I 
THE HUNTER’S LIFE 
3 
kind of waistcoat or that kind of tie. The morn¬ 
ing coat and silk hat I wore on my last brief 
visit to England, I flung into the sea in sheer 
exuberance of spirits, when I left Marseilles, 
glad to be quit of such costly insanity—even a 
bowler hat is a ludicrous menace to my sense of 
natural comfort. Alas ! though the pori (forest) is 
LARGE BULL ELEPHANT STANDING IN THE DRY BED OF MBANANGANDU 
RIVER, AFTERWARDS SHOT BY AUTHOR. . 
a place where life is action, it gives a man a great 
deal of time to think: it focusses his view ; it 
peels from his mind the trivial veneer of civiliza¬ 
tion and leaves him to brood upon the elemental 
things which lie at the heart ot life. There is 
also something wistful, tender and infinitely beau¬ 
tiful that forms an undercurrent to the magnificent 
