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hog-deer, wild pigs, peafowl, florican, black partridge, &c., crash away in the grass below, or rise in the air above, without having their flight quickened or arrested by a shot. When general firing is permitted, there is often a constant fusillade, closely resembling file-firing on parade, and every now and then some feathered or four-footed quarry is picked up and padded on one of the elephants of the line. But the real excitement commences when (in solemn silence, as far as men are concerned), the line of elephants forces its way through the long dense grass that is supposed to hold a tiger. If it be in a swamp, there is the additional excitement engendered by the possibility of one's elephant sinking in it and staying there; and as at each step the bulky animal goes deep in the treacherous bog-now swaying low on one side, then on the other-it becomes a matter of anxious consideration whether it will ever get its feet out to advance another step or return. Shaken from side to side of his howdah, and often with his view intercepted by the grass and reeds rising above his head, the tiger-shooter stands in his howdah, rifle in hand, prepared for that moment when he may catch a glimpse of a yellow skin with black bars upon it. He hears animals breaking through the jungle close at hand but he cannot see them, or he knows from the style of their going that they are not what he looks for. At last the tiger is sighted (perhaps two or more are sighted at the same time), and there are shouts of bagh, bagh,' (tiger, tiger), from the natives, and shots from every sportsman who has seen, or thinks he has seen it.

Then there are cries of lugga, lugga' (hit, hit), from the natives, who always say that an animal is hit however little reason there may be for forming such a conclusion; and possibly a general scrimmage in which the tiger is ap

parently omnipresent-now on the head of one elephant, then on the tail of another-until he lies hors de combat on the grass and snarls his life away.

While the tiger is being padded (i.e. lashed upon the pad of an elephant that does not carry a howdah), the Anglo-Indians refresh themselves, and the contents of the tiffin basket (carried on a pad elephant devoted to this purpose), are discussed, while an animated argument may ensue as to the mode by which the tiger came by his death. As the skin of the animal is the especial trophy of him whose bullet was the first to hit it, each sportsman possibly brings himself to believe that his was the lucky shot, and boldly asserts what he believes. 'I hit him with my first barrel just above the shoulder, and my second touched him in his hind leg;' 'I know I hit him because I saw him swerve as I fired,' and similar remarks are current; and the interior of the tiger must be a rich lead mine if it contain all the bullets that are said to have passed into it. But subsequent investigation, when the tiger is skinned close to the camp, proves that some four instead of forty bullets have had their billet in the right place, and inquiry conducted upon judicial principles and with all regard to laws of evi dence, frequently fails to clear up the point as to the rightful claimant of the first effective missile.

After a day spent in this manner upon an elephant the sportsman returns to camp ready enough to tub (i. e. have a mussuk or skin of water poured over him by a bheestie), take a good pull at a tankard of cool beer or claret cup, dine, and go to bed. He may, perhaps, sit out a couple of hours after dinner talking over past sport or organising future movements or he may play a rubber of whist-but his day's work has made sleep very acceptable, and at ten o'clock there is a hush in the

camp, only broken occasionally by the trumpeting of a restless elephant, or the howling of some predacious jackal; and the Anglo-Indian sleeps the sleep of healthy exercise in the open air or with but a tent roof or canvas awning to protect him from the night dew.

The management of such a party as this involves no little thought and trouble. Few men have elephants enough of their own to perform the work required (we know of but one exception-a civilian equally to be esteemed as a sportsman, administrator and open-hearted friendwho had ten) and much diplomacy or official influence has to be exerted to borrow others from rajahs and zemindars. Then the commissariat department is no light matter. The camp is perhaps sent a hundred and fifty miles away from the base of supplies, and nearly all the edibles, and all the wine and liquors required for the Europeans of the party, have to be laid in beforehand; and in the forest the simple food of camp followers and grain for cattle of all sorts have to be brought, perhaps a two days' journey, from the nearest point on the outskirts of comparative civilisation. Then there is the intelligence department to be looked after -shikarees (native hunters) to be sent out to pick up information as to what swamp is visited by tigers, or where a cow has lately fallen a victim to a tiger's appetite- and cow-herds, wood-cutters, and other frequenters of the jungle pumped for such information as they may possess upon the matter in hand. And, lastly, there is the necessity of organising such postal arrangements as will insure the delivery in camp within a week or so of their despatch from head-quarters of let ters and papers.

It has already been mentioned that the domestic establishment of an Anglo-Indian is great in point of numbers, and when we describe

the other hangers-on of an AngloIndian sporting party it will be seen that the camp-followers are a formidable body to provide for. In addition to the domestic servants of the sportsmen there are (1) two men (a mahout or driver, and a mate or assistant) with each elephant; (2) one man to every two camels; (3) one or two men to every cart; (4) a body of khalassies (tent pitchers); (5) a party of shikarees; (6) any letter-carriers (dāk wallahs) not out upon the road; (7) two or three moochees whose business it is to skin the animals brought in; (8) some halfdozen agents for the supply of russew or food for the natives; and, if there be of the party any official who carries on his duties in the wilderness, there will be a large gathering of amla and their dependants. The forest glade in which this community makes its temporary habitation becomes for the time being a small open-air town, with its population of from one hundred to three hundred souls-to be soon abandoned and left without a sign of man beyond the ruins of the camp fire-places, and the bottles that once held the pale ale of Bass or the wine that was professedly trodden out of the grapes of France.

Of course this manner of sport involves some considerable expenditure of money. The keep of every elephant costs something like two shillings a day. The hire of carts or camels is a considerable item where each costs from 17. to 31. per mensem; the wages of extra servants swells the account; and money paid away to successful shikarees who have tracked down a tiger, to cow-herds and others who have given good information (khubber), to mahouts who have driven their elephants well, and to anybody or everybody who has assisted in any way, brings the outlay to a very respectable sum total. While the reward ordinarily paid by

Government for the slaughter of a tiger is 10s., or at the most 17., the average amount spent by a tigershooting party is for each animal killed many times the maximum reward; and, apart from considerations of expense, tiger-shooting on a large scale is beyond the reach of many, because many are not in a position to get the loan of elephants, or to keep their own.

To some extent the same may be said of pig-sticking, but that sport admits a larger party into the field than tiger-shooting does, and any Anglo-Indian in society who possesses a horse that can go and will face a pig may have a share in any pig-sticking that is to be had within a hundred miles of his place of residence. As for the pursuit of other quarry, the field is open to all. Gun in hand the Anglo-Indian sportsman may pursue his course over the country unchallenged and unchecked, and make what bag he may.

In our consideration of Moffussil

life we have dwelt at some length upon its salient points, camp life and shikar; but we have hardly given undue importance to these. To the shikar of the Indian jungles must be attributed the credit of attracting to India those juniors of the British aristocracy who have, during the last two or three years, gone out to see what tigershooting and pig-sticking are like; and in some future period some member of the upper house may render good service to our Indian territory by speaking authoritatively upon some point as to which he gained his personal experience when on a tiger-shooting mission to the jungles below the Himalaya. And to the sportsman, the pleasureseeker, and the man of business, in the Moffussil, camp life is a matter of vital importance that can hardly be over-rated, and often the only apology for country life as the Englishman in England underderstands it.

MARIE DE MEDICIS; A QUEEN'S DEATH.

'GRANDEUR is shattered by the will of Time,
The crude magnificence of kings must fade,
All high emprise be drowned in Lethe's stream,
And glory vanish like the morning dew.
The peasant's pillow is the sweetest rest
Wide Earth can give-a crown a nest of thorns,
From which the tomb procures a blest release;
A soul once happy needs no other crown,
But failing this is martyred to the grave.'

Thus spake a penitent bewailing sin,

Mingled with circumstance of hideous wrong,
Erewhile the shadows lengthened in the eve
Across the porch, and through the solemn aisles,
Of the cathedral pile of old Cologne.

Forth from the wall the faces of sad saints,
With melancholy musing on their brows,

Peered in eternal reticence of stone,

Yet soothed by silence where the living voice
Had fretted into anger. Long she knelt,
That suppliant on whose lineaments were stamped
The light of genius and the mould of grace.
Yet there was wreck of wondrous beauty, too,
That once enthralled the princes of her land,
And all the peoples which had gazed on it.
She had been loved and happy, rich and great,
But now the bird upon the parapet,

That built its nest between the shelving stones,
And warbled out its little life in song,
Appeared to mock her in her loneliness,
And twit her with its freedom from the care
That preyed upon her and consumed her life.

The western sun dropped from the sky of fire,
And Evening spread her mantle of sweet peace
About the world, enticing it to rest :
Footsore and weary, covetous of ease,
And wasting for a season of soul-calm,
The worshipper before the altar knelt,

And made her last obeisance; then she turned,
And passing outwards met her only friend,
Good Father Francis, who within her ear
Low murmured, 'All is lost!' Down to the earth
She sank, exclaiming, 'Lord, how hard art thou!'
The Father thought her dead, but chafed her hands,

And pour'd cool water 'tween her bloodless lips,
Till once again she oped her listless eyes

(From which the light of joy had ever fled)
And gaining strength set forth to reach her home.
Yet trouble met her on the threshold there-
And pointed to her doom: a missive sealed,
Lay on the humble table, superscribed,
'For Marianni,' which she seized in haste,
And read-Hope thou no more, for all is lost!
Cinq-Mars is prisoner, and De Bouillon's fled,
The treaty with the King of Spain is known,
And Richelieu, whose spies discovered all,
Is greater in the State than heretofore,
And plays the King, who now his subject is.'
Frenzied she crushed the letter in her grasp,
And hissing out, I am not conquered yet,'
Fell senseless in a swoon upon the ground.

A month had passed, one short but fearful month,
And on the morning of a sunny day,

When Nature revelled in a glorious life,
The shrieks of Marianni rent the air,
With bitter lamentations interspersed.
The neighbours, who in kindly offices

Had oft been faithful, burst the unyielding door,
And saw her raving o'er her thousand wrongs.
'Back, back, thou ugly phantom!' she exclaimed;

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Thy robe is steeped in blood, thy hands, thy head,

Thy self entire imbued. I curse thee, knave!

A wife's, a woman's, ay, a mother's curse

Shall weigh thee down to deepest blackest hell.
Away, away, thy touch pollutes my soul.

Again I curse thee in the name of God,
And find delight in cursing as I die!'

'Who is this woman?' quoth the magistrate,
Desirous to make entry of her death.

To whom good Father Francis made reply:
'Her heirs are Henry, mighty Lord of France,
The Duc d'Orleans, brother to the King,
And Henrietta, Queen of England's isle.
Here lieth dead Marie de Medicis,

The Queen of France, the widow of a King,
And mother of our present Sovereign liege!'

Thus died a beggar France's proudest queen,
Illustrious, noble, beautiful, and pure,
A very monarch by decree of Heaven,

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