HAMLYN'S MENAGERIK MAGAZINE. 
87 
namental lake "let in," regardless of cost, in Mr. 
Hamlyn's entertaining bark-yard. "Nearest thing 
I can do to crocodiles just now," said he. "I 
can guarantee, anyway, that that swan you've 
got there came from the place where in the happy 
far-off days, before Armageddon put the stopper 
on the Nile export trade, my crocodiles used to 
bask the happy hours away." 
Having, after several unsuccessful attempts, 
noosed my graceful-necked bargain and haulcd_ 
it flapping and swearing horribly to the shore, 
Mr. Hamlyn said, "Shall I send it for you?" 
"No, thanks," I replied, remembering the 
tragedy of the porcupines lost in the post. " In 
these days, when we o our own shopping, no man 
is too proud to carry his parcels. I'll take it with 
me. " 
DISTINGUISHED GORILLAS. 
We sealed the bargain in the cosy draw ing- 
room upstairs — a room from whose walls auto- 
graph photographs of distinguished gorillas smile 
upon the surprised visitor from their golden 
frames. And Mr. Hamlyn talked — wild beast talk 
so entrancing that I could hear, in fancy, the jun- 
gle growling about me, the hiss of snakes, and the 
patter of Mowgli's naked feet amid the under- 
woods. . . . 
"The big beast business is— in a word — 
busted!" said the menagerie man very sadly. 
" Elephants, tigers, lions, camels, rhinos — I never 
get any of 'em here now. Many's the time I've 
had camels and giraffes walk into my shop, 
straight from the clock, lowing their heads as 
they squeeze through the six-foot door, and then 
out again at the back, and all settling down and 
making themselves comfortable. A tight fit, but 
very homely and satisfying to gaze upon. But I 
haven't had a camel in my back-yard — nothing- 
taller than an emu — for years and yearsi ! Long 
before the war the Continent took all that trade 
and made a corner of what once was an exclu- 
sively British business. This was originated by 
the late Charles Jamrach, the kindest, the sweet- 
est-natured old gentleman who ever looked a man- 
eating lion in the eye without flinching. When 
he died, five-and-twenty years ago, the British 
trade died with him; and now it's chiefly confined 
to birds and the smaller animals. 
"And there's a dismal, swampy 'slump' in 
them just now. Most of our best customers are 
away at the war. Only the rich people who have 
a craze for collecting every variety of certain 
species, such as cranes (Stanley cranes, crown 
cranes, et hoc), cats (wild and otherwise), mon- 
keys and squirrels, and they find their menagerie 
hobby too expensive just now. There are only 
the menagerie? and the wild beast shows left- 
two menageries, Bostock's and Sedgefick's, and 
a lew shows. The wild beast show is just a fit- 
up of three wagons and one 'front,' with lions, 
bears, hyenas, and so on. The menagerie proper 
consists of fifteen of twenty wagons and a stately 
accompaniment of big walking beasts. We sup- 
ply these, the private parks, the private collec- 
tors, and the four zoos —London, Manchester, 
Bristol, and Edinburgh. 
"And as for me, business is so slack" now 
that I'm filling up my time (as you observe) with 
literature. And when the inspiration refuses to 
flow there's always Gilbert to keep me consoled. 
A DANCE WITH GILBERT. 
Mr. Hamlyn raised his massy head and called 
in a great voice through the ceiling, " My dear ! 
Bring Gilbert down and introduce him to the gen- 
tleman ! Just as he is; never mind his trousers !" 
"All right! Com-ing !" — the high-pitched 
echo of a lady's voice came down through the 
ceiling". There was a bump' and a thud on the 
stairs, the drawing-room door smashed open, and 
Mr. Hamlyn's little dog Snap fled with a howl of 
fear as a heavy avalanche hurtled into the room 
with a mad jabber of joy, and flung itself into my 
arms, hugging me with its terrible feelers and 
kissing me a la Francaise left and right on both 
cheeks. . . . Gilbert — this was Gilbert, the wild 
and awful chimpanzee from Sierra Leone— Gilbert, 
in a light blue jersey, emblazoned with "H.M. 
Inexpressible" in golden letters across his huge 
chest, trouserless (he had just torn to shreds his 
seventeenth pair), but for all that the most lov- 
able of creatures with his more than human eve 
and his infiinite friendliness ! 
Mr. Hamlyn unwound Gilbert's loving arms 
from the strangle hold upon my throat, seized him 
by the hainds, and with a terpsichorean grace and 
agility amazing in a person of such huge bulk, 
danced deliriously around the room until both 
were breathless. "On with the dance !" he cried, 
"let joy be uncon fined !" The little room shook 
and rocked at their wild capers, and when they 
were over Gilbert dashed at me again, showering 
a rain of kisses upon me. 
"That's how we keep our spirits up !" gasped 
Mr. Hamlyn as he mopped his brow. 
I slipped away; and I was on Tower Hill be- 
fore I suddenly remembered that I had left the 
swan behind, after all. I am now anxiously 
awaiting the postman's knock. 
NOTE. — The above was written sometime in 
1914. I need not inform my readers that Mr. 
Harold Ashton has not called since he wrote 
above.— J.D.H. 
