them. When disturbed or wounded by 

 hunters they rush furiously through the 

 thickets after their tormentors, and if 

 they fail to catch and crush them in the 

 first charge it has often happened that 

 Elephants have returned and smelled 

 them out as a dog scents a rabbit. 



On account of the slow growth of 

 young Elephants it has been found more 

 satisfactory in India to catch wild Ele- 

 phants than to. breed them in captivity 

 and wait fifteen years for the young to 

 reach maturity and usefulness. The plan 

 usually pursued is to build a huge corral 

 in a tract of forest where wild Elephants 

 /roam, usually across an Elephant path. 

 Where the path enters the corral a heavy 

 gate is made and suspended over the way, 

 so that it can be instantly dropped and 

 fastened. Then, when a herd of wild 

 Elephants wanders near enough to the 

 trap on the gate side an army of native 

 beaters is hastily gathered and the troop 



is surrounded on three sides. Each beat- 

 er is provided with a tom-tom or torch, 

 and in the confusion of shouting and 

 torch-waving the whole herd is driven 

 into the enclosure. At first they charge 

 the stockade wildly, and the natives rush 

 from side to side, resisting their attacks 

 with fire and uproar. When at last they 

 stand huddled together in the middle of 

 the enclosure tame Elephants are driven 

 in and allowed to mix freely with the 

 wild ones. Cautiously they single out an 

 Elephant, surround him and hold him in 

 place, while men called noosers slip quiet- 

 ly down from the backs of the tame Ele- 

 phants and fasten strong, soft ropes 

 about his feet, after which he is marched 

 out of the corral between two Elephants 

 and tamed to work as they work, carrying 

 heavy loads, dragging and piling timber, 

 or perhaps marching in the splendid pro- 

 cessions of Eastern kings. 



Dane Coolidge. 



THE WILD CLEMATIS. 



Brave Clematis, through sunny days and long, 



I watched thee toil to reach a leafy height, 



Proud of thy kirtle green, and bloom-hood white; 

 And now when winds are riotous and strong, 

 Thou flauntest silken plumes sere leaves among, 



To lead my glances from the Frost-King's blight 



And as of old my longing eyes delight. 

 Thou, fairest climber of the rustic throng; 

 And I take courage by thy bravery, 



My much-plumed friend of tangled copse and vale, 

 That fain would hide the mars of autumn's hour. 

 Henceforth I strive that others only see 



My higher self as outward graces fail, 



And see that self through love's ennobling power. 



Jenny Terrill Ruprecht. 



