when his book was approaching completion, and he travelled to London in order to supervise its publication. Here, all too soon, and before the proofs had reached his hands, he died. From his literary style you would scarcely call up to your imagination a picture of what the man actually was like. For Mr. Lowe certainly wrote somewhat dogmatically, as indeed anyone with pronounced views upon a subject next his heart must perforce do. It may be, too, that his editor has assisted in strengthening such an impression. For Mr. Allison has a happy knack of raising discussion on some equine subject, and then, after controversy, he proceeds to “make his enemies his footstool.” But here, from the hand of Mr. R. H. Dangar, Lowe’s close friend, is a little picture on the converse side of that which we draw for ourselves from his writings. Mr. Dangar, of Neotsfield, writes:— “I do not know much of Bruce Lowe’s earlier history, but understand he commenced making out his figures in his spare time when inspector of Government lands out back in Queensland. Later, he and Frank Reynolds worked together, or perhaps it would be more correct to say compared notes, as I think they worked independently, and discussed the question together afterwards. “In appearance he was very tall and thin, with brownish grey hair, a very gentle nature, with a quiet voice, and altogether, as I knew him, a most lovable man. He had indifferent health for some years latterly in his life, and eventually died in London, whither he had gone to finish his book and get it published. He had a small connection as a stud stock agent in Sydney, and we, amongst others, used to send him our yearlings, and it was a treat to hear him reel off yards of stuff for T. S. Clibborn to repeat from the box. Lowe had no voice for selling, and he told me once he did not think he could get up and harangue the crowd—so he got Mr. Clibborn to sell for him, and used to prompt him as if he were reading out of a book, with never a note to help him—and catalogues in those days were not the elaborate productions of to-day. As to his character—well, I cannot believe he knew how to do a dirty action, and I would simply not believe anyone who might say anything against him.” So you have here an authentic sketch of this quiet, upright, gentle man, whom you may have misjudged somewhat from his writings, and from the acrimonious discussions which his antagonists and his disciples have raised over his grave, from time to time. For myself, I somehow have always looked upon him as an example of that “Justum et tenacem propositi virum” whom nothing could turn aside from the goal which he saw before him, and which he desired to reach. One who, no matter what occurred, you were quite certain that—to once more quote the lines of the long dead Roman poet— “Si fractus illabitur orbis Impavidum ferient ruinae.”