Although during these enlightened times the welfare of the wild life of Africa is discussed internationally on a par with development, there is still great lack of information on the habits, ecological requirements and population densities of even the more common animals. This contribution attempts partly to fill this gap by recording the result of a years' observation on a herd of topi in the Rukwa valley of south-western Tanganyika.

Why do we try to preserve wild animals? Why do we set aside delightful scenes of nature? Why do we establish open spaces and national parks? Would it not be better to accept here and now that man in his dominion over all the lesser creatures has every right to divest the land of animals, trees, or anything else which may stand in his way, or hinder him in exploiting the earth for the alleged well-being of mankind? Vast sums are spent in the larger continents to control domestic animal diseases; greater sums are spent in denuding the face of the earth of its natural cover, so that there can be more room for cattle, crops, factories and cities, in an attempt to meet the insatiable clamour of millions of human beings. Should we not pause to assess what irreplaceable assets are being endangered by this scramble and to what extent those assets contribute to men's peace of mind?

On 1st July, 1954, the labourers working at the new lodge site at Aruba dam in the Royal Tsavo National Park, reported having seen a lone elephant calf come down to drink and go off again on its own. On the 3rd July, while watching some elephants watering at the dam, I noticed a small elephant calf wandering about in an aimless fashion at the far end of the dam. This calf made no attempt to join the herd watering, although it must have been aware of their presence, as they were making a considerable noise. After about twenty minutes the herd moved off, and the calf remained at the water's edge. This was obviously the same calf that had been seen by the labourers two days before. The surrounding country was extremely dry and there were several lions in the area, so I felt his chances of survival were pretty remote if left to his own devices. I decided, therefore, to capture him and try to rear him in captivity.

There are two forms of lechwe, the typical Red Lechwe (Onotragus leche leche. Gray) and the Black (O.l. smithemani. Lyd.), while a few surviving in the Mweru area to the north-west of the smithemani race, are of doubtful status. The present paper considers the red lechwe only, and that within Northern Rhodesia proper. The author has no knowledge of the animal outside the territory, nor in the Barotse province.

Some readers may be surprised to find Oryx printing an article on the sika deer. They know the animal so well as an ornament of many British parks, and as an escaped immigrant which has established itself with remarkable success in many English, Scottish, and Irish woodlands. But the animal of which they are thinking is the Japanese sika. This is only one, and that the smallest and least impressive, of a number of deer which, perhaps mistakenly, are usually regarded as local races of a single, very variable species. For China, as well as Japan, is the home of sika. The Chinese sikas range from the forests of tropical Formosa to the northern snows of East Siberia, beyond China's own boundaries. Among them are found by far the finest deer of the sika type and there is not one of them whose present status should not cause anxiety.

The Arctic is being thrown open to man; meteorological stations, air fields and defence bases are spreading northwards. We ought to consider carefully the animals whose territory we are thus invading, if we are to avoid a repetition of the tragic effects of man's impact on the fauna of other new countries.

At a meeting on 4th January, 1955, the Council considered the Report of the Committee on Close Seasons for Red Deer in Scotland. The attitude of the Society towards the Report was defined as follows:—

1. The Society supports the majority report of the Close Seasons Committee with its recommendations for close seasons, classification of deer as game, formation of regional Deer Control Boards, restrictions on the acceptance and release of venison into and out of cold storage during the close season, appropriate fines for offenders and the extermination of marauding deer and of deer which have moved into areas where they cannot be tolerated.

Roe-deer frequently bear twin fawns. My own observations in Northumberland during the past twenty years, however, led me at first to believe that single fawns were more usual in this part of the country. I was rather surprised, therefore, to learn that the Hancock Museum in Newcastle upon Tyne had received a number of roe fœtuses, during the early months of the past three years, all of which proved to be twins, in each case a male and a female.

There is little in Tyneside to attract a naturalist in search of mammals however much it may appeal to students of the Industrial North. The “denes”, steep thickly-wooded clefts enclosing the streams, right up to the outskirts of Newcastle itself, still harbour a few red squirrels: the grey is absent. It has crossed the Wear into County Durham from liberation areas in Yorkshire but so far it has failed to cross the Tyne. Tyneside with its busy shipyards and its grimy ring of coalmines is, however, only one small corner of Northumberland. It is true that opencast operations have extended the black area: they certainly make a sorry mess of the countryside. But away beyond all this in a vast sector between north and west stretches the real Northumberland, the fifth largest county in England, a land of hills and moors, woods and farms, still much as it was before the industrial ravaging of Tyneside.