behind the shoulder; then the dogs, which were both
indifferent ones, ran barking at him. The consequence was a terrific
charge, the dogs at once making for their master, and bringing the
elephant right upon me. I had no time to gain my saddle, but ran for my
life. The dogs, fortunately, took after "Sunday," who, alarmed by the
trumpeting, dashed frantically away, though in the heat of the affray I
could not help laughing to remark horse, dogs, and elephant all charging
along in a direct line.

The dogs, having missed their master, held away for Kleinboy, who had
long disappeared, I knew not whither. "Sunday" stood still, and
commenced to graze, while the elephant, slowly passing within a few
yards of him, assumed a position under a tree beside him. Kleinboy
presently making his appearance, I called to him to ride in, and bring
me my steed; but he refused, and asked me if I wished him to go headlong
to destruction. "Sunday" having fed slowly away from the elephant. I
went up, and he allowed me to recapture him. I now plainly saw that the
elephant was dying, but I continued firing to hasten his demise. Toward
the end he took up a position in a dense thorny thicket, where for a
long time he remained. Approaching within twelve paces, I fired my two
last shots, aiming at his left side, close behind the shoulder. On
receiving these, he backed slowly through the thicket, and clearing it,
walked gently forward about twenty yards, when he suddenly came down
with tremendous violence right on his broadside. To my intense
mortification, the heavy fall was accompanied by a loud, sharp crack,
and on going up I found one of his matchless tusks broken short off by
the lip. This was a glorious day's sport: I had bagged, in one
afternoon, probably the two finest bull elephants in Bamangwato, and,
had it not been for the destruction of their noble trophies, which were
the two finest pair of tusks I had obtained that season, my triumph on
the occasion had been great and unalloyed.

[From Dickens's Household Words.]

THE POWER OF MERCY.

Quiet enough, in general, is the quaint old town of Lamborough. Why all
this bustle to-day? Along the hedge-bound roads which lead to it, carts,
chaises, vehicles of every description are jogging along filled with
countrymen; and here and there the scarlet cloak or straw bonnet of some
female occupying a chair, placed somewhat unsteadily behind them,
contrasts gayly with the dark coats, or gray