dislodging them, for many of
the pastoral districts had been stripped of every blade of grass by
their ravages.

The kangaroo, however, serves a useful-enough purpose in its native
country. Its flesh is considered by those who have partaken of it to
be very good eating; and it is quite within the range of possibility
that kangaroo venison may become as popular as Australian mutton.
Kangaroo-tail soup is said to be a renowned delicacy, decidedly
superior to ox-tail. Some species of the tribe are hardier than
others, and stand the English climate well; indeed, we have the
authority of Dr. Sclater for the opinion that Bennett's kangaroo,
"with very little attention, would rapidly increase in any of the
midland or southern counties, where the soil is dry, and the
character of the ground affords shelter from the north and east." It
goes without saying that these active creatures would not be at all
out of place in some of our English parks, and, along with the
elegant deer, would lend them an additional attractiveness and charm.

JAMES A. MANSON.

MAB, THE WOLF, AND THE WATERFALL.

"Now, Mab, here's father's tea piping hot; take it and run along. You
know the way: go along by the river, and round by Jerry Smith's
cottage; then turn to the right, and the sound of father's axe will
guide you." So spoke Mrs. Lester while Mab, her little daughter,
donned her hat and cloak, with all a child's eagerness at the
prospect of a long sunny walk through the woods.

"Mind old Jerry's ghost doesn't catch hold of you," cried her waggish
brother Jack, as she crossed the threshold, tea-can in hand.

"There are no ghosts. Mother says they don't live in our days," quoth
Mab, disdainfully.

"Wolves do," said Ben, who was just nine, a year older than Mab.
"Take care you're not another Red Riding Hood."

"I shan't take care, because Red Riding Hood isn't true, any more
than fables are true: so father says; and we know fables are not
true," dissented matter-of-fact Mab, out of her eight years'
experience.

"Oh, more things are true than you and father know of," observed
Jack, with a wink at Ben.

But the little maiden was now out of hearing; once, twice she waved
her hand to them as they watched her from the doorway--how and when
would they meet again? Then she went trip-tripping along by the
brook. The brook ran into the wood; here it joined another stream,
wildly turbulent, although narrow, then together rushed on like two