CHAPTER V.. Jumbo’s Fondness for Music and His Keeper.

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, both day and night. And he is selfish, for if I am an hour or two overdue after the time he is looking for me, he commences to whine and cry, and becomes very naughty, just the same as a child crying after its mother. Not that he wants anything but my company. However, you will forgive him. Won’t you? As you remember you have done the same thing yourselves. So learn to be charitable and forgiving to others.

It was thought by the people of England that Jumbo could not be brought to see the American nation. It was held—and a good deal of pressure was brought to bear upon me, to the effect—that I should never be able to make the voyage across the Atlantic in safety with so monstrous an animal, and that the risk anyway was too great. It was also held by some that, as there were thousands of Americans coming to London every season, it was too risky a speculation or enterprise to pay, as the most of such visitors would have seen Jumbo in London.

I am sometimes tickled a bit, when I think of the tens of thousands of miles Jumbo and I have travelled in the interior of this country since we made the perilous journey of three thousand miles by sea to the American shores; and I often wonder what the people of the old country will say to me when they hear of our travels out West, North, and South, or what they will say to me when we get back to our own shores.