KEMINISCENCES FROM THE MELBOURNE ZOO. 
139 
pinquity, and so they took no notice of William’s grunts of displeasure, 
but he had decided to punish the offender with the utmost rigor of 
hippopotamus’ law. Astounded at its audacity, he watched the duck 
swimming about erratically as it darted after the teeming life of the 
pool, and with malice aforethought he threw open his cavernous mouth 
and waited patiently to discover “what the news was gwine ter be.” 
The lower jaw was completely hidden under water; the upper looked 
like the dense wall of the pond. All unsuspectingly the poor duck 
swam about at random, feeding and seeking more food, until at last 
he swam right into the jaws of death. The great mouth closed — and 
that was the end of the duck’s career. William could not eat him after 
killing him, but that did not prevent him from sharpening his tusks 
by grinding the bones to pulp. The maned goose, ignorant of its 
companion’s fate, went the same way to an untimely end. As they 
found William’s new accomplishment a rather costly one, the staff set 
about reinforcing the wire netting around the iron fences, brought it 
down to the very ground, and thus securely barred the way for any 
subsequent visits from the neighboring fowl. 
The Jaws of Death. 
