_19th February 1894._
We have two elephants which come to graze on this bank of the river. They
greatly interest me. They give the ground a few taps with one foot, and
then taking hold of the grass with the end of their trunks wrench off an
enormous piece of turf, roots, soil, and all. This they go on swinging
till all the earth leaves the roots; they then put it into their mouths
and eat it up.
Sometimes the whim takes them to draw up the dust into their trunks, and
then with a snort they squirt it all over their bodies; this is their
elephantine toilet.
I love to look on these overgrown beasts, with their vast bodies, their
immense strength, their ungainly proportions, their docile harmlessness.
Their very size and clumsiness make me feel a kind of tenderness for
them--their unwieldy bulk has something infantile about it. Moreover, they
have large hearts. When they get wild they are furious, but when they calm
down they are peace itself.
The uncouthness which goes with bigness does not repel, it rather
attracts.