In consequence of the continual persecution to which it is subjected, the hippopotamus becomes exceedingly wary, and, huge, clumsy, and blundering as it looks, is clever enough to detect either pitfall or drop-trap that have not been contrived with especial care. An old and experienced hippopotamus becomes so wary that he will be suspicious even of a bent twig, and, rather than venture across it, he will leave the path, force for himself a roundabout passage, and return to the path beyond the object that alarmed him. Mr. T. Baines, to whose sketches I am indebted for the illustration, told me that the hippopotamus is possessed of much more intellect than might be expected from a creature of so dull, clumsy, and unpromising aspect. Apathetic it generally is, and, as long as it is left unmolested, does not care to molest even the human beings that intrude upon its repose. It likes to lie in the shade of the reeds and rushes, and may be seen floating in the water, with only the nostrils, the eyes, and the ears above the surface, these organs being set in a line along the head, evidently for the purpose of allowing the whole body to be hidden under water while the three most important senses are capable of acting. A canoe-man who knows the habits of the hippopotamus will fearlessly take his fragile vessel through a herd of the animals, knowing that, if he only avoids contact with them, they will not interfere with him. The only danger is, that a hippopotamus may rise under the canoe, and strike itself against the boat, in which case the animal is rather apt to consider the intruding object as an enemy, and to attack it, sometimes crushing the canoe between its teeth, and mostly upsetting it, and throwing the crew into the water. In such a case, the men always dive at once to the bottom of the river, and hold on to some weed or rock as long as they can exist without breathing. The reason for this proceeding is, that the hippopotamus always looks for its enemy upon the surface of the water, and, if the men were to swim to shore, they would be caught and killed before they had swum many strokes. But, as it sees nothing but the damaged canoe, its short-lived anger vanishes, and it sinks again into the river, leaving the men at liberty to regain and repair their vessel. There is one passage in the description of the Behemoth which requires a few words of explanation: "He moveth his tail like a cedar" (v. 17).