and for other articles of luxury. The large proportion of very small tusks which are now brought to market annually is a sure indication of the increasing number of elephants that die young. To show to what size these tusks might attain, the American consul states that there was in a Sheffield showroom an African elephant’s tusk nine feet long, twenty-one inches in girth, and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds. The value of the tusk was one hundred and thirty pounds, and it is said that an animal large enough and strong enough to carry such a pair would attract far more attention than Jumbo did. In the nine years which ended with 1881, there were 5286 tons of ivory imported into Great Britain, and as the number of tusks is known, the average weight of pairs of tusks can be ascertained. It is a little under forty pounds each pair. At this rate, these imports represent 296,016 pairs, and consequently the same number of elephants have either died long ago, or have been recently slaughtered, to supply the demands of luxury in nine years alone. ‘At this rate of destruction,’ says Mr Webster, ‘it will be seen how rapidly this noble animal must disappear, and how surely ivory will become a thing of the past. There are, doubtless, large quantities of ivory still remaining in the interior of the African continent; but with the rapid advance of civilised man, and the temptation of increasing high prices, these will soon be discovered and exhausted.’ SPOKEN IN ANGER. ’Twas but a little word in anger spoken, While proud eyes flashed through bitter burning tears; But oh, I felt that fatal word had broken The cord of love that bound our hearts for years. Thy tortured face, that long wild look of sorrow, Like some pale ghost, must haunt me while I live; And yet, how bright, how full of joy the morrow, Had I but breathed one simple word—‘Forgive!’ I did not hear thy tender voice appealing, Nor marked thy anguish when I cried, ‘Depart!’ Too blind to see thy pitying glance, revealing The generous promptings of thy noble heart. How could I know that faithful heart was yearning, Though crushed and wounded to its inmost core, To take me back, like weary bird returning In fear and trembling, when the storm is o’er! ‘Remember, love, that it may be for ever; To see my face no more by night or day. Be calm, rash heart, think well before we sever; Recall the angry word, and bid me stay.’ Dead silence fell; the song-birds hushed their singing. ‘Enough,’ I proudly cried; ‘I choose my fate.’ While ever through my maddened brain kept ringing The death-knell of my love—too late, too late!