article, as a glove, a box, or a piece of paper, they would pick up its like from the floor, and take it to the person pointed out. They not only find any letter or numeral called for, but show a knowledge of spelling and arithmetic; thus the letters forming the name of Rachel were laid on the ground out of their proper order, and M. Leonard pronouncing several times the word Rachel, the dogs brought the letters in their right sequence; proving their knowledge of the sounds of the alphabet in combination as well as separately. So with the figures; if "five added to two" were called for, they brought the number seven; if "nine less five," the number four, and so on.

As a climax to the whole, Braque plays a game of dominoes with any of the company, with as much gravity and skill as an old Frenchman in a café: the dominoes are set up on edge before him, and he picks up in his mouth the proper numbers in succession; not unfrequently beating his adversary. If a wrong one is played, he whines and barks; and also when he is himself unable to play. The dogs made some mistakes in the course of the performance, but they always rectified the errors themselves. M. Leonard uses no threats, and speaks in a quiet tone, but distinctly; repeating his command two or three times, to insure attention and impress their memory: he rewards their promptitude by clapping his hands and patting them; and reproves any inattention or blunder by a box on the ear, or a few smart slaps on the hind quarters.

M. Leonard has other dogs in training, and is writing a treatise on the subject, which will be a curious addition to natural history. The intelligence shown by the sheepdog is no less extraordinary, though developed in a different way; indeed, the operations of what we call the "instinct" of brutes, are such as to challenge a more enlightened investigation of their intellectual powers than has yet been entered upon.-Spectator.

WATCHING FOR A TIGER.*

THE spot I selected (says the writer) was at the edge of a tank, where a tiger used to drink. There was a large tamarind tree on its banks, and here I took my post. A village shikaree accompanied me; and soon after sunset, we took up our position on a branch, about twelve feet from the ground. I should first mention, that we had fastened an unfortunate bullock under the tree for a bait. Well, we remained quietly on our perch for a couple of hours, without any thing stirring. It might be eight o'clock, the moon had risen, and so clear was the light, that we could see the jackalls at the distance of half a mile, sneaking along towards the village, when a party of Brinparries, passing by, stopped to water their bullocks at the tank. They loitered for some time; and, becoming impatient, I got off the tree with a single rifle in my hand, and walked towards them, telling them I was watching a tiger, upon which they started off immediately. I was sauntering back to my post, never dreaming of danger, when the shikaree gave a low whistle, and at the same moment a growl rose from some bushes between me and the tree. To make my situation quite decided, I saw his (the shikaree's) black arm pointing nearly straight under him, on my side of his post. It was evident, that I could not regain the tree, although I was within twenty paces of it. There was nothing for me but to drop behind a bush, and leave the rest to Providence. If I had moved then, the tiger would have had me to a certainty; besides I trusted to his killing the bullock, and returning to the jungle as soon as he had finished his supper.

It was terrible to hear the moans of the wretched bullock

* From Sketches of Sporting, by Mr. Apperley.

when the tiger approached. He would run to the end of his rope, making a desperate effort to break it, and then lie down, shaking in every limb, and bellowing in the most piteous manner. The tiger saw him plain enough; but, suspecting something wrong, he walked growling round the tree, as if he did not observe him. At last he made his fatal spring, with a horrid shriek rather than a roar. I could hear the tortured bullock struggling under him, uttering faint cries, which became more and more feeble every instant, and then the heavy breathing, half growl, half snort of the monster, as he hung to his neck, sucking his life blood. I know not what possessed me at this moment, but I could not resist the temptation of a shot. I crept up softly within ten yards of him, and, kneeling behind a clump of dates, took a deliberate aim at his head, while he lay with his nose buried in the bullock's throat. He started with an angry roar from the carcase when the ball hit him. He stood listening for a moment, then dropped in front of me, uttering a sullen growl. There was nothing but a date bush between us; I had no weapon but my discharged rifle. I felt for my pistols, they had been left on the tree. Then I knew that my hour was come, and all the sins of my life flashed with dreadful distinctness across my mind. I muttered a short prayer, and tried to prepare myself for death, which seemed inevitable. But what was my peon about all this time? he had the spare guns with him! Oh, as I afterwards learned, he, poor fellow, was trying to fire my double rifle; but all my locks have bolts, which he did not understand, and he could not cock it. He was a good shikaree, and knew that was my only chance; so when he could do no good, he did nothing. If Mohadeen had been there, he would soon have relieved me; but I had sent him in another direction that day. Well, some minutes passed thus.

The tiger made no attempt to come at me; a ray of hope cheered me; he might be dying. I peeped through the branches; but my heart sank within me when his bright green eyes met mine, and his hot breath absolutely blew in my face. I slipped back upon my knees in despair, and a growl warned me that even that slight movement was noticed. But why did he not attack me at once? A tiger is a suspicious, cowardly brute, and will seldom charge, unless he sees his prey distinctly. Now, I was quite concealed by the date leaves; and, while I remained perfectly quiet, I still had a chance. Suspense was be coming intolerable. My rifle lay useless at my side; to attempt to load it would have been instant death. My knees were bruised by the hard gravel, but I dared not move a joint. The tormenting musquitoes swarmed round my face, but I feared to raise my hand to brush them off. Whenever the wind ruffled the leaves that sheltered me, a hoarse growl grated through the stillness of the night. Hours that seemed years rolled on; I could hear the village gong strike each hour of that dreadful night, which I thought would never end. At last the welcome dawn! and oh, how gladly did I hail the first streaks of light that shot up from the horizon, for then the tiger rose, and sulkily stalked away to some distance. I felt that the danger was past, and rose with a feeling of relief which I cannot describe. Such a night of suffering was enough to turn my brain, and I only wonder that survived it. I now sent off the peon for the elephant, and before eight o'clock old Goliath had arrived. It was all over in five minutes. The tiger rushed to meet me as soon as I entered the cover, and one ball in the chest dropped him down dead.

men.

THE DEATH OF HAMPDEN.

In the evening of the 17th of June, 1643, Rupert darted out of Oxford with his cavalry on a predatory expedition. At three in the morning of the following day, he attacked and dispersed a few parliamentary soldiers who were quartered at Postcome. He then flew to Chinnor, burned the village, killed or took all the troops who were posted there, and prepared to hurry back with his booty and his prisoners to Oxford. Hampden had on the preceding day strongly represented to Essex, the danger to which this part of the line was exposed. As soon as he received intelligence of Rupert's incursion, he sent off a horseman with a message to the General. The cavaliers, he said, could return only by Chiselhampton bridge. A force ought instantly to be despatched in that direction, for the purpose of intercepting them. In the mean time, he resolved to set out with all the cavalry that he could muster, for the purpose of impeding the march of the enemy till Essex could take measures for cutting off their retreat. A considerable body of horse and dragoons volunteered to follow him. He was not their commander; he did not even belong to their branch of the service; but "he | was," says Lord Clarendon, "second to none but the general himself in the observance and application of all On the field of Chalgrove he came up with Rupert. A fierce skirmish ensued. In the first charge, Hampden was struck in the shoulder by two bullets, which broke the bone, and lodged in his body. The troops of the Parliament lost heart and gave way. Rupert, after pursuing them for a short time, hastened to cross the bridge, and made his retreat unmolested to Oxford. Hampden, with his head drooping, and his hands leaning on his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the battle. The mansion which had been inhabited by his father-in-law, and from which in his youth he had carried home his bride, Elizabeth, was in sight. There still remains an affecting tradition, that he looked for a moment towards that beloved house, and made an effort to go thither to die; but the enemy lay in that direction. He turned his horse towards Thame, where he arrived almost fainting with agony. The surgeons dressed his wounds; but there was no hope. The pain which he suffered was most excruciating, but he endured it with admirable firmness and resignation. His first care was for his country. He wrote from his bed several letters to London concerning public affairs, and sent a last pressing message to the head-quarters, recommending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated. When his last public duties were performed, he calmly prepared himself to die. He was attended by a clergyman of the church of England, with whom he lived in the habits of intimacy, and by the chaplain of the Buckinghamshire Green-coats, Dr. Spurton, whom Baxter describes as a famous and excellent divine. A short time before his death, the sacrament was administered to him. He declared that though he disliked the government of the church of England, he yet agreed with that church as to all essential matters of doctrine. His intellect remained unclouded. When all was nearly over, he lay murmuring faint prayers for himself, and for the cause in which he died. "Lord Jesus," he exclaimed, in the moment of the last agony, "receive my soul.-Lord, save my country-O Lord, be merciful to-." In that broken ejaculation passed away his noble and fearless spirit. He was buried in the parish church of Hampden. His soldiers, bare-headed, with reversed arms, and muffled drums, and colours, escorted his body to the grave, singing as they marched that lofty and melancholy psalm, in which the fragility of human life is contrasted with the immutability of Him in whose sight a thousand

years are but as yesterday when it is passed, and as a watch in the night. The news of Hampden's death produced as great consternation in his party, according to Clarendon, as if their whole army had been cut off. The journals of the time amply prove that the parliament_and all its friends were filled with grief and dismay. Lord Nugent has quoted a remarkable passage from the next Weekly Intelligencer. "The loss of colonel Hampden goeth near the heart of every man that loves the good of his king and country, and makes some conceive little content to be at the army now that he is gone. The memory of this deceased colonel is such, that in no age to come but it will more and more be had in honour and esteem; a man so religious, and of that prudence, temper, valour, and integrity, that he hath left few his like behind him." He had indeed left none his like behind him. There still remained, indeed, in his party, many acute intellects, many eloquent tongues, many brave and honest hearts. There still remained a rugged and clownish soldier, half fanatic, half buffoon, whose talents, discerned as yet only by one penetrating eye, were equal to all the highest duties of the soldier and the prince. But in Hampden and in Hampden alone, were united all the qualities which, at such a crisis, were necessary to save the state,-the valour and energy of Cromwell, the discernment and eloquence of Vane, the humanity and moderation of Manchester, the stern integrity of Hale, and the ardent public spirit of Sidney. Others might possess the qualities which were necessary to save the popular party in the crisis of danger; he alone had both the power and the inclination to restrain its excesses in the hour of triumph. Others could conquer; he alone could reconcile. A heart as bold as his brought up the cuirassiers who turned the tide of battle on Marston moor. As skilful an eye as his watched the Scotch army descending from the heights over Dunbar. But it was when, to the sullen tyranny of Laud and Charles, had succeeded the fierce conflict of sects and factions, ambitious of ascendancy and burning for revenge,-it was when the vices and ignorance which the old tyranny had generated, threatened the new freedom with destruction, that England missed that sobriety, that self-command, that perfect soundness of judgment, that perfect rectitude of intention, to which the history of revolutions furnishes no parallel, or furnishes a parallel in Washington alone.-Edinburgh Review.

EMPLOYMENT OF TIME BY A QUEEN.

THE character of Mary, queen of William III., written by Bishop Burnet, contains a picture of every female virtue, and of every female grace. He makes her say, that she looked upon idleness as the great corrupter of human nature, and believed that if the mind had no employment given it, it would create some of the worst to itself; and she thought, that any thing which might amuse and divert without leaving an ill impression behind it, ought to fill up those vacant hours that were not claimed by devotion or business. "When her eyes," says Bishop Burnet, "were endangered by reading too much, she found out the amusement of work; and in all those hours that were not given to better employments, she wrought with her own hands, and that sometimes with so constant a diligence as if she had been to earn her bread by it. Her example soon wrought not only on those that belonged to her, (the court,) but on the whole town, to follow it, so that it was become as much the fashion to work as it had been to be idle." Mary died some years before the king. He was much affected by her death; and after his decease, a locket containing some of her hair, was found hanging near his heart.

POETRY.

A TWILIGHT REVERIE.

BY MRS. CORNWELL BARON WILSON.

BEAUTIFUL infant! with thy brow so bright
And eyes of dewy softness,-thou dost seem,
By the faint blush of day's decaying light,

Like the fair vision of some poet's dream;
Beautiful infant! thou art welcome here,
Although my kiss of love is blended with a tear.
A tear of tenderness-perhaps of woe-

Will mingle with a mother's smile of joy;
And as mine eyes with such soft drops o'erflow,
While gazing on thy beauty, my fair boy,
Sadness and pleasure there by turns I find,
As hope alternate beams, or fear comes o'er my mind-
Sadness, to think how soon life's brightest ray
By some unfavouring cloud may be o'ercast;
How quickly youth's fair dawn will fade away,

And manhood's ripened noon be o'er and past;
And years steal on with eager hurried pace,
Till the cold frost of age sinks all in his embrace-
Pleasure, when fancy whispers thou mayst run
The brilliant race of glory or renown;
That ere thy life's bright circuit shall be done,

Genius may wreathe for thee her laurel crown:
Thus hope will promise in my dreaming year,
And then the smile of joy outshines the timid tear.
But, when I think of broken hearts, and blighted
By the world's scorn, or fortune's changing wave,
Of talents misapplied, and genius slighted,

Or youthful hopes that find an early grave;
Then pleasure dies within my sinking breast,
And over days to come the cloud of grief will rest.
Yet, lovely infant, with thy brow so bright,

And eyes of dewy softness, thou dost seem,
By the faint blush of day's decaying light,
Like the fair vision of some poet's dream;
Yet, lovely infant, thou art welcome here,
Although my kiss of love is blended with a tear.

VARIETIES.

SINCERITY.-Sincerity is the basis of every virtue; the love of truth, as we value the approbation of Heaven, or the esteem of the world, should be cultivated. In all our proceedings, it will make us direct and consistent. Ingenuity and candour possess the most powerful charm,-they bespeak universal favour, and carry an apology for almost every failing. -Dr. Blair.

Persons who are innocently cheerful and good-humoured are very useful in a world of folly and evil; they maintain peace and happiness, and spread a thankful temper amongst all who live around them.

INFLUENCE OF WOMEN.-How often have I seen a com

pany of riotous men, checked all at once into decency by the accidental entrance of an amiable woman; while her good sense and obliging deportment charmed them into at least a temporary conviction that there is nothing so delightful as female conversation.-To form the manners of men, nothing contributes so much as the cast of the women they converse with.

Those who are most associated with women of virtue and understanding, will always be found the most amiable characters. Such society, beyond every thing else, rubs off the protrusions that give to many an ungracious roughness; it produces a polish more perfect and pleasing than that which is received by a general commerce with the world. This last is often specious, but commonly superficial; the other is the result of gentler feelings, and a more elegant humanity; the heart itself is moulded, and the habits of undissembled courtesy are formed.

MISERABLE EFFECTS OF INDIGENCE.-The indigent man is compelled by the circumstances of his situation to practise continual dissimulation. He dare not, he cannot approach his superior with the easy confidence of virtue. He must not speak what is true, but what he supposes will be agreeable, which he does with the whining tone of a mendicant. This humbles and enervates his mind.—It is brought into a thraldom, and his soul is obliged to acknowledge a master. He can turn neither to the right hand nor the left; if he should resent an injury, he is ungrateful; if he submit in silence, he is a coward.

PETRARCH'S DREAM.-"Methought I saw the Bishop crossing the rivulet of my garden, alone. I was astonished at this meeting, and asked him whence he came, whither he was going in such haste, and why he was alone. He smiled upon me with his usual complacency, and said, 'Remember, that, when you were in Gascony, the tempestuous climate was insupportable to you. I also am tired of it. I have quitted Gascony, never to return, and am going to Rome.' At the conclusion of these words, he had reached the end of the garden; and, as I endeavoured to accompany him, he, in the kindest and gentlest manner waved his hand; but, upon my persevering, he cried out, in a more peremptory manner, 'Stay! you must not at present attend me.' Whilst he spoke these words, I fixed my eyes upon him, and saw the paleness of death upon his countenance. Seized with horror, I uttered a loud cry, which awoke me. I took notice of the time. I told the circumstance to all my friends; and at the expiration of five and twenty days, I received accounts of his death, which happened on the very same night in which it had appeared to me."-Campbell's Life of Petrarch.

TREATMENT OF PUBLIC MEN.-How few men are estimated according to their real worth! Society often treats with indifference many of her best and most enlightened minds, at the same time that she is heaping her honours with lavish prodigality upon others of comparative insignificance. Some have been held up to the gaze of the multitude as models of virtue and patriotism, whilst their actions have been extolled to the skies, as prodigies in law, divinity, and politics, and whose practical knowledge has been left neglected and unnoticed.

FLOUNCING.-In Guernsey, when a young man offers himself to a young lady, and is accepted, the parents of the parties give what is termed a flouncing; that is, they invite their friends to a feast, the young lady is led round the room by her future father-in-law, and introduced to his friends, and afterwards the young man is paraded about in like manner by his future father-in-law; there is then an exchange of rings, and some articles of plate, according to the rank of the parties. After this it is horrid for the damsel to be seen walking with any other male person, and the youth must scarcely look at anything feminine; in this way they court for years.

After this ceremony, if the gentleman alters his mind, the lady can claim half his property; and if the fickle lass repent, the gentleman can claim half hers.

The school-boy makes the most of his hours of recreation. It is time for play, and play he will; and why should he not be happy? He mingles with his favourite companions, runs losing a moment of his enjoyment until the school-bell rings to his favourite haunts, and chooses his favourite games, not in his ears and calls him to his books. Let every one do as he does-making the most of those seasons of innocent enjoyment which occasionally present themselves.

Vol. I. of the New and Pictorial Series of the LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL, price 6s. 6d. handsomely bound in cloth, is now ready, and may be had of all Booksellers.

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