HAMLYN'S MENAGERIE MAGAZINE. 
69 
proudly invite a visitor to "see the animals," but 
their ambition seldom rises, above rabbits or 
guinea-pigs. 
There is one man in London, however, whose 
backyard often echoes the cries familiar to the 
hunter of big game. He is Mr. J. D. Hamlyn, 
the naturalist, whose home is in that part of the 
East End once terrorised by "Jack the Ripper." 
When I called on Mr. Hamlyn the other day 
my knock was answered by a series of mingled 
shrieks, which proved on admittance to be the 
cries of some hundreds of bright coloured birds 
ranged round the front room. After running the 
gauntlet through these I found Mr. Hamlyn up- 
stairs in the dining-room arranging for the trans- 
portation of a few giraffes from the Sudan. His 
face wore a look of sadness foreign to him, the 
reason for which was soon apparent. 
"He's gone," said Mr. Hamlyn. "Goumba's 
gone; died a fortnight ago, poor old fellow." 
Here was indeed bad news. Goumba was Mr. 
Hamlyn's companion — hardly a trusted com- 
panion, for his fingers had acquired a habit of 
tampering with things that did not concern him; 
yet he was affectionate, even loving at times; 
neither was he swayed, like so many self-styled 
friends, by the fortunes of his companion. 
But any delinquencies in Goumba were over- 
looked by Mr. Hamlyn as incurable habits con- 
tracted among bad companions in the forests of 
Africa. For Goumba was a chimpanzee. Every 
morning Mr. Hamlyn would receive his hairy 
friend's salutation on the lips — a Simian kiss; 
every dinner hour Goumba would share his (Mr. 
Hamlyn's) meal; and at tea time sit sedately at 
the table to tea, bread and butter, and cake. 
Goumba had an unfortunate propensity for 
unrobing visitors*; to his inquiring mind waist- 
coats, braces, and shoe laces proved an irresisti- 
ble attraction. Once he had another companion 
— John Daniel, a youthful gorilla — long since 
gone; and now the death of Goumba leaves Mr. 
Hamlyn alone. 
"Well, rest his soul," said Mr. Hamlyn, "for 
I-m sure he had one." Partly, Mr. Hamlyn's 
sympathy for his late companion was grounded 
on a belief in his own descent from Simian an- 
cestors. 
"Still, I have some new friends," he added, 
brightening a little. "Come upstairs and be in- 
troduced." 
Ascending the stairs, we were greeted by a 
soft crooning as of doves. There, seated around 
the room, were a number of smaller relatives of 
Mr. Hamlyn — Rhesus monkeys. One, evidently 
of altruistic bent, offered me a carrot, which I 
gracefully declined on the ground of its indigesti- 
bility. 
"We're very human, aren't we, when you 
compare us with these little fellows?" remarked 
my host as we descended. " Some people take 
offence when I uphold the scientific theory of des- 
cent, but, bless me! — why, look at some of the 
faces one passes in the streets!" 
Back in the dining room; then — "Come into 
the backyard and see the lions," said Mr. Ham- 
lyn. 
As we passed to the far end of the yard a 
black hand and arm shot out of a box and laid 
hold of my sleeve. I started back. 
"Oh, he won't hurt," said Mr. Hamlyn re- 
assuringly. "He's my Chacma baboon, late of 
South Africa, now wintering in London. Shake 
his hand; where are your manners, sir?" 
I shook; then a black snout and lips of a like 
colour emerged from the gloom, and a tongue 
went "tclik, tclik. " This, said Mr. Hamlyn, was 
a sign of affection, denoting a desire to kiss; an 
honour regretfully declined for reasons of hygiene. 
A young lion and two lionesses were amb- 
ling up and down an enclosure against the far 
wall, their faces, like most of Mr. Hamlyn's pets, 
wearing a markedly mischievous expression. 
Their manners, too, were good, but fortunately 
they had not yet learned to shake hands. 
Of the many other wonders of Mr. Hamlyn's 
house and backyard not the least is a collection 
of several hundred mice, which were not, as might 
be supposed, seduced by music as were those that 
gave fame to Mr. Hamlyn's namesake, the Pied 
Piper. 
Such is the home of the East End naturalist. 
He lives among animals, and himself remains 
human — a paradox explained by the very anti- 
thesis it contains. For monkeys, he says, have 
taught him as much of the fundamental nature of 
man as has any treatise on psychology ! — G.H.W. 
("Weekly Despatch.") 
DESTRUCTION OF VERMIN. 
CIRCLE COMMITTEE MEETINGS. 
CIRCLE No. 12. 
At a meeting of the Vermin Extermination 
Circle Committee No. 12, held at King William's 
Town on July 25th, reports from the Divisional 
Councils showed that hunt clubs existed in the 
