TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 
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grass, taller than the rest — any amateur like myself 
would have sworn it was grass. 44 Libbah,” our man 
said impressively. And “ libbah ” it was. We ap- 
proached and the 44 grass ” with a bound was off ! We 
bagged him in the end, and he was a very old creature 
indeed. Alone, and almost toothless, his day was 
almost spent, and he died more royally at our hands 
than ending as the ignominious prey of some hyaena. 
He put me in mind of a wonderful lion picture I saw 
once at the Academy, which portrayed an old, old 
lion, at twilight, in his own beloved haunts, weak and 
doddering, yet still a king — too strong even yet to be 
pulled down by the lurking forms, which with lurid 
eyes watched the dying lion from the dark thorn back- 
ground. I think the picture was called 44 Old Age.” 
The strange inborn dread all wild creatures have of 
man, unknown man, makes even the mightiest lion try 
for safety. There is, of course, no sort of cowardice 
in him. In open country he knows the man has all 
the advantage, but even then he faces the music 
grandly when cornered. In cover, instinct tells him 
most of the game lies with himself. The Somalis have 
a way — -I am afraid this is a bit of a chestnut — of 
riding down lion that is really a clever performance. 
If some venturesome beast makes a habit of helping 
himself to a baby camel or two from the karia at 
night, he is a marked beast, and a small army of 
Somalis prepare to give battle. Riding their quick 
little tats, and all armed with spears, they drive the 
lion, with prodigious shouting and yelling, into the 
open. Here they close around him and harry him 
