In the Sal Forests. 231 



turn to expose some vital place in that crashing lumbering 

 grey- blue mass. 



But is he not cantering strangely, bearing off ever to the 

 left, and heeling over more and more like some squall-struck 

 vessel ! A stumble ! The colossus slows into a trot, a 

 walk, and, standing an instant, sways poor old fellow ! 



Then he rolls ponderously on his side, and over on to his 

 back a sight as incongruously extraordinary as an over- 

 turned locomotive. 



Need one expatiate further on the gazing, admiring, 

 examining, measuring, and further viewing of the grand old 

 fallen monster on the clicking of the camera, the well-earn- 

 ed snack of tiffin, the cleaning and fondling of the cherished 

 rifle, and the homeward path with lightsome tread ? 



All that the hunter has toiled for almost all is o'er ; and 

 a certain re-action is felt, mingled with that regret which 

 will perforce push in after the downfall of very big game. 



But that mighty head shall be accorded the post of honour 

 on already well-trophied walls, and thereon live once more 

 to recall those halcyon days in beloved jungles ! 



All too rapidly will those days pass, and, with them, per- 

 chance our youth ; opportunity perhaps gone, ' wind ' 

 impaired, an Indian sun grown strangely fiercer than of 

 yore, the hill-side somehow steeper. Until at last, the time 

 of our exile o'er, we set our faces homeward to the West. 



Land of the East, farewell ! thy hills grow dark, 

 On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 

 In twilight copse the firefly lights her spark, 

 The deer, half seen, are from the covert wending. 

 A distant echo from thy stretching plains- 

 Some wandering witch-note of those far-off hills 

 And then * tis silent all ! Dear jungles, fare ye well ! 



THE END. 



