We hear that coming out from England he earned a reputation on board ship as an auctioneer, and once even sold a live lord for a few shillings to the highest lady bidder.  As a camp man he is a marvel, never seen on horseback, but generally discovered on his hands and knees fudging about with a thing he calls a pocket microscope, and occasionally going off into hysterics over some clod of earth, a leaf, or some weird microbes which he says are feeding on the alfalfa roots.  Talking of feeding, The Instigator can eat anything, his motto is “tout jour”; he has the digestion of an ostrich, and says “it is just as well to make a good meal while you are about it, for you never know when and where you will get the next.”  His best friends cannot say he is musical (save when others are trying to sleep); but he has a favourite song, and it is that old music-hall classic entitled “Do, do, be always on the do.”  However, he is a very good fellow, and notwithstanding that square jaw of his, which seems to hint at the possibility of “a man of wrath” existing in that silent thoughtful being, he is kindness itself to all, and never fails to do his share of work as it comes along.

SECOND:  Our Guest.  The Wild Man discovered this rara avis in a railway carriage, babbling for “Kwilmez Beer,” so he was brought along, and he had not been long at the Estancia before he was running first favourite in the Popularity Stakes.  He was always ready for anything, and it must have been his desire to acquire knowledge which induced him to come with the party.  The Saint has undertaken to explain to him how colonists thrive on the 8 per cent. system, and to teach him how many grains of maize make “ocho.”  We doubt whether she will succeed in the latter attempt, for we fancy Our Guest will never leave eight grains of maize uneaten; he is a wonder for that delicacy, and feeds on it constantly, and we hear rumours that he intends to take some maize cobs home with him to his native country, and proposes to feed his “team” on it.

THIRD:  The Delineator. This is a misnomer, he really should be called “The Photographer,” but that sounds so common, and his views are so uncommon that we called him The Delineator instead; besides, he always travels about with maps and charts (his own, or someone else’s) and when appealed to as to what course we should take, replies in a cold, hard voice, “North by North, just as she goes.”  Like the rest of the party, he has never travelled quite the road we are going now, but the prospect of collecting a few new varieties of butterflies, moths, insects, and plants caused his eyes to light up with a wild gleam when he heard of the trip, and the yarns he spins of things unseen by the ordinary sober mortal are ever a joy to the listener, and make them whisper, se non e vero e ben trovato.