In February, 1887, Mandalay was not behind the rest of India in celebrating the Jubilee of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. The ceremonies were designedly arranged so as to give the people an opportunity of demonstrating their loyalty and devotion to the Crown by revels which they themselves appreciated. For a week pwès[177] and other Burmese festivities went on day and night. On the first day came all the members of the royal family, all the high officials, and a crowd of others, in their gayest and richest attire. In the principal ballet appeared, probably for the last time, the famous singer and dancer, Yindaw Ma Le, the favourite of Princes, undisputed _prima donna_ of the Burmese operatic stage, who ten years before had been sent to Rangoon by Mindôn Min to dance at the Proclamation rejoicings. Twenty years later her successor, Ma Twe Le, also a lady of supreme grace and serpentine charm,[178] had the honour of dancing before Their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales. One of the relaxations of those early days was to see the working of the Elephant Kheddah at Amarapura. The Kheddah establishment, inherited from the King and maintained for some time, consisted of a number of tame elephants, thoroughly well trained, with Burmese riders and hunters. The tame elephants, some with riders, some guided only by their own sagacity, plunged into a jungle teeming with herds of their wild brethren. By artful strategy a wild elephant would be detached from his fellows, lured into the midst of the tame herd, and gradually drawn to the Kheddah enclosure. This was a quadrangle, entered only by a funnel-shaped passage, surrounded by a strong outer wall of brick and by an inner stockade of stout teak posts set at intervals, with a space between the stockade and the wall. By his clever, perfidious friends, the captive was cunningly edged and hustled towards the passage till finally he was thrust into its mouth. Then the gate was securely fastened and the quarry was alone at the mercy of his captors. The hunters teased him with blunt spears and sticks, not doing him any real harm, but annoying him exceedingly, escaping his charge by darting between the posts of the palisade, set wide enough apart to admit a man but not an elephant. This was a sport of some danger, requiring nerve and agility. When the poor beast was thoroughly tired, he was noosed and tied up in the Kheddah, and the process of training began. Spectators sat in crowds on the wall to watch this pastime. I do not think it occurred to any of us that it was somewhat cruel. In March, 1887, Sir Charles Bernard left Burma. He was entertained by the Headquarters Mess at a farewell dinner, where Sir George White[179] proposed his health in moving and eloquent terms, quoting most appropriately the famous lines: