonet, and scarcely less formidable. A single kick from this weapon will rip up a dog as if the animal had been struck with a sharp sword, and even an armed man does not like to approach it in front.

Generally, when at bay, the kangaroo stands upright, resting its back against a tree, so that the dogs cannot attack it from behind. The hunter, however, takes advantage of this habit. He trains his dogs to make false attacks on the animal in front, without coming within range of the terrible claw; and while its attention is engaged in front he slips behind the tree and strikes his long hunting-knife into the body of the kangaroo.

Not many years ago the kangaroo swarmed like the bison in America. But now great cities have sprung into existence where, scarcely fifty years ago, not even a hut was to be seen, and the black men and the kangaroo were masters of the land. The time is not very far distant when sheep and cattle will have taken the place of the kangaroo, and Australia will only know her most characteristic animal by reputation. The kangaroo and the bison will alike fall victims to advancing civilisation.

The kangaroo is not thought to be a very intellectual or affectionate animal. But, towards the end of 1886, the kangaroo showed itself in an unexpected light.

A number of these animals were sent from Australia to Philadelphia, United States of America, vid Liverpool. There they were transhipped into two vessels bound for America, as no single ship could accommo date the fifteen large cages. Among them were a pair called "Jack" and "Flora"

Unfortunately they were separated at Liverpool, much to the sorrow of Flora, who continually called for her mate, and could not be induced to take her food for some days. On the voyage two little ones were born, or rather grew, sufficiently to poke their heads out of their mother's pouch.

Now we will quote the account of an eyewitness: "The ship bearing Flora was the first to arrive, and the batch of kangaroos were at once sent to Philadelphia. The other load of kangaroos arrived at Philadelphia a week later. Flora seemed to scent the coming of her mate, and when the cage containing him was carried into the museum, he heard Flora's voice and answered her. Flora's joy knew no bounds, and she leaped about her cage in the wildest excitement, ever and anon stopping to gaze out from behind the bars to see if Jack had come. The keeper, to prevent Flora from injuring herself against the bars of her cage, was obliged to bring her mate up-stairs and put him in her cage.

"Never was a more impressive scene enacted between two animals. They embraced, licked each other, and rubbed their noses in expression of affection, forgetting all about their babes. Finally, the father saw them and tenderly licked their faces, while the little things hopped from their mother's pouch, as if to extend to him a friendly greeting. Jack, Flora, and the two babes are now the happiest animals in the world, and the keeper vows that he will never separate them again."

HERE, in our next picture, is an animal which has a peculiar interest for us. This is the Ibex (Capra ibex), sometimes called the Steinbok, i.e. Stone-buck (occasionally given at fuller length as Bergsteinbok, i.e. Mountain Stonebuck). It is also known by the name of Bouquetin.

All the ruminant animals which we have hitherto noticed have been inhabitants of the plains, but, as its German name imports, it is essentially a denizen of the mountains, and, like the chamois, owes its very existence to its surefootedness on precipices which man, with all his appliances, can scarcely surmount. It lives in little bands, seldom exceeding six or seven in number, and being under the leadership of one experienced male. One of these bands is represented in the illustration as descending from their rocky fastness, the leader being in front, and alert to detect danger.

The adult male can at once be distinguished by the enormous size of his horns,

which, in an old specimen, are sometimes so large that they almost appear to overbalance the animal. Formerly it was thought that when the ibex was closely pressed by hunters, it could leap off a precipice head downwards, break its fall by means of its elastic horns, and make its way off in safety. But, inasmuch as the females would just as much need to escape the hunters as the males, and yet do not possess these "buffers," it is very evident that, like the tusk of the narwhal and the beard of man, they are simply a masculine ornament.

Those who have seen them in their almost inaccessible retreats say that their activity is almost incredible, the animals flinging themselves against the face of an almost perpendicular and apparently smooth precipice, which looks as if it could afford no more footing than a brick wall, and by a succession of bounds from imperceptible irregularities, reaching the summit with perfect security.

It has rather a wide range of territory, being found in the alpine regions of Asia and Europe. The Asiatic specimens are, as a rule, larger than the European. Its special interest to ourselves consists in the fact that it is almost certainly the stock from which our domestic goat has been derived.

HERE, again, is a group of animals which are so familiar that few of us realise what wonderful beings they are.

Among sportsmen a Stag is valued according to the number of projections, or tines," upon its horns, or antlers, as they ought properly to be called. Yet how few of those who follow the staghounds trouble themselves about the extraordinary character of the antlers by which they know whether or not a stag may be hunted! Were they permanent, like those of cattle, goats, and sheep, there would be little wonderful about them. But every set of antlers falls off in the spring, and however large and complicated it may be, is replaced by a fresh set in the following autumn. Let us follow a set of antlers through their growth, and suppose them to belong to an adult stag at least six years old.

In February the antlers fall off, and hardly have they been shed, than nature at once takes measures for replacing them.

At the spots on which the former horns had rested, a round knob begins to grow, covered with a peculiar skin, which, from its rough exterior, goes by the popular name of "velvet." This velvet is filled with arteries