MY FRIEND THE ELEPHANT. 



T was Saturday afternoon 

 in London, one of those 

 beautiful July days which 

 the climate of England 

 renders so perfect. If any 

 unoccupied persons failed 

 to take advantage of the 

 beauty of the day by com- 

 ing out of doors, they 

 must have been invalids 

 or misanthropes. The parks were thronged, the Zo- 

 ological Gardens were crowded, and the beautiful play- 

 grounds adjoining were filled with merry cricketers, 

 athletes, and sightseers. The joyousness of the day 

 seemed contagious, and I found myself driving toward 

 the suburbs with no more definite purpose than to 

 enjoy fully the inspiring air and the pleasant natural sur- 

 roundings. In fact, I had scarcely realized in what por- 

 tion of the great metropolis I was, until, looking across 



