The Elephant 1 1 



Those who know them best think that elephants, as 

 Sanderson expresses it, are "wanting in originality," so 

 that when an unusual emergency occurs they feel at a loss. 

 It is true that life is in some respects comparatively simple 

 with these animals, and that its necessities neither involve 

 the same constructions, nor require a like care with that 

 imposed upon many others. But in those directions in 

 which the struggle for existence engages their powers 

 energetically they display considerable capacity, though 

 not of the highest brute order. Colonel Pollok ("Sport in 

 British Burmah") says, "if Providence has not given intel- 

 lect to these creatures, it has given them an instinct next 

 thing to it. . . . Providence has taught them to choose 

 the most favorable ground, whether for camping or feed- 

 ing, and to resort to jungles where their ponderous bodies 

 so resemble the rocks and dark foliage that it is difficult 

 for the sportsman to distinguish them from surrounding 

 objects ; whilst their feet are so made that not only can 

 they tramp over any kind of ground, whether hard or soft, 

 rough or smooth, but this without making a sound. 



" Some of their camping-grounds are models of ingenuity, 

 surrounded on three sides by a tortuous river, impassable 

 by reason either of the depth of water, its precipitous 

 banks, quicksands, or the entangling reeds in its bed ; 

 while the fourth side would be protected by a tangled 

 thicket or a quagmire. In such a place elephants would be 

 in perfect safety, as it would be impossible for them to be 

 attacked without the attacking party making sufficient 

 noise to put them on the alert. 



" Their method of getting within such an enclosure is 



