This animal has not any claim to swiftness of foot, as most men could run it down. Its pace is hobbling or shuffling, something like the awkward gait of a bear. In disposition it is mild and gentle, as becomes a grass-eater; but it bites hard, and is furious when provoked. Mr. Bass never heard its voice but at that time; it was a low cry, between a hissing and a whizzing, which could not be heard at a distance of more than thirty or forty yards. He chased one, and with his hands under his belly suddenly lifted him off the ground without hurting him, and laid him upon his back along his arm, like a child. It made no noise, nor any effort to escape, not even a struggle. Its countenance was placid and undisturbed, and it seemed as contented as if it had been nursed by Mr. Bass* from its infancy. He carried the beast upwards of a mile, and often shifted him from arm to arm, sometimes laying him upon his shoulder, all of which he took in good part; until, being obliged to secure his legs while he went into the brush to cut a specimen of a new wood, the creature's anger arose with the pinching of the twine; he whizzed with all his might, kicked and scratched most furiously, and snapped off a piece from the elbow of Mr. Bass's Jacket with his grass-cutting teeth. Their friendship was here at an end, and the creature remained implacable all the way to the boat, ceasing to kick only when he was exhausted. [* The kangaroo, and some other animals in New South Wales, were remarkable for being domesticated as soon as taken.] This circumstance seemed to indicate, that with kind treatment the Wombat might soon be rendered extremely docile, and probably affectionate; but let his tutor beware of giving him provocation, at least if he should be full grown. Besides Furneaux's Islands, the Wombat inhabits, as has been seen, the mountains to the westward of Port Jackson. In both these places its habitation is under ground, being admirably formed for burrowing, but to what depth it descends does not seem to be ascertained. According to the account given of it by the natives, the wombat of the mountains is never seen during the day, but lives retired in his hole, feeding only in the night; but that of the islands is seen to feed in all parts of the day. His food is not yet well known; but it seems probable that he varies it, according to the situation in which he may be placed. The stomachs of such as Mr. Bass examined were distended with the coarse wiry grass, and he, as well as others, had seen the animal scratching among the dry ricks of sea-weed thrown up upon the shores, but could never discover what it was in search of. Now the inhabitant of the mountains can have no recourse to the sea-shore for his food, nor can he find there any wiry grass of the islands, but must live upon the food that circumstances present to him.