Sometimes men who like to take chances follow the Tigers on foot and shoot them where they find them, which is often coming straight through the air. A glance at the illustration will show what powerful forearms and shoulders the tiger has. One blow from that paw will break a bullock’s back, and a wounded Tiger is more dangerous than one unhurt. Unless the brain is reached or the spinal column broken a Tiger will not stop in his charge, and the most active man can hardly avoid his clutches. An adult Bengal Tiger measures ten feet from tip to tip, stands over three and a half feet in height and weighs five hundred pounds. If we consider the strength, activity and ferocity of the ordinary house cat and then think of it multiplied a hundred times we can form some conception of the Bengal Tiger as he lies down by his water hole and wonders what he will kill next. In color the Tiger matches the foliage of his native jungles. When lying in grass or even upon the ground the dark markings and rufous fawn colors of his body blend almost perfectly with his surroundings, and it has often happened that his presence was only guessed by the thrashing of his nervous tail in the grass as he gathered for a leap. Grassy plains and swamps are his favorite abiding places, and he does not hesitate to swim from island to island in search of prey. Curiously, again, for a cat, the Tiger does not climb trees except when forced to do so by floods. The Tigress gives birth to from two to six cubs and is most affectionate toward them and aggressive toward intruders while she has them in charge. As soon as they can eat she begins to kill for them, and teaches them by a thousand cruel tricks to imitate her example. Not until they are nearly grown and able to kill for themselves does she separate herself and leave them to shift for themselves. Young Tigers are far more destructive than old, killing three or four cattle and eating one, as if they wished to learn their duties in life well or were mad with the rage to kill. Dane Coolidge. AD VESPERAM. With bars of beaten brass and amethyst, Evening hath shut the crimson sun within A pasturage, where fleecy cloud-flocks win Uncertain nurture from pelagian mist, The singing of a feathered rhapsodist Sounds from the darkening wood: O Night begin! Bright pageant of the stars, come, usher in The hour when Peace, a potent exorcist, Casts out the turbulence and fret of day. Now as the last faint bird notes die away, And sunset’s glory fades from out the west, Cometh an angel and his name is Rest. On white dream wings I soar away with him, Farewell, O Earth; farewell, O twilight dim! Mary Grant O’Sheridan. Transcriber’s Notes --Reconstructed the Table of Contents (originally on each issue’s cover).