CHAPTER IX 

 ELEPHANTS 



IN the novel by that clever but contradictious writefi 

 Sam Butler, entitled 'The Way of All Flesh," an 

 amiable and philosophically minded old gentleman, who 

 pervades the story, states that when one feels worried or 

 depressed by the inciderits of one's daily life, great comfort 

 may be derived from an hour spent at the Zoological 

 Gardens in company with the larger mammalia. He 

 ascribes to them a remarkable soothing influence, and I am 

 inclined to agree with him. I am not prepared to decide 

 whether the effect is due to the example of patience under 

 adversity offered by these animals, or whether it is perhaps 

 their tranquil indifference to everything but food, coupled 

 with their magnificent success in attaining to such dignity 

 of size, which imposes upon me and fills me for a brief 

 space with resignation and a childlike acquiescence in 

 things as they are. The elephant stands first as a soothing 

 influence, and then the giraffe, the latter having special 

 powers, due to its beautiful eyes and agreeable perfume. 

 Sometimes the hippopotamus may diffuse a charm of his 

 own, an aura of rotund obesity, especially when he is 

 bathing or sleeping ; but there are moments when one 

 has to flee from his presence. I never could get on very 

 well with rhinoceroses, but the large deer, bison, and wild 

 cattle have the quality detected by Mr. Butler. So has 

 the gorgeous, well-grown tiger, in full measure, when he 



