Among the natives of the elephant country, there are many curious superstitions concerning the age, death, and final resting-place of the great animal. The age to which they may possibly attain is a matter of conjecture. One hundred and fifty years is considered the limit by persons who are familiar with the subject. Expert native hunters state that they live one hundred and twenty years, or average about eighty. Mr. Sanderson expresses the belief that they attain one hundred and fifty years, and bases his conclusions from his observations of the famous elephant Bheemruttee, owned by his Highness the Mahárájah of Mysore. It was captured in Coorg in 1805, and was then a baby elephant three years old. In 1876 she was in her prime, and did not show any of the evidences of age evinced by elephants that were known to be advanced in years; and, when it is remembered that in captivity the animals are often ill-fed and abused, it is evident that they may attain a great age. Natives can determine the age of an Asiatic elephant within a few years. They easily ascertain that of a young or very old animal, but those of middle age present more difficulties. The head of an old elephant is lean and rugged, the bones of the skull being prominent, the eyes and temples sunken; while the fore-legs, instead of bulging out at the knees, present the same general size throughout. An old elephant also has a different gait from a young one: instead of putting the foot firmly upon the ground, the heel touches it first. The surest test to the native, however, is the ear, which is almost as conclusive a telltale as are the teeth of a horse. In elephants not older than seven years, the top of the ear is not turned over at the rim; but, as they grow older, it begins to lap and curve, increasing with age; and in very old animals, the lower portion is always torn and jagged. Elephants attain their full growth at about twenty-five years of age, and are in full vigor at thirty-five. The Strologas, a tribe of the Billiga-rungun hills, assert and believe that the elephant never dies; while the Kurrabas of Kákankoté, and many others, are firm in the belief that they have some secret place to which they retire to die. When this idea is scouted as romance by a European, the native invariably asks, “Did you ever see a dead elephant? Did you ever hear of any one who did?” and the questioner and doubter is obliged generally to answer in the negative. Not only have few sportsmen found an elephant that had evidently died a natural death, but few natives have ever seen one.