Some few years ago the hounds belonging to the late Mr. Downall hunted a leopard at Newera Ellia, and a tremendous struggle ensued. There were several very powerful and large seizers among the pack, and the enemy was overmatched, but although the big dogs had the mastery of the animal, they could not actually kill it outright. General J. Wilkinson was on the spot, and he thrust his hunting-knife into the fatal spot; but he was a little to slow in withdrawing the blade; the dying leopard made a quick blow with its fore paw, and inflicted a serious wound upon his hand, lacerating the muscles of the thumb to a degree that rendered surgical treatment necessary for several weeks. When using the hunting-knife, extreme dexterity is to be observed in delivering the stab, and instantaneously recovering the weapon. There is no object to be gained by keeping the knife within the wound, and there is considerable danger of injury to the hand. If the knife is used by an expert it will never be held with the point downwards like a dagger, but the handle will be grasped for a direct thrust, as though the weapon were a sword. In this position the knife is always well under command, and it can be instantly withdrawn and the thrust repeated upon a favourable opportunity. I had a very savage and powerful dog many years ago which was a cross of Manilla bloodhound with some big bitch at the Cape of Good Hope. This animal weighed upwards of 130 lbs., and became a well-known character in the pack, which I kept for seven years in Ceylon. Although I never actually witnessed a duel between this dog and a leopard, such an event frequently took place. It was the custom of Smut to decline all control, and when the hounds were secured in couples to prevent them from following the scent of a leopard, should recent tracks be visible in the jungle, this determined dog would erect the bristles on his back, emit low growls when summoned back, and would disappear to hunt up, single-handed, the scent of the dreaded enemy. Upon these occasions Smut would be unheard of during the remainder of the day, and he would return to kennel in the evening, proudly trotting along, covered with blood and wounds, but always so fierce that he refused all aid and medical attendance; he was merely ready for his dinner. He had of course tackled his adversary, and indulged his propensity for a stand-up fight, with results which we never could discover; probably the leopard had been glad to retire honourably from the uncertain conflict. This grand dog was ultimately killed in a fight with an immense boar, and his name will reappear in connection with the sambur deer, misnamed the "elk," throughout Ceylon.