ent. The Belgians place no limit upon the number of
elephants one may shoot, just so they get their rake-off. In British
territory, however, sportsmen are limited to only two elephants a year
to those holding licenses to shoot. Our elephant hunter friend was now
on his way back to shoot some more.

[Drawing: _The Elephant Hunter and His Bag_]

There was another interesting character on board who caused many of us
to stop and think. He was a young British army officer who was mauled by
a lioness several months ago in Somaliland. He now walked with a decided
limp and was likely to lose his commission in the army because of
physical infirmities. He was cheerful, pleasant, and looked hopefully
forward to a time when he could have another go at a lion. This is the
way the thing happened: Last March he was shooting in Somaliland and ran
across a lioness. He shot her, but failed to disable her. She
immediately charged, chewed up his leg, arm and shoulder, and was then
killed by his Somali gunbearer. He was days from any help. He dressed
his own wounds and the natives tried to carry him to the nearest
settlement. Finally his bandages were exhausted, the natives deserted,
and it was only after frightful suffering that he reached help. In three
weeks blood poisoning set in, as is usual after the foul teeth of a lion
have entered the flesh, and for several months he was close to death.
Now he was up and about, cheerful and sunny, but a serious object lesson
to the lion hunters bound for the lair of the lion.

In the smoking-room of the _Adolph Woermann_ was a bronze bust of Mr.
Woermann presented by himself. Whether he meant to perpetuate his own
memory is not vital to the story. The amusing feature lies in the fact
that some irreverent passenger, whose soul was dead to the sacredness of
art, put a rough slouch hat on Mr. Woermann one night, with
side-splitting results. Mr. W. is a man with a strong, intelligent
German face, something like that of Prince Henry, and in the statue
appears with bare neck and shoulders. The addition of a rakish slouch
hat produced a startling effect, greatly detracting from the strictly
artistic, but adding much to the interest of the bust. It looked very
much as though he had been ashore at Aden and had come back on board
feeling the way a man does when he wants his hat on the side of his
head. Still, what can a shipowner expect who puts a nude bust of himself
in his own ship?

[Drawing: _Having