in vain he looks around for a stone, and seeks in
every pocket for his knife, " with which, either
to strike the copper cap, or hamstring the
colossal but harmless animal," who stood
waiting for his doom. The reader will rejoice
to hear that the giraffe escapes. A few days
afterwards, however, Sir Cornwallis Harris
suddenly comes upon a herd of thirty giraffes,
and his blood "courses like quicksilver through
his veins" as he gallops after them. Coming
up with the fugitives, he singles out their
"lordly chief," and " applying the muzzle of
the rifle towards his dappled shoulder, draws
both triggers."

The conclusion of the affair is given in these
words: " Mute, dignified, and majestic, stood
the unfortunate victim, occasionally stooping
his elastic neck towards his persecutor, the tears
trickling from the lashes of his dark humid
eye, as broadside after broadside was poured
into his brawny front:

"His drooping head sinks gradually low,
And through his side the last drops ebbing slow,
From the red gash," &c.

Presently a convulsive shivering seized his
limbs, his coat stood on end, his lofty frame
began to totter, and, at the seventeenth discharge
from the deadly grooved bore, " like a
falling minaret, bowing his graceful head from
the skies, his proud form was prostrate in the
dust." " Never shall I forget the intoxicating
excitement of the moment! At last, then,
the summit of my ambition was attained,
and the towering giraffe laid low. Tossing my
turbanless cap into the air, alone in the wild
wood, I hurraed with bursting exultation,
and unsaddling my steed, sunk, exhausted
with delight, beside the noble prize I had
won."

All this is very pretty and improving,—
especially the poetry. Whether the poetry
and the bursting exultation go quite well
together, is a point the curious reader will
consider, perhaps.

Far be it from us to require of those
engaged in the excitement of the chase, the
inward, or self-governed enthusiasm of the
scientific observer and student of nature. We
would not say to a man, in a moment of
madness, " My friend! you should moderate your
transports; " but we would say to every
member of the great family of man: Remember,
that when we destroy life of any
kind, we destroy something which we did not
give, cannot restore, do not understand—
which has many principles and elements
exactly like our own— which demands of
us, when we take it without provocation
or need of self-preservation, that we
should not cast aside our common human
feelings.

How very different is the effect upon
our minds, where the hunter meets with
a wild beast— whom we may regard as an
antagonist worthy of his prowess— where
there is a doubt as to the result, and who is,
moreover, the first assailant! When a hunter
lies down before his night-fire, surrounded by
his friends, and a lion leaps in among them
and carries off his man— the chase of that
royal savage, the contest, and the death—
constitute an adventure of that legitimate excitement
which commands everybody's sympathy.
Even the pain we feel at the sufferings and
horror, if not the death, of the man carried
off, is somewhat tempered in our emotions by
the recollection that he was a hunter, and
came there to kill the lion; so that if the
lion knew that fact (and we cannot tell but
instinct may go so far), he would argue that
his assault was "all fair," and a thing to be
expected by those who intruded on his domains.
But, when lions, or any other wild beasts, are
wantonly attacked and destroyed for no other
purpose than to afford an exciting amusement,
we think it is time those delights
of a barbarous age were discountenanced
among civilised nations.

Of the force of character, however, which
some of these scenes display, no doubt can
be entertained. The strength and courage of
the lion is so great that, although he is seldom
four feet in height, he is more than a match
for fierce animals of three or four times his
size, such as the buffalo. He will even attack
a rhinoceros or an elephant, if provoked. He
possesses such extraordinary muscular power,
that he has been known to kill and carry off
a heifer of two years old in his mouth, and,
after being pursued by herdsmen on horseback
for five hours, it has been found that he
has scarcely ever allowed the body of the
heifer to touch the ground during the
whole distance! But here is an instance
of strength in a man— a different sort of
strength— which surpasses all we ever heard
of a lion:—

Three officers in the East Indies—Captain
Woodhouse, Lieutenant Delamain, and
Lieutenant Laing—being informed that two lions
had made their appearance, in a jungle, at some
twenty miles' distance from their cantonment,
rode off in that direction to seek an engagement.
They soon found the " lordly strangers,"
or, natives, we should rather say. One of the
lions was killed by the first volley they fired;
the other retreated across the country. The
officers pursued, until the lion, making an
abrupt curve, returned to his jungle. They
then mounted an elephant, and went in to
search for him. They found him standing
under a bush, looking directly towards them.
He sought no conflict, but, seeing them
approach, he at once accepted the first
challenge, and sprang at the elephant's head,
where he hung on. The officers fired; in
the excitement of the onset their aim was
defeated, and the lion only wounded. The
elephant meanwhile had shaken him off, and,
not liking such an antagonist, refused to face
him again. The lion did not pursue, but
stood waiting. At length the elephant was
persuaded to advance once more; seeing