heart of Africa, merely to indulge his passion for the chase. A passage in his book, published at Bombay in 1838, describes how he shot his first elephant, a female. Next morning on going to look for his game, he found that all the elephants had fled from the neighbourhood, except a young one which had spent the night beside its dead mother.

Seeing the huntsmen, it forgot all fear, and came to meet them, with the clearest and most lively signs of disconsolate grief, and put its tiny trunk about them, as if to beg for help. “Then,” says Harris, “I was filled with real remorse for what I had done, and felt as if I had committed a murder.”

The English nation, with its fine sensibility, is, in fact, distinguished above all others for extraordinary compassion towards