University of Virginia Library

15. XV.
THE ELEPHANT.

Some two years since, on the strength of
what we regarded as reliable information,
we announced the death of the elephant
Hannibal at Canton, and accompanied the
announcement with a short biographical
sketch of that remarkable animal. We
happened to be familiar with several interesting
incidents in the private life of Hannibal,
and our sketch was copied by almost
every paper in America and by several European
journals. A few months ago a
“traveled” friend showed us the sketch in
a Parisian journal, and possibly it is “going
the rounds” of the Chinese papers by this
time. A few days after we had printed his
obituary Hannibal came to town with Van
Amburgh's Menagerie, and the same type

which killed the monster restored him to
life again.

About once a year Hannibal

to make a short quotation from a once popular
ballad. These sprees, in fact, “is what's
the matter with him.” The other day, in
Williamsburg, Long Island, he broke loose
in the canvas, emptied most of the cages,
and tore through the town like a mammoth
pestilence. An extensive crowd of athletic
men, by jabbing him with spears and pitchforks,
and coiling big ropes around his legs,
succeeded in capturing him. The animals
he had set free were caught and restored
to their cages without much difficulty. We
doubt if we shall ever forget our first view
of Hannibal—which was also our first view
of any elephant—of the elephant, in short.
It was at the close of a sultry day in June,
18—. The sun had spent its fury and was
going to rest among the clouds of gold and
crimson. A solitary horseman might have
been seen slowly ascending a long hill in a
New England town. That solitary horseman
was us, and we were mounted on the
old white mare. Two bags were strapped
to the foaming steed. That was before we
became wealthy, and of course we are not
ashamed to say that we had been to mill,
and consequently them bags contained flour
and middlin's. Presently a large object
appeared at the top of the hill. We had
heard of the devil and had been pretty often
told that he would have a clear deed and
title to us before long, but had never heard
him painted like the object which met our
gaze at the top of that hill, on the close of
that sultry day in June. Concluding (for
we were a mere youth) that it was an eccentric
whale, who had come ashore near North
Yarmouth and was making a tour through
the interior on wheels, we hastily turned
our steed and made for the mill at a rapid
rate. Once we threw over ballast, after the
manner of ballonists, and as the object
gained on us we cried aloud for our parents.
Fortunately we reached the mill in safety,
and the object passed at a furious rate, with
a portion of a woodshed on its back. It
was Hannibal, who had run away from a
neighboring town, taking a shed with him.

Drank Standin'.—Col. — is a big
“railroad man.” He attended a railroad
supper once. Champagne flowed freely,
and the Colonel got more than his share.
Speeches were made after the removal of
the cloth. Somebody arose and eulogized
the Colonel in the steepest possible manner
—called him great, good, patriotic, enterprising,
&c., &c. The speaker was here interrupted
by the illustrious Colonel himself,
who, arising with considerable difficulty,
and beaming benevolently around the table,
gravely said: “Let's (hic) drink that sedimunt
standin'!” It was done