bungalow and told my manager to bring a gun, telling him that there was either a large dog (which on second thoughts appeared to me most probable), or some animal gnawing a bone.  We then quietly approached the spot where we could hear the gnawing going on quite plainly about five yards off.  By my direction he fired into the bushes, and we then stood still and listened, and presently heard what was evidently some heavy animal walk slowly away.  On the following morning I sent my most experienced shikari to the spot, and he reported that the animal was a wild boar, which had been munching the root of some plant, and the soil being gravelly, the noise we had heard proceeded from the chewing of roots and gravel together.  This boar then had not only refused to desist from his proceedings when I was within five yards of him, but had even warned me, by the low growl afore mentioned, that if I came any nearer serious consequences might ensue.  On the following day I assembled some natives and beat a narrow jungly ravine below my house, at a distance of about, fifty yards from it, and there came out, not the boar, but his wife with a family of five or six small pigs.  She was shot by a native, and the young ones got away, but the boar either was not there, or, more probably, was too knowing to come out.  He did not, however, neglect his family, but in some way best known to himself, collected them together, and went about with them, as, a day or two afterwards, he was seen with the young pigs by my manager, and their tracks were also to be seen on one of the paths in my compound, or the small inclosed park near my bungalow.  This boar afterwards became very troublesome, ploughed up the beds in my rose garden at the foot of my veranda stops, and even injured a tree in the compound by tearing off the bark with his formidable tusks.  But, daring though he was, he was once accidentally put to flight by a slash of an English hunting whip.  The boar, it appears, was making his round one night when my manager, hearing something moving outside his bath-room, and imagining it to be a straying donkey—­we keep some donkeys on the estate—­rushed out with his hunting-whip, and made a tremendous slash at the animal, which turned out to be the boar, so startling him by this unexpected form of attack, that he charged up a steep bank near the house and disappeared.  This boar was afterwards shot by one of my people in an adjacent jungle—­at least a boar was shot, which we infer must have been the one in question, as since then my garden has not been disturbed.  The boar is more dangerous to man than any animal in our jungles, and I have heard of three or four deaths caused by them in recent years in my district.  The natives, however, say that, till he is wounded, the tiger is less dangerous than the boar, but that after a tiger is wounded, he is the more dangerous of the two; and I think that this is a correct view of the matter.  The boar has a most remarkable power of starting at once into full speed, and that is why his attacks are so dangerous.  In countries inhabited by wild boars it is very important to be always on the alert.  As an illustration of this, and also of the great power of the boar, and of his sometimes attacking people without any provocation on their part, I may mention the following incident.