“Well, I declare! That is certainly a real elephant and any man who has so many elephants that he can afford to work them on his farm, must have lots of wild animals and curious ‘critters’ in his Museum, and I am bound to go there the first thing after my arrival in New York.” The six acres were plowed over at least sixty times before I thought the advertisement sufficiently circulated, and I then sold the elephant to Van Amburgh’s Menagerie. A substantial farmer friend of mine, Mr. Gideon Thompson, called at Iranistan during the elephant excitement and asked me to accompany him to the field to let him see “how the big animal worked.” I knew him to be a shrewd, sharp man and a good farmer, and I tried to excuse myself, as I did not wish to be too closely questioned. Indeed, for the same reason, I made it a point at all times to avoid being present when the plowing was going on. But the old farmer was a particular friend and he refused to take “no” for an answer; so I went with him “to see the elephant.” Arriving at the field, Mr. Thompson said nothing, but stood with folded arms and sedately watched the elephant for at least fifteen minutes. Then he walked out on to the plowed ground, and found it so mellow that he sank nearly up to his knees; for it had already been plowed over and over many times. As usual, several spectators were present. Mr. Thompson walked up to where I was standing, and, looking me squarely in the eyes, he asked with much earnestness: “What is your object, sir, in bringing that great Asiatic animal on to a New England farm?” “To plow,” I replied very demurely. “To plow!” said Thompson; “don’t talk to me about plowing! I have been out where he has plowed, and the ground is so soft I thought I should go through and come out in China. No, sir! You can’t humbug me. You have got some other object in bringing that elephant up here; now what is it?” “Don’t you see for yourself that I am plowing with him?” I asked. “Nonsense,” said Thompson “that would never pay; I have no doubt he eats more than he earns every day; you have some other purpose in view, I am sure you have.” “Perhaps he does not eat so much as you think,” I replied; “and you see he draws nobly--in fact, I expect he will be just the animal by and by, to draw saw logs to mill, and do other heavy work.” But Uncle Gid., was not to be put aside so easily so he asked very sharply: “How much does he eat in a day?” “Oh,” I replied carelessly, “not more than a quarter of a ton of hay and three or four bushels of oats.” “Exactly,” said Thompson, his eyes glistening with delight; “that is just about what I expected. He can’t draw so much as two pair of my oxen can, and he costs more than a dozen pair.” “You are mistaken, friend Thompson,” I replied with much gravity; “that elephant is a powerful animal; he can draw more than forty yoke of oxen, and he pays me well for bringing him here.”