impossible to describe the amusing scene.

Jumbo would, every now and then, turn right about and with his massive trunk throw up such a quantity of water as would make a shower-bath fall on Alice’s back, and then, perhaps, he would in the same way, throw up to a great height a regular three-inch water-pipe gush of a douche bath, and this would so tickle Alice, and so add to her enjoyment, that she would presently begin to reciprocate; but as her trunk and powers were not so great as Jumbo’s, she could not make such a good job of it. Yet Jumbo was awfully pleased at Alice’s consideration in trying thus to wash his back. Jumbo would make a good five-or six-story window-washer.

When they got to swimming depth they would play some of the funniest frolics, rolling about like two ships in a storm at sea; and at other times would swim most majestically along, Jumbo always leading the way for quite a time, then, when they got to the end of the oblong bath, Alice would turn round and Jumbo would follow her back to walking depth; then some more shower-bath business, and after that a return for a few dives. It is really amusing to see Jumbo on his head trying to show his hind legs, just like the boys do when they are bathing.

Jumbo and I had the same kind of fun out West in the rivers, whenever we had an opportunity, the only difference being that I had to take Alice’s place. I got all the shower and douche bath without the ability to return the kindness. Being without a long water-spout of a trunk, I couldn’t do more than splash a bit with my hands, or throw a few buckets of water on Jumbo’s back, and although he appreciated my efforts as a substitute, he never has enjoyed his bath as much as he did when Alice was along with him.

Jumbo is a remarkably clean animal, and he is mighty particular about his bed, and, indeed, in all his habits he is a model of cleanliness.

CHAPTER IV.

JUMBO’S BUSY LIFE AT THE ZOÖLOGICAL GARDENS, AND HIS LOVE FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

Jumbo has had a busy life. I would tell my young readers that, as Mrs. General Garfield once said, “a busy life is the happiest.” That good and noble lady once wrote to our late worthy President, and told him her happiest thoughts came to her when she was busy “baking the nice white bread” and thinking of her dear noble husband, who was also busy “all the way through,” from the time he drove the boat horse on the canal bank, up to the time he embraced his good old mother in the presence of thousands of his country’s representatives at Washington, during the scene of his inauguration.

Jumbo, I say, has been a busy, industrious creature all his life, especially since I brought him from his sick bed. He is like many a noble-minded man, who has been stricken down with sickness and raised up again, like old Job, to bless and magnify his creator. Jumbo has had no idle days for “loafing” or hanging around stores or otherwise wasting his time. He has been engaged in carrying around the children of the human family almost daily for twenty years, and I suppose no animal has ever carried so many on his back as Jumbo. Certainly I can claim for him that no animal ever did his work more affectionately or tenderly, and freer from accident.

Once when I was riding him around in the Zoölogical Gardens, in London, sitting on his neck, with about a dozen children on a panier-saddle across his broad back, we were proceeding down the path. It was on a delightful summer afternoon, and the grass plots, flowers, plants, and trees, which abound in those magnificent gardens, looked beautiful. I was engaged talking to the dozen “little folk” who occupied his back, and encouraging them to sit very quietly and not fall off, when all at once Master Jumbo came to a standstill for some cause or other. I shouted to him to go along, but for once he did not obey the order. As I turned round to see what was the matter, there was a lady running over the grass-plot on to the path, screaming and shouting, “Oh, my poor child! my child, my child! oh, he will be killed, he will be killed!” Well, I looked down from my elevation and saw Jumbo deliberately and coolly putting his trunk around the body of an infant that escaped its mother’s apron-strings and had run and fallen in front of Jumbo. Jumbo is a very careful walker, and always looks where he is going, and, like some others of God’s creatures, is rather slow in his movements, but both very sure footed and thoughtful. He just stopped right there, gently picked up the child by the waist with his trunk, and laid it on the green grass beside its screaming mother, more tenderly than the mother afterward took up the frightened child in her excitement.

Jumbo never gets excited when he is attending to children. He might get mad once in a while, when some drunken fool tries to prick him with pins stuck in a cake, or otherwise fool him. Jumbo always knows parties that try to play tricks upon him when he is being exhibited to the masses of humanity, and if ever any of such parties should come within the reach of Jumbo a second time it wouldn’t be good for him. A woman would not do a dirty trick to Jumbo.

Now, my dear young boys, let me tell you that Jumbo was only ten years old at this time, and I want you to see right here the great lesson taught by Jumbo in this tender action: to always be kind, loving, and helpful to your little sisters when you see them fall down or hurt themselves, and, if you learn to carry this into practice, this trivial incident of God’s wisdom, through one of his creatures, will be a blessed and profitable habit all through life, and your friend and Jumbo will be fully rewarded.

I want you to think of Jumbo as a kind, affectionate creature; never mind his being an awkward, overgrown “old boy”; don’t look at the exterior so much. “Fine feathers make fine birds,” is an old saying, but remember, when you see a little girl anyway in trouble, you should go instantly to the rescue, and remember that poor Jumbo did the same thing.

CHAPTER V.

JUMBO’S FONDNESS FOR MUSIC AND HIS KEEPER.

I must tell you that all his life, from the time I raised him from the bed—that was thought by most people that saw him in the diseased state I have described would be his death-bed—up to the present time, he has been a great lover of music. I don’t mean that he is very musical himself, as a vocalist or player on any instrument, but he is a very fair and appreciative creature. For instance, when at the Zoölogical Gardens, London, we had the grand band of the “Horse Guards” playing in the grounds every week; and when, as was occasionally the case, the men were away on duty elsewhere, another band was engaged, Master Jumbo knew the difference, although he could not always see the musicians.

He was so fond of the “Horse Guards,” and the boys were so fond of him, that they were always good friends, and Jumbo knew at once when any other band struck up a tune, and he would soon let me know that the hired band wasn’t his favorite “Horse Guards’ ” Band.

I dare say that there are many boys now of only the age that Jumbo was at that time, who would not be able to distinguish the difference in the music under the same circumstances.

I ought, perhaps, to tell my young readers that Jumbo has had, and even has to-day some habits that are rather babyish. I suppose you, my readers, and I have our faults and failings, like all other intelligent and instinctive animals; and one of Jumbo’s faults is that when I am out of his sight, or rather when I go away, he knows it, and if I don’t come back at regular times he always makes me aware of it,