actually at the moment a live platypus in Melbourne. They do not survive in captivity, but this hapless platypus had been sacrificed in the interests of science, and was on exhibition at the zoological gardens. We therefore made our way thither, our hearts beating high with hope and excitement. The porter at the gate was calm, not to say indifferent; it was also approaching closing time. We entered vaguely, none of the animals could help us in our quest for the platypus, neither the mild and browsing kangaroos, the haughty eagles on their perch, or the slim cranes, like the answer of the winds brought by 'sage Hippotades,' "they knew not of his story."
We were at last directed to a large wire enclosure, in the midst of which lay a little muddy pool, it was planted with tall bamboos, amid which fluttered innumerable small birds. Here, said a passing official, the platypus was incarcerated. We eagerly watched and watched in vain the unruffled and opaque surface of the pond. The platypus had effectually concealed his outraged feelings in the mud. He is a shy animal and resents observation. By this time, however, we felt that our journey to Australia was vain unless we saw that platypus. Night was drawing on, it was long past closing time. In these desperate straits we penetrated with
