rded as entitled to all the
conveniences of more than one of these organizations; but further than
the prompt recognition of the courtesy and kindness of these committees
we did not avail ourself of the privileges tendered. To be sure one is
introduced at these clubs to the best society of the place, but the only
trouble encountered by the author in this respect was that he could only
with difficulty escape the profuse hospitality and cordial attention
pressed upon him by the colonials. Our journey into the South Pacific
was a long one; we had but a few months in which to traverse the length
and breadth of these great islands; time therefore was precious, and
self-abnegation a duty in order to fulfil a comprehensive programme.

The first time the author made the acquaintance of the "laughing
jackass" was in the bird, fruit, and flower market on George Street. His
sarcastic notes were afterward often encountered in his wild state and
among his open-air haunts. Not to make special mention of him would be
to omit reference to one of the most curious creatures the traveller
meets with in his wanderings about the country. Mischievous, sly, droll,
insulting, without a particle of shyness, what a bird it is! His plumage
is mottled, white and black; he has very little tail, but is provided
with a great gawky head, a well-rounded body, and is a little larger
than the domestic pigeon. His eyes are preternaturally big, and gaze
coolly at you as though they would pierce you through. He laughs almost
exactly like a human being, with a touch of bird malice added; and
though it is harsh, his merriment is ludicrously contagious, for no one
can avoid laughing both at and with him. It is a riotous tumult of
laughter. He is as intelligent as the mino-bird, and can be taught to
talk better than a parrot,--at least so we were told,--and, sad to say,
shows a manifest delight in profanity. The bushmen consider him to be a
sort of barometer foretelling the weather; for when it is about to rain
the jackass becomes miserable, dejected, and sleepy, sitting upon a
branch of a tree with his feathers all awry and his head hidden under
his wing,--a very picture of melancholy. Of all birds he seems most like
a caricature of his own species. Though he is of the kingfisher tribe,
he does not seem to pay much attention to fishes, his favorite food
being small snakes. These he seizes just back of the head, and flying
rapidly aloft drops them upon stony gro