OF THE OLD WOKLD. 345 



I thiuk that I am still a boy, 

 And hear her voice again. 



Chorus. 

 Then Bing to me the songs of yore ! 



For, though they make me sigh, 

 They bring to mind dear friends once more. 



And happy days gone by. 



The echoes of the wood were several times 

 awakened by our rattling choruses, which rever- 

 berated in a most strange manner against the face 

 of the cliff overhanging our retreat, and the moon 

 was high in the heavens before we turned in for 

 the night. 



We slept long and soundly, as hunters generally 

 do after a hard day's fag, but as soon as the gray 

 light of dawn appeared, the stirring strains of 

 K 's bugle rang through the valley, and, obey- 

 ing its cheerful summons, we hastily arrayed our- 

 selves in our hunting-gear, assembled round the 

 fire, and partook of a hurried collation previous to 

 ascending the Ghaut. The coolies accompanied us 

 with supplies, as it was our intention to remain for 

 a day or two at my former bivouac at the head of 

 the Fall, in the hope of falling in with the herd of 

 elephants reported to have been seen by the Carders 

 some days previously. We entered the jungle as 

 day was breaking, and, after a tedious ascent, ar- 

 rived at the head of the Fall about noon, where we 

 immediately commenced building a commodious hut, 

 as our former one was too small. As soon as our 



