EEMINISCENCES FROM THE MELBOURNE ZOO. 
119 
her to go and have a look at them. She went off satisfied, and the man 
remained to speculate upon that quality in human nature that will dog- 
gedly refuse to believe the unvarnished truth, but will readily swallow a 
highly spiced fabrication. 
“I saw she would not believe me, and was certain I did it only to 
prevent her having her money’s worth, so I had to satisfy her by a lie 
and then send her to see all we had!” was his explanation — and he was 
clearly unrepentant. 
SANDY’S FIGHT FOR LIFE. 
Our quaint little native bears known and loved in effigy in all English- 
speaking lands as the Teddy bears of the nursery, are very difficult to 
keep alive in captivity. They have something of the whimsicality of 
the Irish, and, as Peg o’ My Heart says mournfully yet defiantly: “You 
can’t cage the Irish ; they’ll die on your hands.” Therefore the specimens 
at the Zoo are always changing, and can rarely be seen, for they are 
usually sleeping or moping in the leafiest forks of the clumps of gum trees 
specially grown in their enclosures for their pleasure. They are harm- 
less, attractive little things, and the many stories told by old hands to 
new chums in the bush have not a particle of truth about them. The very 
word “bear” has a fearsome sound to those who come from parts where 
bears are only known as creatures who can give most uncomfortable 
hugs ; and the invariable habit of the little koala of running up the nearest 
upright pole or tree is used by practical jokers to torment the newcomer. 
A typical story is told of a young Scotchman who joined a gang of pros- 
pectors away in virgin country where there were plenty of native bears. 
When he heard their weird and plaintive cries he naturally asked what 
animal they emanated from, and when the careless, laconic reply came 
“Bears,” he unwisely cried in alarm: “Bears! I always thought there 
were no wild animals in Australia!” 
“There’s none but bears and snakes and such,” came the disquieting 
reply. 
“But are they dangerous?” 
“No — not unless they catch you,” was the ambiguous answer. “But 
if they do — look out, that’s all!” 
“Look out for what?” 
“Look out for your windpipe,” said Sandy’s tormentor, rising to the 
occasion as he saw the effect of his vague warnings. “If one of the little 
beggars catches you, he’ll climb up to your windpipe before you can stop 
him, and then — well, we’ll send any last messages home for you or any- 
thing like that!” 
