Here are some logs being adjusted on the wharf-slope. Note the ease with which the elephant pushes each into its place with, apparently, the slightest movement of trunk or foot. Mark this one, which, by a greater than necessary exercise of force, has become tilted up against its fellow. The elephant has noted it too, and half-kneeling, and getting his tusks under it, he pulls the log backwards a little, and it drops square with its fellow. What dictated that action? Mathematical order and precision belong to the bee, and are said to be instinctively implanted in that humble animal; but could there have been anything in this elephant’s antecedents to have prepared it for rearranging a dislocated log? Surely the impulse seized it at the moment, and must have been due to a sense of order or tidiness implying the presence of reason. Odd lengths of log, varying from four to six feet, are carried about the yard by elephants, a species of work which is distasteful to them, as exhibiting their awkward points. Indeed, they evidently feel degraded by it, for they set to work with an air of resignation quite foreign to their shifting or dragging feats. There they rejoice in their great strength, and are fond of exhibiting it. Here, little strength is needed; but the operations involve roughish treatment of the nose, and we know that all animals, including man, are very particular as to how their noses are handled. The elephant is proud of his strength, but sensitive with regard to his trunk, especially when that delicate organ is brought to bear upon any rough work; and as the securing of a log between the trunk and tusks necessitates a large amount of awkward movement, I noticed that the selected elephant approached the job with reluctance. Resigned to his fate, he half-kneels before the odious object, and gets the points of his tusks under it; then he wriggles it up the ivory tramway with his trunk, and secures it therewith _in situ_. His troubles now commence; for on rising to his feet, the hateful log, obeying the laws of gravity, at once tends to drop; and to obviate this, the poor brute has to raise his head on high. Thus constrained, he commences his march with slow stateliness, as if to make the best of a bad job, and not let the world at large know that he is virtually walking blindfold. And so he is; for the elevation of his head upsets the axis of his vision, and he has to walk more by touch than by sight.