have not heard a clarinet in Australasia, whereas every orchestra in the United States has one. Music is about the same everywhere; we hear the same music here that we might hear at home, in London, Japan, India, or elsewhere. One evening, at dinner, the orchestra played "Every Little Movement Has a Meaning of Its Own," which is heard everywhere in America, and we coaxed the leader to play it again, for the luxury of being homesick. All the hotel orchestras seem to be paid by the guests; anyway, we always put something in a plate we find in front of the leader. . . . We find few American publications in Australia. The Ladies' Home Journal we see in nearly all bookstores, and somewhere we found a real-estate agent displaying the Journal's pictures of houses properly and improperly painted. The Saturday Evening Post is seen less frequently, and the American Magazine and Cosmopolitan occasionally. A lady in New Zealand told me she read the Ladies' Home Journal regularly, and greatly admired it, and that it is well known among the women of her country. We see few American books at the bookstores; the bulk of them are published in England. . . . We are becoming tolerably tired of the kangaroo. Every city has a zoölogical garden, and a big collection of kangaroos. Also, a big collection of an animal called the Wallaby, which is so near like the kangaroo that a tired, hurried and indifferent traveler does not distinguish one from the other. Then there is the kangaroo rat, and the kangaroo idea is carried out in two or three other ways. . . . We Americans shouldn't laugh too heartily because Aus-
