into Spain, where mules are still driven with cries of arre (whence the muleteers derive their Spanish appellation of “arrieros").  In France the Sportsman excites the hound by shouts of hare! hare! and the waggoner there turns his horses by his voice, and the use of the word hurhaut! In the North, “Hurs was a word used by the old Germans in urging their horses to speed;” and to the present day, the herdsmen in Ireland, and parts of Scotland, drive their pigs with shouts of hurrish! a sound closely resembling that used by the mahouts in Ceylon.]

[Footnote 2:  On the Difference between the Human Membrana Tympani and that of the Elephant.  By Sir EVERARD HOME, Bart., Philos.  Trans., 1823.  Paper by Prof.  HARRISON.  Proc.  Royal Irish Academy, vol. iii. p. 386.]

[Footnote 3:  I have already noticed the striking effect produced on the captive elephants in the corral, by the harmonious notes of an ivory flute; and on looking to the graphic description which is given by AELIAN of the exploits which he witnessed as performed by the elephants exhibited at Rome, it is remarkable how very large a share of their training appears to have been ascribed to the employment of music.

PHILE, in the account which he has given of the elephant’s fondness for music, would almost seem to have versified the prose narrative of AELIAN, as he describes its excitement at the more animated portions, its step being regulated to the time and movements of the harmony:  the whole “surprising in a creature whose limbs are without joints!

  [Greek: 
  “Kainon ti poion ex anarthron organon.”]
          PHILE, Expos. de Eleph, 1. 216.

For an account of the training and performances of the elephants at Rome, as narrated by AELIAN see the appendix to this chapter.]

Nothing can more strongly exhibit the impulse to obedience in the elephant, than the patience with which, at the order of his keeper, he swallows the nauseous medicines of the native elephant-doctors; and it is impossible to witness the fortitude with which (without shrinking) he submits to excruciating surgical operations for the removal of tumours and ulcers to which he is subject, without conceiving a vivid impression of his gentleness and intelligence.  Dr. DAVY when in Ceylon was consulted about an elephant in the government Stud, which was suffering from a deep, burrowing sore in the back, just over the back-bone, which had long resisted the treatment ordinarily employed.  He recommended the use of the knife, that issue might be given to the accumulated matter, but no one of the attendants was competent to undertake the operation.  “Being assured,” he continues, “that the creature would behave well, I undertook it myself.  The elephant was not bound, but was made to kneel down at his keeper’s command—­and with an amputating knife, using all my force, I made the incision required through the tough integuments.  The elephant did not flinch, but rather inclined towards me when using the knife; and merely uttered a low, and as it were suppressed, groan.  In short, he behaved as like a human being as possible, as if conscious (as I believe he was), that the operation was for his good, and the pain unavoidable."[1]