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traveller on that side of India would return without exploring the wonders of the "Cave of Elephanta."
In 1831 an elephant was brought to England on speculation, and purchased for the Regent's Park Zoological Gardens. His voyage from India forms a very amusing article in "Chambers'Journal" for March 1837. The keeper, riding on his neck, guided him through the surf of the Indian shore on a catamaran; the docile creature was then lifted on board by means of ropes and pulleys; his keeper then, with many salams, took leave of him. The elephant soon became reconciled to his life on board, and readily adopted a new keeper, in the person of the butcher of the ship, who was appointed to feed him. He was remarkably mild and tractable, and fond of every one who treated him with kindness—would kneel down at the word of command in Hindostanee, and if asked to shake hands, would lift up his enormous paw to comply. His cage had an opening in it to allow room for the butcher to enter with his food. One of his principal amusements was to put his trunk out of this opening and feel about, picking up any stray things that might come in his way. The carpenter one day requiring a piece of the stout plank which enabled the elephant to stand comfortably and carry on his observations, cut a few feet off the end of it. As soon as the elephant missed his footstool, he began to show his displeasure by tearing down the thin planks with which his cage was lined, and uttering cries of anger. At last he caught sight of a packet of staves lying near, and he instantly twisted his trunk around them, and laying them where the missing plank had been, he mounted upon it and gave a grunt of pleasure. This animal refused, on landing at Blackwall, to go on shore by means of any platform. He was hoisted out, and as soon as he once more stood on land he quietly followed his keeper. Catching sight of green hedges and trees down a lane, he set off at a swinging trot to get a nearer look at them; trailing a whole rabble of boys, who were permitted to have the pleasure of holding his heel-ropes. He was housed in a stable for the night, and then quietly marched up to his new quarters in the Regent's Park. A gentleman, his fellow-voyager, states that he paid him a visit there, and that on requesting the elephant in Hindostanee to kneel down, he did so immediately, and also raised his foot to "shake hands," to the great wonder of the cake and biscuit contributors.
"All Naples," says Sonnini, in one of his notes to Button's "Natural History," " has witnessed the docility and sagacity of an elephant that belonged to the king. He afforded great assistance to the masons that were at work upon the palace, by reaching them the water they required; which he fetched in large copper vessels from a neighbouring well. He had observed that these vessels were carried to the brazier's, when they wanted any repair. Observing, therefore, one day, that the water ran out at the bottom of one of them, he carried it of his own accord to the brazier, and having waited while it was repairing, received it again from him and returned to his work. This elephant used to go about the streets of Naples, without ever injuring any one: he was fond of playing with children, whom he took up with hia trunk, placed them on his back, and set them down again on the ground, without their ever receiving the smallest hurt."
"Chambers' Journal" for September 1837 gives an interesting account of an elephant in the Zoological Gardens at the Regent's Park, who unexpectedly had a neighbour in the rhinoceros. When this new addition to the menagerie first arrived, the elephant showed no good-will towards him—and no wonder—he was deserted for the new comer; the crowds who used to surround the elephant and reward his docility with cakes and fruit, deserted him for his massive brother, who looked, as somebody facetiously remarked, as if his clothes were not made to fit him. The rhinoceros and elephant were lodged close together, but so that they could not see each other. Their apartments were separated by two doors; the door nearest to the rhinoceros being of oak, and that next to the elephant of deal. The elephant, one day, broke the deal door with his tusks, and then made a push at the exposed oak door, which carried it off its hinges. What happened before the keepers came they of course knew not, but when they arrived they found the rhinoceros in the apartment of the elephant, standing at right angles with him, and with his head under the elephant's belly: the latter, to use the expression of the keeper, was "all of a tremble." The young female elephant, which was at that time confined in the same apartment with the large one, had apparently escaped from the scene of action by entering the rhinoceros's apartment, where she was discovered standing quietly. The large elephant and the rhinoceros were then separated by the keepers, the rencontre not having produced the slightest injury to either. The relative sagacity of the two animals was well shown, soon after they took possession of the house from which they are now excluded. The rhinoceros was one day observed pushing his straw to the side of his apartment, within reach of the elephant's trunk, who immediately protruded that organ, and from time to time bore off the litter. Trunkful after trunkful was abstracted, but still the stupid rhinoceros continued to push the straw towards the place