ind me of the story of the Laird of Logan. He was riding
slowly along a country road one day, when another equestrian joined
him. Logan's eye fixed itself on a hole in the turf bank bounding the
road, and with great gravity, and in trust-inspiring accents, he said,
'I saw a _tod_ (or fox) gang in there.'

'Did you, really;' cried the new comer.

'I did,' responded the laird.

'Will you hold my horse till I get a spade,' cried the now excited
traveller.

The laird assented. Away hurried the man, and soon returned with a
spade. He set manfully to work to dig out the fox, and worked till the
perspiration streamed down his face. The laird sat stolidly looking
on, saying never a word; and as he seemed to be nearing the confines
of the hole, the poor digger redoubled his exertions. When at length
it became plain that there was no fox there, he wiped his streaming
brow, and rather crossly exclaimed, 'I'm afraid there's no tod here.'

'It would be a wonder if there was,' rejoined the laird, without the
movement of a muscle, 'it's ten years since I saw him gang in there.'

So it is sometimes with a native. He will fire your ardour, by telling
you of some enormous tiger, to be found in some jungle close by, but
when you come to enquire minutely into his story, you find that the
tiger was seen perhaps the year before last, or that it _used_ to be
there, or that somebody else had told him of its being there.

Some tigers, too, are so cunning and wary, that they will make off
long before the elephants have come near. I have seen others rise on
their hind legs just like a hare or a kangaroo, and peer over the
jungle trying to make out one's whereabouts. This is of course only in
short light jungle.

The plan we generally adopt in beating for tiger on or near the Nepaul
border, is to use a line of elephants to beat the cover. It is a fine
sight to watch the long line of stately monsters moving slowly and
steadily forward. Several howdahs tower high above the line, the
polished barrels of guns and rifles glittering in the fierce rays of
the burning and vertical sun. Some of the shooters wear huge hats made
from the light pith of the solah plant, others have long blue or white
puggrees wound round their heads in truly Oriental style. These are
very comfortable to wear, but rather trying to the sight, as they
afford no protection to the eyes. For riding they are to my mind the
most comfortable head-dress that can be worn, and th