Fancy yourself standing with me on that little rising ground, near the foot of that large hill: it is near Bunool, on the banks of the Chelka Lake. Keep out of sight behind that bush. Hark! there are the beaters climbing the rocks on the opposite side of the hill. There are 400 extended along the whole side, and every tenth man has a drum or trumpet. Some of them have guns, curious native matchlocks; others have swords or spears; and every one has a thick bamboo about eight feet long. Listen! they are beginning to beat. As they force their way through the jungle they strike the bushes with their sticks, and from one end of the lake to the other resound the most unearthly noises. The horrid yells of the natives, the screaming of the trumpets, the constant beating of the tom-toms and drums--you can hardly imagine such horrid discord. See: there is Mr. G. hiding himself behind that clump of trees a quarter of a mile off. Hold your gun ready, you cannot tell what may rush out of the jungle. Don't show yourself. Listen again to those yells. They must nearly have reached the top of the hill. Hush! there is a rustling in those bushes close to you. What is it? Keep close, but up with your gun. Here it comes! Bah! don't fire at that; it is only a civet-cat. What a beautiful animal it is, with its grey sides, and tail striped with that glossy black. But the skin is of no use; the stench from it is so exceedingly powerful that you could not possibly bear it in the house. Look out! there's another rush! Here it comes! a pig! no; what can it be? Why, it's a porcupine. Don't fire. Here, you messenger, catch it. Fancy the man's look of dismay when ordered to catch a porcupine. However, another of my men jumped up and stabbed the animal with his sword. Oh, what a clash in the jungle at the top of the hill! See! that must be some large animal coming down. Don't let him see you; peep through that bush. How he plunges through the jungle! He has stopped: look now! he leaves the beaters behind him, but he suspects danger in front. You can see his head by the side of that tree, just below that high rock. He is standing still and gazing at us. What a splendid pair of antlers! He must be one of the largest sambres (Indian elk) I ever saw. I am afraid he is hardly within shot; however, I'll try. He is down; the ball struck him just in the centre of his forehead, and one of my men rushes forward to despatch him with his sword.