chap. r. THE WILD ELEPHANT OF CEYLON. 7 



A person who has never seen a wild elephant can 

 form no idea of his real character, either mentally or 

 physically. The unwieldy and sleepy-looking beast, 

 who, penned up in his cage at a menagerie, receives a 

 sixpence in his trunk, and turns round with difficulty 

 to deposit it in a box ; whose mental powers seem to 

 be concentrated in the idea of receiving buns tossed 

 into a gaping mouth by children's hands, — this very 

 beast may have come from a warlike stock. His sire 

 may have been the terror of a district, a pitiless high- 

 wayman, whose soul thirsted for blood ; who, lying in 

 wait in some thick bush, would rush upon the unwary 

 passer-by, and know no pleasure greater than the act 

 of crushing his victim to a shapeless mass beneath his 

 feet. How little does his tame sleepy son resemble 

 him ! Instead of browsing on the rank vegetation of 

 wild pasturage, he devours plum-buns ; instead of 

 bathing his giant form in the deep rivers and lakes of 

 his native land, he steps into a stone-lined basin to 

 bathe before the eyes of a pleased multitude, the 

 whole of whom form their opinion of elephants in 

 general from the broken-spirited monster which they 

 see before them. 



I have even heard people exclaim, upon hearing 

 anecdotes of elephant-hunting, ' Poor things ! ' 



Poor things, indeed ! I should like to see the very 

 person who thus expresses his pity, going at his best 

 pace, with a savage elephant after him : give him a 



