INTRODUCTION. 
Soon after I became Secretary of the Zoological Society of 
London, there called on me a tall, lean man, with a bony 
weather-beaten face, shaven lips and a short, grizzled beard 
of the kind known as a “chin-fringe”. His shrewd and 
kindly face, slow speech with nasal intonations and general 
air of confident but watchful friendliness made the impression 
of an individuality very unlike the composite photograph I 
have in my mind of the Germans I know. But for the 
presence of a German accent and the absence of the tobacco 
habit, Carl Hagenbeck might pass for a New England ship 
captain. He is in the first place a business man with a 
strong spirit of adventure that must have led him into many 
losses, and as he has none the less built up a great and 
successful business, it must be supposed that he also knows 
how to make profits. But those who deal with him soon 
learn that they may rely implicitly on his directness and 
candour in arranging a purchase or sale, and on his scrupulous 
carefulness in carrying out his share of the bargain. On one 
occasion, for instance, I had to arrange with him for the 
purchase of a pair of hippopotamus which neither of us had 
seen. The price was to depend partly on the age of the 
animals, but as that could not be proved, we agreed on a 
standard of size. When the animals arrived, although in 
every other respect equally suitable, they were a little 
smaller than Hagenbeck had been led to expect by his 
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