Your readers would doubtless feel interested with a few particulars as to my life among the kangaroos in a genuine kangaroo country. I have read somewhere about the exceeding beauty of the eyes of the gazelle; how noted hunters have alleged that their nature so softened on looking into the animal’s eyes that they (the hunters) had no heart to destroy the creature. Now, I have never seen a gazelle, and so cannot indulge in comparisons; but if their eyes are more beautiful than those of a middle-aged kangaroo, they may indeed be all that huntsmen say of them. With respect to the old kangaroos, their eyes and face are simply atrocious in their repulsive ugliness.
Nothing in nature could surpass the affection which the female kangaroo manifests for her young. There is something absolutely touching in the anxious solicitude displayed by the dam while the young ones are at play. On the least alarm the youngster instantly ensconces himself in the pouch of his gentle mother, and should he, in the exuberance of his joy, thrust his head out from his place of refuge, it is instantly thrust back by his dam. I have, on several occasions, by hard riding, pressed a doe to dire extremity, and it has only been when hope had entirely forsaken her, or when her capture was inevitable, that she has reluctantly thrown out the fawn. Their method of warfare has often reminded me of the style of two practiced pugilists, the aim of each being to firmly gripe his opponent by the shoulder, upon accomplishing which, the long hind leg, with its horny blade projecting from its toe, comes into formidable play. It is lifted and drawn downward with a rapid movement, and one or other of the combatants soon shows the entrails laid bare, which is usually the grand finale. The sparring that takes place between the marsupials while trying to get the advantageous gripe is marvelous—I had almost said scientific; for the style and rapidity of the animals’ movements might excite the admiration of the Tipton Slasher.