the hunted
villager while he was hastening toward my direction. This combination
of sounds naturally led him to expect that some accident had occurred,
especially as some of the yells indicated that somebody had come to
grief. This caused him a very laborious run, and he arrived thoroughly
blown, and with a natural desire to kick the recreant villager who bad
caused the yells.

If the ground had been ever tolerably dry, we should have killed a
large number of elephants out of this herd; but, as it happened, in
such deep mud and water the elephants had it all their own way, and our
joint bag could not produce more than seven tails; however, this was
far more than I had expected when I first saw the herd in such a secure
position.

On our return to the village we found Palliser's horse terribly gored
by a buffalo, and we were obliged to leave him behind for some weeks;
fortunately, there was an extra pony, which served him as a mount home,
a distance of a hundred and fifty miles.

This has been a sad digression from our argument upon instinct and
reason, a most unreasonable departure from the subject; but this is my
great misfortune; so sure as I bring forward the name of an elephant,
the pen lays hold of some old story and runs madly away in a day's
shooting. I now have to speak of the reasoning powers of the canine
race, and I confess my weakness. I feel perfectly certain that the pen
will serve me the same trick, and that it will be plunging through a
day's hunting to prove the existence of reason in a hound and the want
of it in the writer. Thrash me, good critics; I deserve it; lay it on
with an unsparing thong. I am humiliated, but still willful; I know my
fault, but still continue it.

Let us think; what was the subject? Reason in dogs, to be sure. Well,
every one who has a dog must admit that he has a strong share of
reason; only observe him as he sits by your side and wistfully watches
the endless transit of piece after piece, bit after bit, as the fork is
conveying delicate morsels to your mouth. There is neither hope nor
despair exhibited in his countenance--he knows those pieces are not for
him. There is an expression of impatience about the eye as he scans
your features, which seems to say, "Greedy fellow! what, not one bit
for me?" Only cut a slice from the exterior of the joint--a piece that
he knows you will not eat--and watch, the change and eagerness of his
expression; he knows as well as yo