The elephant is extremely fond of water; and soon after sunrise the Asiatic species can be seen sporting in the streams, floundering about, and spouting water over their huge bodies, piping and trumpeting with conflicting emotions. They are very susceptible to cold, and when obliged to enter water at night, or when it is chilly, are careful to lift their tails and trunks above the surface if possible. So clumsy an animal would hardly be expected to excel in swimming, yet probably few land animals can compete with them in this respect. In 1875 Mr. Sanderson sent a herd of seventy-nine from Dacca to Barrackpur near Calcutta, and during the march they had to cross the Ganges and several large tributaries. In one place the entire herd swam without touching bottom for six consecutive hours: then after resting a while on a sand-bank, they swam three more, or nine in all, with but one rest. Few land animals could accomplish this without losing some of their number. But Mr. Sanderson states that he has heard of swims even more remarkable than this. Notwithstanding their fine swimming powers, elephants are sometimes drowned by very simple means; and Mr. Sanderson records such an instance: “We had left the Myanee above its junction with the Kurnafoolie, and were marching by land; but, owing to the lie of the country, we had to cross the Kurnafoolie occasionally. It was very deep, and the elephants had to swim. One morning, whilst crossing where it was about eighty yards wide and thirty feet deep in a gorge through a saddle in the hills, a tusker which was secured between two tame ones, one in advance of, and one behind, him, sank like a stone, probably from being seized with cramp from the coldness of the water, and dragged the two females with him. Their mahouts tried in vain to slash the ropes through: they had barely time to save themselves by swimming. Any thing more sudden or unexpected I never witnessed. One elephant appeared again for a brief moment, at least about two feet of her trunk did: she waved us a last farewell, when all was still save the air-bubbles which continued to rise for some time from the calm, deep pool. Every one who witnessed it was shocked. The drivers of the elephants yet to cross hesitated. We could not believe the unfortunate beasts would not come up again. The mahouts sat down, and cried like children over the loss of the faithful beasts they had tended for years. Elephants are such good swimmers, that I cannot understand how it was that the two tame ones were unable to gain the shore, which was only twenty yards distant, by towing the wild one. When they floated, we found that they were in no way entangled; and it was not owing to snags catching the ropes, nor to any undercurrent, that they were drawn down. One of the tame ones, Geraldine, was a great favorite of mine; and she and the other were worth twelve hundred dollars each. The tusker was worth twenty-four hundred, so the