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pincers at every step bite a little into the skin, the elephant stops short. He is forthwith surrounded, chained, bound with cords, and, if vanquished, is led by a band of armed men behind the arena. The victor remains alone; his mahout dismounts, the pincers and fetters are removed, and the sâtmari commences. This is the second act -a combat between the elephant and men. The arena is invaded by elephantadors and fuse-bearers, this brilliant troop, with loud cries, approaching the elephant from every side. The latter, taken aback by this sudden onslaught, stands undecided at first; but soon he receives a stroke of the whip on the trunk, the lances prick him all over, and he rushes with fury on one or another of his assailants. One comes in front and waves his red veil; the elephant pursues him, but, constantly plagued in this way, he repeatedly changes his course, and never catches any one. After a short time spent in useless efforts, he at length perceives his mistake, and changes his tactics; he waits. Then one of the best elephantadors advances, gives him a vigorous stroke with his whip, and springs to one side just as the trunk is on the point of seizing him. But the elephant does not let him go in safety. This time he has fixed on his enemy, and nothing will make him abandon him; all that remains for the fugitive is to reach one of the small doors, and so make his escape out of the arena. The animal, blind with rage, strikes the wall, and, fancying he has at last got hold of his assailant, furiously tramples the soil. He who has not seen the elephant in one of these combats, or in a wild state, can form no idea of the rapidity of his course. A man pursued, and having to run some two hundred yards before he could find shelter, would infallibly be lost. In the first combat at which M. Rousselet was present the elephant resolutely pursued a young man, who was a very good runner, and, in spite of the thrusts of lances with which he was assailed, never lost sight of him for an instant. The unhappy man made desperate efforts to gain one of the outlets; but, just as he reached it, the creature's trunk seized him by the wrist, lifted him into the air, and dashed him violently to the earth. A mo

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PRINCESS CHAH JEAN OF BHOPAUL.

ment more and the enormous foot, already raised, would have crushed his skull, when one of the fuse-bearers sprang in front of the elephant, covered him with flames, and the terrified animal fled bellowing away.

At last the trumpets sound, and the elephantadors disappear through the small doors. The elephant does not understand the meaning of this sudden flight, and appears to be on the look-out for some unexpected attack. A door opens, and a Mahratta horseman, lance in hand, and mounted on a beautiful steed, enters the arena. Prancing up to the royal balcony, he gracefully salutes the king. The horse has his tail cut very short to prevent the elephant laying hold of him. The latter runs toward him with his trunk raised aloft in order to annihilate the creature whom he hates most of all. He has, in fact, a peculiar aversion for the horse, which he manifests even in his gentlest moments. This third act of the combat is the most attractive. The horse, admirably trained, does not stir, save by order of his rider, so that the latter allows the elephant almost to touch him with his

trunk before getting out of his way. He attacks the enormous beast with his lance, sometimes in front, sometimes in flank, driving him into a paroxysm of rage. But even at this moment the elephant displays his extraordinary intelligence. Pretending to take no notice of the horseman, he allows him to approach behind, and, suddenly turning round with astounding rapidity, he is on the point of seizing the horse, who only saves himself by a desperate bound. At length the combat terminates; the horseman again salutes the royal party, and withdraws, and the pincer-bearers enter, welcomed by the shouts of the crowd, to secure the elephant. These poor fellows have hard work of it, for the elephant charges them, and they have great difficulty in bringing it to a stand-still. The king calls before him the fuse-bearer who saved the life of the sâtmariwallah, and rewards him with a piece of figured stuff and a purse of five hundred rupees.

Another sort of combat, though not so attractive, nor on so grand a scale, is not wanting in originality-rhinoceros-fights. The two animals are chained at opposite extremities of the arena. One is painted black, the other red, in order that they may be distinguished, for otherwise they resemble each other in every point. When the company is assembled (M. Rousselet describes a scene of which he was an actual witness), the two hideous animals are let loose, and start off in an ungainly trot, raising angry cries. They seem to have very bad sight, for they pass one another several times without stopping; but at length they meet, and attack each other fiercely. Horn against horn, they exchange passes, as though fencing with swords, until one succeeds in passing his horn beneath the head of his antagonist, which is the vulnerable spot. The animal, therefore, who finds himself in this predicament, suddenly turns, so that the point of the enemy's horn rests against his jaw-bone, instead of penetrating his throat. They remain in this position, motionless, for some minutes, then separate, and one of them takes to flight. For a whole hour the fight is many times renewed with increasing fury; their horns clashing together with a great noise, their enormous lips covered with foam, and their foreheads stained with blood. Their attendants surround them, and throw buckets of water over them to refresh them, so that they may sustain the combat. At last the Guicowar orders a cessation of hostilities; a fuse is employed to separate the

combatants; they are secured, sponged, and led away.

In these beast-fights buffaloes also display a terrible degree of fury. Their vast horns are formidable weapons that repel the tiger himself, and their agility makes them more dangerous than even the elephant. But the oddest of all these contests was one our traveler saw one day, in the haghur at Baroda, between an ass and a hyena, and— who would have thought it ?-the ass gained the victory! the victory! The sight of the hyena filled him with such rage that he immediately attacked, and, by dint of kicking and biting, very soon disabled him. The victor was covered with garlands of flowers, and led off amid the cheers of the multitude.

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Perhaps the most exciting of the combats of this description which M. Rousselet witnessed was a fight between a panther and a boar which the Rana of Odeypoor arranged for his amusement. This combat took place in a handsome building surmounted by turrets, and picturesquely situated on the shores of the lake opposite to Odeypoor. arena was surrounded by high walls with marble balconies on either side at a sufficient height from the ground to prevent the panther from reaching them in his frantic leaps. wild boar was alone; a splendid animal, above the average size, and armed with long, sharp tusks. He had been captured in the neighboring gorges, where he was the leader of a herd, and the loss of his liberty had rendered him fierce and savage; he looked around him in search of an antagonist, and pawed the ground with impatient fury. Suddenly he paused, and trembled for an instant, while his huge mane bristled all over his shoulders. At length he saw his adversary. A trap-door opened, and a magnificent panther slowly entered the arena, and, crouching down in one corner, fixed his eyes upon the wild boar. The latter was the first to begin the attack. He rushed impetuously forward, and, allowing the panther to spring on him, tore his flanks with his tusks. movements were so rapid and violent that the panther attempted to escape; but that attempt was fatal to him, for the wild boar, taking advantage of his enemy's distress, redoubled his efforts, and each successive attack told on his adversary, who, with mangled sides, his skull shattered, and blinded with blood, could no longer defend himself. A rifle-ball put an end to the sufferings of the poor beast, and the victor was loudly applauded by the spectators. The wild boar soon reduced the body of his

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victim to a shapeless mass, trampling it under foot, and occasionally tossing it in the air to the opposite side of the arena. The reward of his courage was liberty. The trap-door was opened, and, amidst the acclamations of the crowd, he trotted off, slowly and philosophically, toward the mountains. On turning to the Rajpoots, it was easy to see, by the expression of their countenances, how pleased they were at the victory of their favorite adversary.

M. Rousselet's royal hosts in almost every part of India made hunting parties a leading feature in the entertainments by which they endeavored to amuse their guests. Now it was the bear which was the object of pursuit, now the nilghau, that great antelope which the Indians call the blue ox, and now the tiger or panther. Upon one of these occasions the hunters, mounted on an elephant, had followed a panther into a small wood,-when it attacked the animal with such courage that, if a ball had not come to put an end to the contest, M. Rousselet and his companions would have run great risk of being torn by the panther, or battered to pieces against a tree in the course of the elephant's flight.

Nearly everywhere, M. Rousselet seems to have exhibited a very happy faculty of find ing an easy entrance to the confidence and regard of the native rulers of the districts through which he traveled. His reception at the Court of the Begum of Bhopaul was quite as cordial as it had been at that of the Guicowar; and, although his stay there was

not so prolonged, he left behind him just as sincerely attached friends. Her Royal Highness the Princess Chah Jean of Bhopaul, whose portrait we give, might be taken upon this representation of her as a young woman of intelligence and refinement, and Madame Elizabeth de Bourbon, at the same Court, he speaks of as a noble-hearted and sincere representative of her sex. The latter, M. Rousselet tells us, exhibited an irrepressible desire to see for herself the wonders of Paris which he had described to her,doubtless, without attempting to repress his enthusiasm, or to measure his words. all events," she said to M. Rousselet, as he was making his adieux, "if I am too old to make the journey, you will always remember Bhopaul, and some day will visit us again." "A year afterward," adds M. Rousselet, Rousselet, "death suddenly removed her from her country, from her labors, and from my affectionate regard."

"At

The methods of transportation and locomotion in India range from the most primitive and barbarous to those of the most highly civilized countries. M. Rousselet, like an enterprising traveler, adapted himself to whichever happened to be the most convenient. In starting for the country of the Bheils, he had his first experience of camel-riding. Of this he gives an amusing account. On that occasion he organized a regular caravan, containing seven riding and seven baggage camels, for which seven camel-drivers were hired. The two camels on which he and his companion were to ride

appeared on the morning of starting smartly caparisoned with housings of silk and a profusion of tassels; but all these ornaments were simply in honor of the ceremony of departure, and it was well understood would disappear when the caravan was once on the road. One morning at four o'clock our traveler was called, and found everything in readiness for starting. "The Sani, or ridingcamel," he says, "squatted at the door waiting for me. I threw some coverings on the saddle to make it more comfortable, and took my place on the hind seat; my driver bestrode that in front, and the camel sprang to his feet. The saddle used for camelriding, as no doubt most of my readers are aware, is double, so that the two riders find themselves fitted close to one another. The position of the one who is behind is not the most agreeable on account of this proximity, but I had chosen it to accustom myself a little to the motion of the camel before I

attempted to guide it myself. I remained for half an hour without being able to find my equilibrium, violently jolted and clinging to the back of the camel; my companion, however, suffered equally with myself. At the end of this time I felt more at my ease, and was able to take some notice of the road we were traveling.”

A rather more exciting method of traveling was found in the mail wagon, of which we have this lively account: "Here comes the mail-cart, gentlemen,' cries our servant, and we are hardly out of our rooms when there appears on the road a fantastic equipage with three horses attached drawing a light box, painted red, mounted upon two immense wheels, which make enormous jumps, as if they wished to get ahead of the horses. In the twinkling of an eye the wagon is in front of us, the horses are unhitched, and the relay is attached. Quick! gentlemen!' says the courier, a

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tall, thin Indian, who is dressed in an old red cloth tunic, which lets you see his gaunt and naked limbs. I get up beside him. 'Hold on tight!' I grasp hold of the sides, and we start. Our horses break into a furious galop, and seem to have taken the bits in their teeth. The wagon jumps and bounds about. It seems to me every moment that I shall fly into the air. I try to speak, but it is impossible to open my mouth. The Indian, impassible, almost standing in his seat, belabors his horses constantly. Up hill and down, over narrow bridges, the same mad galop is kept up. One can hardly get a glimpse at the country, or tell whether the objects he is passing are trees or houses. At last there is a relay. I take advantage of this moment of rest to ask the driver if he always goes at this rate. Bara Sahib ka houkoum,' he replies, That is the order.' My question is absurd. The mail can never

go slowly; but in India it must go fast-at a mad rate of speed. Every day horses and couriers break their legs or arms; but that is no matter, the letters must go forward. Another courier takes the despatches, and is off."

And, last of all, there is to be found on some of the Indian railways the veritable "palace car," modified somewhat in arrangement, and more open and roomy, to meet the requirements of the oppressive climate.

These brief glimpses into M. Rousselet's account of "India and its Native Princes" do but scant justice to the interest and novelty which are to be found in the volume itself. Indeed there could not be a country named in the description of whose marvels, beauties, and peculiarities, the pen and the pencil together would have wider scope for the fullest exhibition of what they can accomplish.

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