MY BIG TUSKEK. 1 89 



ing his course towards the sea and generally parallel to 

 the river. 



It is difficult for any one who is not a sportsman to 

 realise the thrill of pleasure which one experiences on 

 striking fresh spoor of giant game. The reflection that 

 not long ago the monster was walking over the very 

 spot, rouses all the faculties, and vague anticipation is 

 transformed into keen excitement. All is animation. 

 "It is him sure enough." "He is going down to the 

 swamps." " He passed here not five hours ago," were 

 the remarks which rapidly fell from our lips. 



The start of joy the sportsman feels when with the 

 telescope he descries the outlines of the dun deer is 

 feeble when compared with the awesome emotion aroused 

 by recognition of the fresh tracks of a monster elephant. 



The element of danger adds a zest to the pursuit. 

 Before the monster will lie dead at one's feet many an 

 anxious moment will pass, and the breath is drawn hard 

 as one contemplates the grave potentialities of the 

 situation. It may be that one well-placed shot will lay 

 him low, or it may be that fierce charges will have to be 

 met before the match is played out. In the background 

 is the gloomy possibility of a sad procession returning to 

 camp, bearing the disfigured corpse of one who will 

 never draw trigger again, and across the memory flit 

 shadows of hunting days with disastrous terminations. 



But away with dull care and nervous apprehension. 

 May the day be far distant when men of British race 

 will give up the chase, and wrap themselves in the 

 cotton-wool of over-prudence ; for then the booming of 

 artillery will be to them no longer a stirring appeal to 

 get forward and do their duty, but only a knell of death 

 and doom. 



