verb? "He that goes for wool may come back shorn;" and such was doomed to be the fate of the Moors on this occasion. Don Raymon was as discreet as bold. His first act, on seeing the Moors, was to put his bugle to his lips, and sound the signal of recal to the other division of his band. Then, turning to those with him, he bade them prepare for the attack, but at the same time, like a prudent man, he cried, "Mark the leader of the infidels; take him alive! His cloak of scarlet, with its gay gold fringes, and his diamonded scimitar, speak of riches. We must have a sweeping ransom from him." While his men attacked without delay the rest of the Moors, Don Raymon, who never desired others to do what he could do for himself, rode sword in hand against the leader of the enemy. The latter defended Aimself bravely, but seeing his companions cut down one by one around him, he turned his bridle-rein, and betook himself to flight. The speed and freshness of his horse would have saved him, had not the other half of the Spanish party, on hearing the signal call, made a circuit of the hill, and so met and seized the Meor in his flight. With his captive, and the spoils of the rest of the enemy, the Christian chief made his way back, with all due haste, to his own territory. Don Raymon de Penalba was not wrong in his supposition that the Moor was a man of wealth and distinction. Almoreb, as he was named, was a youth of the highest rank and greatest possessions in the kingdom of Jaën. His ransom was fixed by Penalba at 1500 maravedis of gold, and whilst they were waited for, the Moor was taken by his captor to the castle where Donna Bibiana usually resided. Almoreb saw the young lady, and immediately conceived a violent passion for her. Being a bigoted follower of the prophet, however, he at first only proposed to the Christian maiden to fly with him at the close of his imprisonment, without speaking of any intervening ceremony, such as is usually gone through on these occasions. Being very handsome, and having been greatly admired by the youthful beauties of Jaën, the gallant Moor was rather disappointed by the coldness with which Donna Bibiana listened to his advances. But his passion grew every day stronger, and at length he made distinct proposals for her hand to her father. The intermarriage of Moors with Christians was by no means uncommon in those days, notwithstanding all the hostile struggles between the two races. Don Raymon was dazzled by the wealth and rank of the Moor, and being a kind father, whose anxiety to acquire fortune had a special reference to the future welfare of his daughter, the good knight thought marriage just as fair a way of attaining his aim as war. He therefore very earnestly recommended to Donna Bibiana the acceptance of Almoreb's proposals. But the young lady was of a different way of thinking, and gave a direct negative to the suit of the Moor. It has been mentioned that the young lady was very pious, and had a proportionate dislike of the infidels. But truth compels us to say that she was greatly guided in her opinions on this occasion by a distant relative of her own, a young and handsome cavalier, by name Don Martin Saenz, whose exhortations were peculiarly adverse to the wishes of the Moor. Don Martin had a castle and some few acres of land near the banks of the Azuer, and all the wishes of Donna Bibiana were bounded to the sovereignty of this castle, and of the heart of Don Martin. The latter had a particular aversion to the Moors, which had been augmented greatly since the capture of Almoreb. He would at once have provoked the Moor, it is probable, to single combat, had not the 1500 golden maravedis of Don Raymon been dependent upon the safe return of the captive to his friends. Therefore Don Martin contented himself with fortifying Bibiana by every possible means in her resolve to refuse the proffered suit. Having received his ransom-money, and seeing that Don Raymon would not press his daughter against her wishes, Almoreb paid his captor, and withdrew to his own country, to meditate plans which he was not long of carrying into execution. But a few weeks had passed away, when Don Raymon received a letter, apparently signed by Don Pelayo Correa, Grand-Master of the Order of St James, desiring him to come instantly to Ciudad-Real, with Don Martin Saenz, and every man-at-arms whom he could command. The knight instantly obeyed the wishes of the grand-master; but scarcely had he left his castle, when Almoreb, at the head of a hundred Moors, appeared before the place. The gates being opened by a servant whom he had bribed during his captivity, the Moor entered, and carried off Bibiana, in spite of her tears and cries. She was placed in a litter, and without delay her captors took the road to Jaën. Only one of the men left in the castle had escaped the scimitars of the Moors. He immediately directed his course to Ciudad Real, and arrived just in time to find Penalba stupified with the tidings that Don Pelayo had sent no message for him. The servant cleared up the mystery. "Let us pursue the ruffians instantly," cried Don Martin Saenz, as he rushed out for his war-horse, on which he soon appeared, urging Penalba to follow him. Indeed, Don Raymon and Pelayo were scarcely less eager to commence the pur, suit. Hastily gathering a band of nearly a hundred followers, they scoured across the country in the direction of Jaen, from which, fortunately, CiudadReal was not much farther away than Raymon's castle, though lying at a different point of the compass. It was not long ere they passed the line of Raymon's castle, and came upon the traces of the Moors. The horses of the latter had performed a long journey from Jaen in the morning, and were far from being so fresh as those of the Christians. Don Martin pressed the latter to their full speed. He was ever in front, and ascended every spot of rising ground with the speed of lightning, scanning the horizon for the first glimpse of the foe. "On! on! he cried, exultingly, at length; "I behold the enemies of our faith!" The intelligence inspired the pursuers with new zeal. They now saw in the distance a cloud of dust, and occasionally the gleam of bright weapons struck by the rays of the sun. Slowly but progressively they drew nearer to the flying Moors. But, alas! the sun was rapidly sinking towards the horizon. If the night set in before the encounter, the Moors would inevitably find a secure refuge in the mountains. 66 Oh, our Lady!" cried the anxious Don Martin, "leave not a young Christian maiden in the hands of these infidels !" As he spoke, he pressed on his companions to fresh speed. But the Arab coursers, with their outstretched necks, seemed to swallow the space before them, and although the distance between the parties was always diminishing, the chase was still continued. When at length the Christians came almost within spear length of the Moors, the sun nearly touched the horizon, rendering it a matter of great doubt if the encounter, when it did take place, would be effectual in the rescue of Bibiana. "Oh, our Lady!" exclaimed Don Martin in tones of agonised entreaty, "Nostra Segnora, Ten du dia! Ten du dia!" The legend tells that the entreaty was heard, and that the light of day did not pass away so early as usual. If you, having a strong faith in natural causes, were to suggest to the Spanish narrators of the tradition that the evening was probably nothing more than a remarkably fine one, you would only be pitied for your scepticism. However this may be, the Moors were forced to wheel and sustain the shock of their pursuers. For nearly an hour afterwards, a bitter conflict was kept up, which was terminated by Don Martin Saenz passing his knightly sword through the body of Almoreb, after a gallant single combat, viewed by the whole of both parties. The rest of the Moors immediately surrendered, and Donna Bibiana was not only recovered, but as the band of Almoreb was almost entirely composed of young men of rank who had joined him in his expedition, a great spoil was obtained through the capture and ultimate ransom of the Moorish prisoners. the Catholic from the Orangeman. The very beasts in those days shall have laws to protect them. Those days shall be days of great light. Men shall plough without horses (steam plough); they shall spin without hands (power-loom); they shall calculate by wheels (Babbage's machine); the sun shall engrave for them (the Daguertelegraph). One machine shall print in one hour many they shall write with the lightning (electric rotype); thousand books, each of which shall take a man many days to read; a man may buy a book for a penny; for a penny he may send it to the ends of the empire. They shall read the rocks instead of a book (geology), and decipher the history of beings which lived and died ere man existed. In the heavens new stars shall be discovered: some, sisters of the earth; some, brothers of the sun (the planets, five in number, discovered since the American war; and the double stars by Sir William Herschel); and of all the colours of the rainbow. In those days, likewise, they shall read the Pyramids (Young's and Champollion's discoveries). They shall find out the mouth of the Niger and the Magnetic Pole: the way to every thing shall have been discovered but the way to be happy. Phonix (Edinburgh newspaper). Let us hope that in time the way to be happy shall also be discovered. SIMPLE PLEASURES THE BEST. When the inordinate hopes of youth, which provoke their own disappointment, have been sobered down by longer experience and more extended views-when the keen contentions and eager rivalries which employed our riper years have expired or been abandoned-when we have seen, year after year, the objects of our fiercest hostility and of our fondest affections lie down together in the hallowed peace of the grave-when ordinary pleasures and amusements begin to be insipid, and the gay derision which seasoned them to appear flat and impor tunate when we reflect how often we have mourned and been comforted, what opposite opinions we have successively maintained and abandoned, to what inconsistent quently the objects of our pride have proved the sources habits we have gradually been formed, and how freof our shame, we are naturally led to recur to the days of our childhood, and to retrace the whole of our career, and that of our contemporaries, with feelings of far greater humility and indulgence than those by which it had been accompanied; to think all vain but affection and honour, the simplest and cheapest pleasures the truest and most precious, and generosity of sentiment the only mental superiority which ought either to be wished for or admitted.-Jeffrey. BENEFICIAL INFLUENCE OF TEA. The beneficial results of the introduction of tea and coffee have been strangely overlooked or underrated. It has been, however, well described as leading "to the of modern civilised nations-a change highly important most wonderful change that ever took place in the diet both in a moral and physical point of view. These beverages have the admirable advantage of affording stimulus Don Raymon, to prevent any such annoying ad- without producing intoxication, or any of its evil conseventures afterwards, immediately bestowed the hand quences. Lovers of tea and coffee are, in fact, rarely of his daughter on Don Martin. Donna Bibiana and drinkers; and hence the use of these beverages has beneher husband were so grateful for the event just re-fited both manners and morals. Raynal observes, that corded, that, in commemoration thereof, they built a chapel, and distinguished it by the name of the chapel of "Our Lady Tendudia." From that time forth the pious people of the country around paid their orisons to Nostra Segnora under that name. Such is the legend attached to the ruins which the traveller may see, if he chooses, near the springs of the far-famed Guadalquivir. There were laid, in the lapse of time, the mortal remains of the fair Bibiana, with many a Saenz of her blood and race; and there, also, were laid many of the name of Correa and Penalba, to whose families the chapel remained ever a spot of strong and peculiar interest. THE PROPHET OF 1770. the use of tea has contributed more to the sobriety of the Chinese than the severest laws, the most eloquent discourses, or the best treatises on morality." Tea is so little drunk in Germany, that it acts like medicine when taken by a native; and persons decline a cup of good bohea, with "No, I thank you; I am quite well at present."-Hints for the Table. THE SPARROW AND THE CAGED BIRD. FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE RELATED IN THE NATURALIST'S Let us suppose ourselves carried back sixty years in the stream of time, and to live again, the youthful subject of the young king George III. Let us likewise imagine that in those days the divine spirit of prophecy had come upon us, unveiling to our sight the events of the shall be rent in twain (American war in 1776). In fifteen future. In seven years from this time the British empire years men shall rise from the earth and fly through the air (invention of balloons, 1780). In twenty years the French monarchy, the oldest that ever was, and now So flourishing, shall come to an end. A virtuous prince (Louis XVI. 1793), not yet king, shall in twenty-three years lay down his life on the scaffold: his wife and sister shall share the same fate. In those same days, news shall travel with the speed of the wind, and what was done at mid-day shall be known at the farthest bounds of the kingdom ere the setting of the sun (the Telegraph, 1794). In twenty-six years a conqueror shall arise (Bonaparte), who shall water his horses in the Nile, the Jordan, the Tagus, and the Borysthenes. This conqueror shall restore the chair of St Peter, and throw down what he had restored (dethronement of Pius VII.) Finally, he whom the world could not contain, shall die a captive on a rocky island (St Helena), neither in Europe, Asia, Africa, nor America, but in the midst of the vast ocean: a few feet of earth his empire, a willow his monument. In those days metals shall be found which float on the water and burn under it (sodium and potassium, discovered by Sir Humphry Davy). Ships shall stem the stormiest ocean without sails or oars (steam-ships). Carriages shall run without horses, with the speed of the wind (locomotive engines). (The ordinary speed of the wind is 35 miles an hour; that shall be conveyed from India to the mighty Babylon in a of the engines on the Great Western Railway is 39.) Men month: from America in ten days: from one end of England to the other in eight hours. Bridges shall hang by a chain over the sea, while roads shall be made under-Seolsman. it (the Menai Bridge and the Thames Tunnel). To those days of bloodshed shall succeed days of liberty. The Negro shall no longer be bought or sold. The slave shall be set free. The Greek shall be freed from the Turk; MAGAZINE. I dote on every little bird That twitters in the sun I love them all, from having heard The simple tale of one! In cage that 'neath the eaves was hung A little yellow warbler sung A song of distant isles! One morn, when loud his melody, A sparrow, and, from sympathy, Poor bird! could'st thou come forth with me, I felt my holiest thoughts ascend, J. H. LONDON: Published, with permission of the proprietors, by W. S. ORK, Paternoster Kow; and sold by all booksellers and news. men.-Printed by Bradbury and Evans, Whitefriars. DINBURGA CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 436. BAD TEMPER. BAD temper, though a thing which every body in the world either manifests in himself, or suffers from in others, is not well understood. If its physiological causes and nature were generally known, its powerful action, as the blight of domestic happiness, might perhaps be in some degree mitigated. The nursery gives us a strong hint of the real nature of bad temper. It is well known to all who have had any charge over infants, that, before their mental faculties have begun to act, if blessed by nature with a sound healthy constitution, fed properly, kept comfortable, and not subjected to external injury of any kind, they are generally quiet, or, to use the ordinary phrase of the occasion, good tempered. Health and good temper are, in fact, synonymous at that period of life. From this it may fairly be presumed, that, when children are peevish and fractious, they are not in a sound and comfortable state, but in the experience of uneasy sensations of some kind. Often, when an infant, usually good tempered, takes a sudden and apparently inexplicable fit of crying, it is found on examination that a pin has taken a wrong direction in its dress, or something troubles the stomach, or in some other way the child is undergoing suffering. The direct explanation of all crying and fretfulness in early childhood is, simply-uneasy physical sensation. The sources or causes of fretfulness or bad temper in a child of the age indicated, are very few, because there are then only a few sensations. The child can feel a flesh wound or sore; or a derangement of the alimentary functions; or a want of those appliances which may be ranged under the term bodily comfort; but it can feel little else. Nervous irritability, though in the constitution, is not then developed, and scarcely can become the source of any unpleasant sensations. Even the senses are as yet dormant, and therefore cannot become a medium for the approach of disagreeable affections. We may here remark, that this limitation of the sources of uneasiness in an infant renders all prognostications of the future temper of a human being from cradle manifestations, extremely liable to error. One who is hereafter to be the victim of nervous irritability, and from other causes to be remarkable for bad temper, may be a healthy, well-kept infant, and therefore placid. Another, who, in adult life, is to be quite the reverse, may suffer in the first few months of his existence from ill health, mistreatment, or some accidental sore, and therefore appear very ill tempered. But we are anticipating. As the faculties of a child increase, as sense after sense awakens, and one feeling after another becomes active in his nature, the sources of agreeable sensations may be said to be multiplied, for there is not one sense, or faculty, or feeling, which is not primarily designed to be a means of giving us pleasure. There is not, however, one of these senses or faculties which is not also liable to be disagreeably affected. This may be, either by its being disappointed of some object which it desires, or being acted upon by something the opposite to that which excites it agreeably. For example, the sense of taste may be disappointed of some expected or desired treat, or may be called upon to palate a nauseous drug; the desire of approbation may be thwarted in an effort to become dux of the class, or subjected to the severest mortification in a public whipping; a boy who hoards marbles and tops may be thwarted in a wish to collect a few more, or enraged by losing at play a large portion of what he previously possessed. In numberless various ways, the juvenile faculties may be offended, and in each case there will be an experience of angry feeling as the natural consequence. This feeling may not find vent, or it may be checked by an effort of reflection, or from some other cause; but the rise of SATURDAY, JUNE 6, 1840. such an emotion in the mind as a consequence of a sense or mental faculty disagreeably affected, is as certain as any thing in nature, and indeed takes place through the force of natural laws, as fixed in their operation as any of those disclosed to us in experimental philosophy. In mature life, the senses are the same in number, but the mental faculties are rather more numerous. Some of the sensations, usually alone called physical, are dulled a little, or can be more easily controlled: a hurt or a cut does not make the full-grown man cry, as it made the child. Hector at twenty-four would not have beat a stool after falling over it, as Hector at four or five might have done. But the nervous system is now much more irritable than in early life. The mental faculties, both those which perceive and reason, and those which feel and prompt to action, are in their highest activity, though not in all persons alike powerful and active. Now, also, men are engaged in the struggles which attend social life in all its shapes, exposed to frequent disappointment and positive injury, and, therefore, more liable to have their faculties visited with disagreeable affections. There is now, to be sure, the greatest bodily vigour and the strongest exercise of will and reason; as also the greatest disposition to act upon a square with the ordinary ways of the world, and afford no ground for depreciatory remark. Yet, upon the whole, there is a greater chance of our appearing splenetic and irritable in manhood than in youth. Men, it is obvious, are endowed by nature with very different degrees of general nervous irritability, some being alive to every casual impression, like harps so finely strung that the passing air brings forth their music; while others appear nearly torpid, and a great middle class are not remarkable in either way. What is called the temperament of genius seems to be nothing but extreme nervous irritability: it was exemplified in Tasso, Rousseau, and our own Burns and Byron. Great mental ability is often found apart from it; but is also often found so bound up with it, that those very men who, by their delightful effusions, charm their fellow-creatures unto all time, are themselves the most unhappy that live, being exposed to a thousand sources of suffering which others have no experience of. Nor is this extreme irritability only born with men. It often happens that persons originally sound, from the long and incessant action of certain circumstances, become in time liable to it. Smollett was an example. He was in early life a cheerful and agreeable man ; but, entering upon a literary career, he tasked his brain so severely during a long course of years, and was exposed to so many exasperating annoyances of various kinds, that he at length became irritable to an extreme degree, though never altogether losing the benevolent and manly feelings which so largely inspired him in his better days. In both cases, great irritability may be considered as unsoundness; only, it is in the first case the result of circumstances which have taken place before birth, and in the second, of circumstances which have taken place in the course of life. Then men are born with the senses and faculties in every conceivable variety of power and tendency to activity; and, as they go on in life, those various natural proportions are further varied by the different circumstances of individuals calling, in each, different faculties into vivid and habitual action, and leaving others in comparative dormancy. Every one of these faculties in every individual is liable to be disagreeably affected in the proportion of its natural or acquired activity; and what may be called the predominating or most conspicuously active faculty, is always the most liable to be so affected. Thus, there is no per PRICE THREE HALFPENCE. son who is not more apt to be irritated upon ene subject or set of subjects, or by one act or set of actions, than by any other. For example, the avaricious man is most easily enraged by the fear of a loss of money; the proud man by an insult or a disgrace; the coward by a passing danger; the benevolent man by witnessing harsh and cruel actions. The liability to the irritation will in every case be modified by the acquired self-control of the individual, from whatever source that self-control has arisen ; but the tendency or aptitude is invariable, and it will appear or not appear, operate or not operate, just as the natural irritability may permit, or the self-control suppress and allay. All these phenomena depend upon a law of our constitution, by which, whenever a faculty is disagreeably affected, or a disagreeable sensation of any kind is experienced, one particular faculty of the mental organisation, which may be described as the Malevolent or Destructive sentiment, is called into less or more activity, according to the amount and nature of the offence, and the degree of strength and irritability which may characterise that particular faculty in the individual. The manifestations of this sentiment take many forms, from the extreme of physical violence down to the sly gibe and the peevish exclamation. At first sight, it appears a thing created only for evil; but there can be no reasonable doubt that it has been implanted in our nature for wise ends, and, under good regulation, would do nothing but good service. Such is the faculty which every disagrecable sensation arouses in our minds. The opposite feeling, Benevolence, is in like manner roused when any faculty is agreeably affected. Hence the gracious smile which in most cases follows praise, the good humour which the bon-vivant expresses over a well-furnished table, the kindness which a talkative man shows to a good listener, and so forth. It is the frequent exhibition of this malevolent faculty which constitutes what is called bad temper. We repeat, wherever bad temper is found, it is nothing more or less than the revenge of unpleasant sensations. Some men are said to be of habitual bad temper; they are constantly angry, or snappish, or peevish. In many such cases, permanent uneasiness in the bodily feelings from bad health is the cause of the malady, for such it may be called. Often, again, it arises from the habitual dissatisfaction of some mental faculty; for example, self-esteem may be in a constant gangrene in consequence of some degrading or supposedly degrading circumstances in past or present life; the feeling of attachment may have been so wrung and tortured by a disappointment, that all loving may be declared, in the language of Amiens, mere folly;" or the hopes of life in general may have been so blighted, that misanthropy is the consequence. To be habitually under the influence of envy and jealousy, is no uncommon condition: while such an influence lasts, there must be bad temper, for these are disagreeable affections of certain of the faculties. Of occasional bad temper, or bad temper only on particular points, most readers must be acquainted with examples. The mildest of men are found to have some little point in their constitution, liable to be so galled as to call forth angry feelings. An honest farmer whom we knew in early life, the most benignant and kindly of human beings, was never known to be angry except when he saw a fence broken down, or an idle herd-boy allowing the cattle to get amongst the corn. Another amiable man, who was said to be fond of the pleasures of the table, was considered by the working people under him as not safely approachable, especially for any thing like a favour, during the hollow and hungry hour before dinner. A third we have known, whose irritable point regarded nice arrangements in his household. He had the misfortune to be so refined away into exquisiteness in all matters of punctuality, neatness, and economy, that the least error on the part of a servant set his usually courteous nature ajar for the remainder of the day. Sometimes, very odd and extraordinary matters are found to set mild men off their equipoise: in one case familiar to us, the frequent iteration of any thing monotonous in sound or silly in meaning has that effect. The liability of musicians to be put out of temper even by so small a matter as an ill-struck half note, is too trite to be worthy of remark. Occasional bad temper from such causes is easily explained: it obviously arises from the accidental over-refinement of some particular portion of the mental organisation. When any faculty becomes so far refined, it may be considered as in nearly the same condition as the whole nature of a man who inherits from nature extreme nervous irritability. Such a peculiarity is a kind of misfortune. It is best to have all the parts of one's nature only so far refined as to suit the average of the affections, agreeable and disagreeable, to which our situation exposes it. When any part goes beyond that, it is likely to become a source of great pain. Considering bad temper in this philosophical point of view, we think some important advantages may be reasonably hoped for. Bad temper in one party is the constant cause why much bad temper is in others, for, being always disagreeable, its manifestations are almost sure to occasion irritation. Perhaps, this effect would not so often take place, if the wellconstituted and placid were to look upon such manifestations as the result of either actual bodily pain, or at least disagreeably affected mental faculties, in those from whom they proceed. A feeling of pity would rather, in such a consideration, be due to those unfortunate individuals. Thus the mischief would stop with its originator, and even some efforts might be made to extinguish it there, where now it only gets additional exasperation. With regard to those whose bad temper is only excitable on particular points, it might be possible for their connections and dependents, by studying to give no cause of offence on those points, to prevent in a great measure explosions of anger and exhibitions of wrath, which are both disagreeable at the time to others, and afterwards almost certain to be deeply regretted by themselves.* THE SUSPECTED SPY. DURING the time that Murat held military rule at Madrid, he had occasion to send important dispatches to Junot, then at Lisbon; but it was a matter of great difficulty, as all the roads to Lisbon were in possession of the army of Castagnos-troops commanded by the most distinguished men of the Spanish revolutionand were also infested by a more dreaded enemy of the French, the guerillas. Murat spoke of his embarrassment to Baron Strogonoff, the Russian ambassador at Madrid. Russia was at this time the friend more than the ally of France. After some consideration, Strogonoff said he thought it could be managed. He proposed that a Polish lancer, dressed in the Russian uniform, should be charged with dispatches from his court to Admiral Siniavin, who was then at the port of Lisbon, and that he might at the same time convey verbal dispatches from Murat. This scheme, he thought, was the more practicable, as the insurgent army of Castagnos was very desirous to obtain the neutrality of Russia, and therefore it was not likely they would give cause of umbrage by ill treating its messenger. Murat was delighted with this ingenious plan, and mmediately sent a request to Krasinski, the Polish rommander, to be furnished with any young man of his corps whom he could recommend as brave, intelligent, and of good address. A young Pole, eighteen years of age, named Leckinski, volunteered for the dangerous service Murat, who himself could calmly look death in the face, could not, however, in this instance, help pointing out to Leckinski the great peril he would be in should he be discovered. The young Pole smiled and said, "I thank your imperial highness for having honoured me above my comrades by selecting me for this duty, and I promise to render a good account of my mission." This bold and unaffected reply inspired the confidence of Murat, who forthwith gave him his instructions, when he departed for Lisbon dressed in the Russian uniform, and furnished with the dis patches for Admiral Siniavin. The two first days passed without molestation; but about the afternoon of the third, Leckinski was surrounded and taken prisoner by a Spanish troop, who, having disarmed him, dragged him before the commanding officer, who happened to be Castagnos himself. Let the chief be who he might, however, Leckinski saw that he was inevitably lost if he was recognised as a partisan of the French. He therefore determined on the instant not to speak a word of French, and only to answer in Russian or German, both of which languages he could speak fluently. The dreadful imprecations uttered on all sides in his way to Castagnos, told him his doom was already *The philosophy of the above paper, such as it is, is based upon a theory which was first explained in a satisfactory manner by Mr Robert Cox, of Edinburgh, in a series of articles which appeared a few years ago in the Phrenological Journal, under the title of "Observations on the Mutual Influence of the Mental Faculties, and in particular on the modes and laws of the Activity of Destructiveness." sealed. He had before his eyes the horrible fate of General René, who, a few weeks before this, in executing a mission similar to his own-endeavouring to join Junot-had been assassinated in the most barbarous way, and expired amidst the most frightful tortures. Death by torture creates terror even to the stoutest heart, and the blood round the heart of the young Pole froze within him for an instant. "Who are you?" said Castagnos in French, which he spoke well, as he had been educated at Sorrize. Leckinski looked at him steadily, and made a sign of ignorance, and answered in German," I don't understand you." Castagnos, who spoke German, did not perhaps wish to figure further in the matter, as he left one of his staff to continue the interrogatories. The young Pole answered alternately in Russian and German, but never once let slip the least French intonation. He was, however, very uneasy, as he was in a very small room, surrounded by a crowd of men eager for his blood, who only waited for his being pronounced French to fall on him and massacre him. These sanguinary feelings increased to a pitch beyond the control of even the general himself, in consequence of what appeared a most unlucky incident. An aidede-camp of Castagnos, a man fanatically patriotic, as there were many in the Spanish war, and who, the moment Leckinski was taken, pronounced him to be a French spy, rushed into the chamber, dragging a peasant dressed in brown cloth, with a red feather in a high conical hat. The officer made way through the crowd, and, placing the man opposite Leckinski, said, "Look well at this man, and say whether he is really a Russian or a German. He is a spy; I will swear it with my life," said he, stamping furiously. The peasant in the mean time attentively examined the features of the young Pole. The examination was not long; for, darting a malignant glance, with his eyes burning with rage, he clapped his hands, and cried out, "He is a Frenchman! he is a Frenchman!" and then told them that he had been only a few weeks ago at Madrid with some cut straw, which had been required from his village, as well as from every other in the district. "And I recognise this man," continued the peasant, as he who received my portion of forage, and who gave me a receipt for it." This was true. Castagnos possibly saw the truth of it; but he was a noble and generous adversary, and it was not by massacres that he wished to build up the edifice of Spanish liberty, which would have been raised more self, Romana, and Palafox, had the sole direction of beautifully, and more durably, had such men as himaffairs. He saw well that the young man was not a Russian, but he dreaded the horrible atrocities which would have been inflicted on him, should he be identified as a Frenchman. There was a doubt, and, above all, his appearance bespoke favour. He proposed, therefore, that he should be allowed to continue his and did not know a word of French. But at the first journey, for Leckinski persisted that he was a Russian, word the general uttered, there arose a hundred threatening voices, and even murmurs of the word traitor applied to himself. There seemed then no hope of mercy, for man becomes ferocious when he fears for himself. "You wish, then," said he," to risk a rup"No!" said his officers; "but let us prove this man." ture with Russia, whose neutrality we have solicited?" Leckinski heard all, for he understood Spanish. He was led out of the chamber, and thrown into a place which might have passed for one of the most frightful dungeons of the Inquisition. At the moment the Spaniards had stopped him, he had not eaten any thing since the night before, and when the door of his prison closed on him, he had been eighteen hours without food. Add to this the fatigue he had undergone, the anguish and deep anxiety of his situation, and it will not be considered surprising that he fell nearly fainting on his wretched bed, which was placed in a corner of the room. The sun was not yet set. He had a glimpse of it through the cleft in the wall above his head, and the light, so brilliant in beautiful Estremadura, for a time cheered the heart of the poor prisoner. This source of consolation, however, soon left him; the heavens became murky and cheerless; night closed around all; and poor Leckinski had full leisure to contemplate his dreadful position, which he judged as almost without the least hope. eighteen; it was very young. He battled with the He was undoubtedly a brave man. But to die at visions which came before him and succeeded each other as in a phantasmagoria; at length youth and fatigue yielded, and he was shortly buried in the most profound sleep, the very image of death. He had slept for about two hours, when the door of his prison was gently opened, and some one entered on tip-toe. A hand was placed before the lamp, and then some one leaned over the bed of the prisoner. The hand was taken suddenly from before the light, and he was touched slightly on his shoulder, and the sweet and gentle tones of a woman's voice said in French, "Do you wish to take supper?" Leckinski suddenly jumped up in his bed, with his eyes scarcely open, and said in German, "What do they want with But Castagnos was not alone. They gave Leckinski something to eat; but his horse was not saddled, and he remained in his prison till the morning. He was then taken to a place, and was shown the bodies of ten Frenchmen, who had been horribly massacred by the peasants of Truxilla. They kept him here all the day, threatening him with death, and that a horrible one. Constantly surrounded with snares, listened to with the most eager ears in order to catch a sound which might betray him, and watched by the most piercing eyes to discover a suspicious movement, he nevertheless maintained his equanimity. He had passed his word not to flinch, and he was resolved to keep it, and fulfil his commission. Not a single gesture or word of a suspicious nature escaped him. At length, after many hours of the most cruel trials, he was reconducted to his prison, and left to all the horrors of his uncertain fate. "Gentlemen," said Castagnos, "I feel with you the great importance of preventing communication between the chiefs of the French army who are in Spain; but here, in the position in which we find this officer, we cannot treat him as a spy upon the simple assertion of one of our men. This man may be deceived by a resemblance, and then we shall become murderers -a part certainly ill becoming us to take, gentlemen.” Poor Leckinski felt a degree of pleasure in re-entering his dungeon, which was comparatively an agreeable change from what he had undergone for the last twelve hours. He had had nothing before his eyes but gibbets and hideous bloody carcasses, exhibited to him by men with the looks of demons, and the most ferocious countenances. His thoughts were, as it were, under the influence of a spell. He believed he saw on the cracked walls of his prison the fantastic shadows of the victims he had seen hanging from the trees on the road-side. Surrounded by these gloomy visions, exhausted nature again overcame him, and he fell into a deep sleep. During this repose, his door was again softly opened, and his bed approached. The same gentle voice said in French, "Get up, and come; you are saved, and your horse is saddled." The courageous Leckinski, however, always on his guard, said in German, "What do they want with me?" Castagnos, on learning the result of this new proof, declared that the young Russian was a noble fellow. He had thought so, he said, all along. But this opinion could not sway the commission, who wished to find him guilty, and were outrageous at being thwarted in their judgments of things; but the party spirit at this time wishes. All party spirit tends to weaken our just men, being baffled in accomplishing their blood-thirsty in Spain raged with indescribable violence. These desire for a human sacrifice, were completely beside themselves. condemned General René to be saved in two! who had They were the same judges who had placed Colonel Pavetti in an oven, and had horribly mutilated Franceschi. After another dreadful night, four men, one of whom Leckinski knew his danger, but he quailed not. was the same who said he had seen him at Madrid, came to conduct him before a sort of tribunal, composed of many of the officers of the staff of General Castag nos. During the short interval on his way, they uttered the most terrible threats; but, true to his resolution, Leckinski appeared not to understand what they said. When he came before his judges, he appeared to understand what was going on, more from the preparations than from what was said around him. He asked where his interpreter was. The examination commenced. He was asked what his object was in travelling from Madrid to Lisbon. He answered by showing his dispatches from the Russian ambassador, and his passport. This would certainly have been sufficient, had he not unfortunately been recognised by the peasant. But the assertion of this man, who persisted in it with great firmness, afforded strong evidence of his real character to men so eagerly athirst "Ask him," said the president of the for his blood. commission, "if he loves the Spaniards, since he is not a Frenchman." "Yes, undoubtedly," said Leckinski; "I love the Spanish nation, and I esteem it for its beautiful devotion. I wish our two nations were friends." "Colonel," said the interpreter in French, "the prisoner says that he hates us, because we make war like banditti. He despises us, and he only regrets that single man, that he might end the war with one blow." it is not in his power to unite the whole nation into a Whilst the interpreter spoke, every eye was on Leckinski, watching for the least movement of his countenance on hearing this unfaithful interpretation of his answer. But on coming to the tribunal he had made up his mind to every trial, and he therefore maintained the most astonishing self-possession. "If they kill me," he thought to himself, "they will not only kill an innocent man, but one who has all the appearance of innocence, and they will therefore have all the odium of my death. “Gentlemen," said Castagnos, who, contrary to his wishes, assisted at this last trial, but would take no part in it," it appears to me that this young man cannot be suspected. The peasant must have been deceived. Let him, therefore, be set at liberty, and continue his route; and in rendering an account of what he has undergone at our hands, he will do well to take into consideration the continual danger of our position, which must excuse the rigour we are forced to employ." They then restored Leckinski his arms and dispatches, and gave him a safe passport; and he went away victorious over, it certainly may be said, as strong tests as were ever practised on a human being. He arrived at Lisbon, fulfilled his commission, and expressed a willingness to return to Madrid; but Junot would not allow the brave fellow to run such another risk. POPULAR INFORMATION ON POLITICAL SECOND ARTICLE-PAPER MONEY. such documents, in aiding the trading relations of nations with each other, which will be noticed below. Paper money, as already remarked, would be on all occasions an economical substitute for a metallic currency, if it could perform all the services of the precious metals; but there is one of the peculiarities of bullion which it is incapable of attaining; that is, absolute certainty that it is of the value it professes to be. The man who possesses an ounce of gold, knows that he has that which in every city, from London to Canton, will purchase him a certain quantity of the current commodities of the place. He, however, who has a bank-note, has that which is valuable only proIN describing the origin of a metallic currency, allusion vided the person who becomes bound by it is able to was made to the possibility of obligations or promises fulfil his engagement, and which no one will take at to pay being used as a medium of exchange, instead its nominal value, except those who believe that he is of metals, which bear their value in themselves. Al- so able. If no bodies of men, or individuals, ever though such documents might at first sight appear to issued pecuniary obligations beyond such as they were be a very simple arrangement for creating a circulat- absolutely certain of being able to meet, paper money ing medium, history shows them to be resorted to would be as secure as gold; such certainty, however, only in a far advanced and complicated state of society, is not in human things. In the best system of paper and a little consideration will satisfy us that they money which ever has been or can be devised, there cannot be brought separately into existence, but must will be more or less of uncertainty. The question be first ingrafted in a real or metallic currency. To whether, under any of the present systems, or under illustrate the first employment of gold as a measure others that might be substituted for them, the evils of value, a community of four individuals was supposed, of uncertainty are compensated by the conveniences each possessed of a separate commodity, of which the attending the practice, would bring us to the discusothers wish to obtain a portion, giving an equivalent sion of one of those debated points which we wish to in return. If an attempt were made to create paper avoid. money among such a body before metal had been first But to make a paper currency keep its value as employed, the nature of the obligations contained in compared with a gold one, it is not only necessary that the notes would of course be to give such and such a the persons who issue the obligations should be able to commodity. A could circulate an obligation to give meet them, but that there should not be a greater numa sheep to the bearer on demand, B to give a bushelber of them brought into existence than the commercial of corn, and so on. Such documents would be almost wants of the community require. If there be notes totally useless for the purposes of money. The person to the extent of L.2000 in circulation among a comto whom the obligation to give a sheep was offered, munity, whose business could be quite well transacted might not be in want of such a commodity, and might with L.1500, there will be a correspondent reduction know no other person so anxious to obtain it that he in the value of the notes. If every issuer of paper would take the obligation off his hands. Moreover, were likely to be immediately called upon to pay in there would be no general standard of value. It gold, and were prepared to meet the call, there would would be difficult to say what proportion a note for a be little likelihood of one of these "over-issues," as sheep bore to one for a quarter of grain; and those they are technically called, occurring. But however who accepted of such documents, instead of receiving great may be the facilities for enabling the holders of something of fixed value, would be purchasers of com- notes to get them paid, the public are not always on modities, the value of which they might not be ac- the alert to demand payment; and, indeed, if they quainted with. Instead of being paid, they would were, paper money would not be of much service. The only be purchasers, or rather parties to a transaction commercial world having once established the fact that for bartering goods. the note-maker is trustworthy, it goes on using his documents without a thought whether he is issuing too many of them, until the over-issue is felt to act on commerce, and the paper gets depreciated. In 1814, during the time when the Bank of England was exempted from paying its notes in gold, the depreciation in the notes of the bank amounted to L.29, 4s. Id. per cent. ; in other words, a bank-note for L.1 was worth only a fraction more than 14s. The manner in which an attempt has been made to check the recurrence of any such mischief, is the following. Bank of England notes are every where a legal tender; in other words, every creditor is bound to take them as cash, in payment of his debt. At the bank, however, and at its branches, gold must be given for the notes when required. When metal has once been brought into existence, however, as a circulating medium, every body knows its value, and an obligation to give a certain quantity of it is perfectly well understood. "I promise to give you on demand half an ounce of gold," is a sort of document which, if the person who received it has a perfect faith that the promise will be performed, would be just as valuable in his possession as the half ounce of gold itself. It might perhaps be more convenient to him to have the gold, as he might wish to employ a small portion of it in a petty purchase: but, on the other hand, there might be circumstances in which the obligation would be the more convenient commodity to possess; for example, he might fear being robbed, and would consider the note for various reasons more likely to be traced to the perpetrator than a piece of gold; or he might wish to pay a creditor at a distance, and the paper would be by far the more convenient substance to transmit. In the circumstances in which the gold circulating medium was presumed to come into existence, it will be recollected that it occasioned a loss to the small community in whose proceedings the subject was illustrated. A coat was given by one of them in exchange for as much of the metal as would serve the purposes of the community. Thus, while they used the gold, they were paying for it as an expensive article of convenience. Should they find that obligations to pay, will serve their turn as well as the gold, they might then dispose of it to any others who wanted it, and recover the property they parted with, or its equivalent. It is thus pretty clear, that the use of paper money is a distinct saving, and that wherever it can be made to perform the services of the precious metals, the community who so employ it gain the difference between a dear and a cheap article. There is another convenience, moreover, in the use of paper money; whether an advantage or not, we shall not say, as we should then be entering on one of the many disputed points regarding the currency. The trading transactions of a large community may require a greater circulating medium than can conveniently be obtained in a metallic form. All the gold in the world would not supply Great Britain with a circulating medium equivalent to that at present in use. It may be said that, as the paper currency of the country professes to be a substitute for gold-is in reality a set of obligations to pay in gold-it must therefore be fallacious, as it not only promises that which the obligant has not to pay, but what in reality does not exist. It is not necessary, however, that there should be gold to represent all the paper money in existence; it is sufficient that there be capital, or property of some sort or other to do so. The calico-printer's bill for one thousand pounds is measured off by gold; but, in reality, it is the representative, not of so much gold, but of sindry bales of cotton cloth in his warerooms, the existence of which makes the holder of the bill know that it is worth a thousand pounds in gold. There are further conveniences derived by the commercial world from Presuming that this, or any other check, could be the means of preventing an over-issue of paper from a government establishment, such as the Bank of England, there would still be, in a commercial country, a manufacture of paper money, which can neither be put down, nor subjected to a check. Every individual, indeed, whose bill or note of hand is taken by another, is an issuer of paper money, lending his drop to the ocean of the general supply. All operations in the science of political economy, as in most others, are best illustrated by particulars; and perhaps we may find the most intelligible illustration of the nature and effects of an over-issue, in looking to the conduct of a very few individuals. Let us suppose three or four young merchants beginning the world together without capital, and inclined to make a great effort to get on. They know that simple pieces of paper, with certain names written on them, will in certain circumstances pass for money, and they resolve to try if their own names will produce this magical effect. If they succeed, they know that in the end they will have to "retire their bills," or meet their engagements; but they are prepared to take their chance. John Thomson, then, we shall suppose, draws a bill on William Jones, which William Jones accepts. Thomson indorses it to Andrew Smith, who presents it at a bank to be discounted. A prudent bank will not discount such a document, if suspicious of its fictitious nature; an imprudent one will run the risk. Now, the state of circumstances which this document would lead one to believe in is, that Jones is owing money to Thomson, which he will pay him at the date mentioned in the bill, and that Thomson is in his turn indebted to Smith, and has given Jones's obligation to him in payment. The fact is, how ever, that none of the parties is owing the other any thing. Jones certainly becomes bound on the face of the document to pay so much money to Thomson, but he compensates himself by drawing a similar bill on Thomson, which he accepts; while Smith, who on their failure would be liable to the bank, likewise gets a bill in his favour as his share. Suppose each of the bills to be for L.100, here are L.300 created out of nothing-notes to pay that amount circulating as money, and nothing to meet them with. In short, just so much over-issue of paper money. When the time for paying these bills occurs, the parties probably draw similar ones for a larger amount, and so manage to pay them up in the mean time, obtaining a little more money, incurring heavy expenses, and becoming liable in the end to make good increased engagements. It may happen that the individuals in question shall prosper rapidly, and be able in the end to meet their obligations; and if it were not for such a chance, nobody whatever would take their bills as cash. Such documents are known by the names "accommodation bills," "wind-bills," and "kites." Let us compare this sort of transaction with a bona fide bill, a "bill for value," as it is called, given in the usual course of mercantile transactions. A retailer in a steady trade receives goods from a wholesale merchant. The former will not be able to pay for them till part is sold; the wholesale merchant wants his money for some profitable investment. The retailer gives the merchant his bill " for value." The banker to whom it is presented knows that it is the representative of property, the produce of a real transaction, and that the security for its being paid is good. To be sure, there is a risk of the bill not being paid. All human things are uncertain; the shopkeeper's premises may be burned down or broken into, and so it may happen that this bill too is an over-issue. But it is not like those mentioned above, an over-issue in the very nature of the transaction, depending on chances for being converted into a genuine security. One of the most calamitous instances of private over-issues that ever occurred, was the case of the Ayr Bank in Scotland. Instead of being ready to take advantage of the legitimate demands for accommodation which arose out of real business transactions, it endeavoured to push forward such transactions by giving the accommodation in the first place. If success had attended the various schemes of those to whom it made advances, all would have been well; but the usual proportion of them failed, and the concern gave way, burying many a noble fortune in its ruins. We must not omit some account of one of the most important uses of paper money, and that for which it was in reality first invented-the settlement of pecuniary transactions between individuals at a distance from each other, without the actual transmission of bullion. If an individual, A, in London, have a debtor B and a creditor C, both in Paris, instead of sending money to C, and getting money sent to him by B, he may give C an order on B to pay the debt over at once to him. This is a bill of exchange in its simplest form. Suppose, however, that A has a creditor in Paris, but no debtor, while his neighbour E has a debtor, but no creditor: A may pay the money to E which the French debtor owes him, and obtain from him an order on his debtor to pay A's French creditor. This order he will be said to purchase. It will be an accommodation to him, or an accommodation to the other party, according to circumstances. In the complicated arrangements of modern commerce, the individual debtors and creditors are lost sight of. If a person has a sum to transmit to another country by such an order, the rate at which he will obtain it will depend on the pecuniary relations of the two places taken in the main. If there is more money payable at the moment by people in London to people in Paris, than there is payable by those in Paris to those in London, there will be a demand for orders on Paris, and a premium will be payable for the accommodation by those who want them. In this case the exchange will be said to be against London. In Paris, on the other hand, there will be more people ready to give such drafts than there are in want of them, and those who dispose of them must do so at a discount. The rate of exchange is from this circumstance said to be in favour of Paris. The premium in the one case, and the discount in the other, will be measured by the balance due by London to Paris over what is due by Paris to London, and the principal sum to be met by the rate of exchange will be the expense of transmitting that balance in specie, unless the accounts can be adjusted by bringing transactions with some other community into the circle. HINTS ON GIVING DINNERS-FOR HOUSEKEEPING It is the mode of dinner that I wish to recommend, but for a wrong reason. to suppose that men enjoy themselves the most when clean, with simple repasts, costly or otherwise, according to please the palate, and to promote sociability and health. From the Original, by Thomas Walker, Esq. to the means or inclinations of the givers, and calculated INTELLECTUALITY OF ANIMALS. THE May number of the Dublin University Magazine contains an interesting paper on what is termed the "Intellectuality of Domestic Animals." It forms the substance of a lecture delivered before the Zoological Society of the Irish capital, by a gentleman distinguished for his talents and accomplishments, and whose name, though given only in initials in the Magazine, ought in mere justice to be mentioned at full length, even if the fact of the lecture having been a public one did not render any secondary concealment unavailing. The article is one which will reflect additional credit on the author the Rev. Cæsar Otway. We would willingly cite the whole of the lecture, but our space will only admit of extracts. The author thus opens his views of the subject under consideration:-"I am about to say what I am able on the habits and intellectuality of animals. I allude to two qualitieshabits, or, in other words, instinct-intellectuality, or, in other words, understanding. I confine myself, in order to keep within bounds, to domestic animals. We all must allow that animals have instincts that distinguish one species from another-those of a sheep, for instance, as differing from those of a dog. Well, supposing I identify habits with instinct, should I not define what instinct is? Perhaps I am not able -I stand not here as a philosopher-but this I know, that one who has given the subject more consideration than I can, has said that no one can define properly what instinct is, until he has spent some time in the head of a brute, without being a brute himself. But the same author ventures to give what may stand for a definition, and it is this—' those faculties that God has implanted in animals, whereby, independent of instruction, observation, or experience, and without knowing the end in view, they are impelled to the performance of certain actions conducive to their own well-being, and the preservation of their species.' But will those at all acquainted with animals be content with ascribing to them such a limited quality as this? Do not we find an adaptation of plans to circumstances, and an exercise of individual judgment, reflection, induction, and memory ? I must insist, then, that the creature has personal and independent mental powers; and if you will not call it reason, confess that it is akin to it, and call it intellectuality." readers :-"Would you believe it, that in Ireland, 66 : "The good old custom of harrowing by the tail, is harness?" I assert, that were you to make yourselves acquainted with asses, you would find them clever enough. I once purchased an ass for the amusement of my children. I did not allow him to be cudgelled, and he got something better to graze on than thistles. Why, I found him more knave than fool; his very cleverness was my plague. My ass, like the king's fool, proved the ablest animal about the place; and, like others having more wit than good manners, he was for ever not only going, but leading other cattle into mischief. There there was not a fence but he would climb. Too often was not a gate about the place but he would openhe awoke me of a summer's morning, braying for sheer wantonness, in the middle of my field of wheat. I was obliged to part with him and get a pony, merely because he was too cunning to be kept. I could relate some curious instances of their meto individuals-I shall allude but to one, the wellmory for persons and places, and their attachment known story of Captain Dundas's ass, that he had shipped from Gibraltar to Malta; and when a storm came on, when far on their voyage, and the vessel was overboard, the ass swam to shore at Cape de Gat, and in such danger that all the live stock was thrown in an incredibly short space of time made his way over the rivers and mountains of the Ronda, for two hundred miles, until he found himself standing at the door of his master's stable in Gibraltar. There is another domestic animal, that I think has not got fair play from man, and that is a goose. Wild or tame, I hold that geese are not to be sneered at. The wild are the most wary of all that take wing -see how aloft the flock soars, observe with what beautiful mathematical precision the order of flight is kept listen to the voice of direction or of warning that the sentinel keeping in advance every now and then gives out-look how each bird in turn takes the The sequel of the paper is devoted to the proof of leadership, and how the one relieved assumes his these opinions by argument and anecdote, and from regular position in the rear; let no one venture to tell the whole is extracted an admirable moral. "I told animals; every one knows how watchful geese are me that there is not considerable intelligence in these (says the reverend gentleman) that there are intellec- even in their domesticated state; every schoolboy has tual qualities belonging to animals, which call for our learned how they saved the Roman capitol. At the observation, demand our aid in their developement, flour mills of Tubberakeena, near Clonmel, while in and which, in proportion as observed, and respected, the possession of the late Mr Newbold, there was a and developed, will be conducive to the animal's hap-out mate or offspring, gander or goslings. Now, it goose, which by some accident was left solitary, withpiness and to man's use and profit." Humanity and happened, as is common, that the miller's wife had attention to our domestic animals are the practical set a number of duck-eggs under a hen, which in due lessons which the writer inculcates. From his numetime were incubated, and of course the ducklings, as rous stories relative to domestic animals, our treatsoon as they came forth, ran with natural instinct to ment of them, and the intellectuality they evince, we the water, and the hen was in a sad pucker; her maternity urging her to follow the brood, and her selfish·lect the following, assured that they will be produc-ness disposing her to keep on dry land. In the mean tive of equal entertainment and instruction to our while, up sailed the goose, and with a noisy gabble which certainly (being interpreted) meant, leave them to my care, she swam up and down with the ducklings, and when they were tired with their aquatic excur sion, she consigned them to the care of the hen. The pond, and there was the goose waiting for them, and next morning, down came again the ducklings to the there stood the hen in her great flustration. On this occasion we are not at all sure that the goose invited the hen, observing her maternal trouble, but it is a fact, that she being near the shore, the hen jumped on her back, and there sat, the ducklings swimming, and the goose and hen after them up and down the pond. And this was not a solitary event; day after day the hen was seen on board the goose, attending the ducklings up and down, in perfect contentedness and good humour-numbers of people coming to witness the circumstance, which continued until the ducklings, coming to days of discretion, required no longer the joint guardianship of the goose and hen. 1 While this paper was passing through the press, a lady supplied me with the following anecdote of a goose, which she assures me can be depended on. have every confidence in her credibility:-A goose, not a gander, in the farm-yard of a gentleman, was observed to take a particular liking to her owner. This attachment was so uncommon, and so marked, that all about the house and in the neighbourhood took notice of it ; and, consequently, the people, with the propensity they have to give nicknames, and with the sinister motive, perhaps, of expressing their sense GOOSEY. Alas! for his admirer-the goose's true love of the weak understanding of the man, called him did not yet run smooth. For her master, hearing of the ridicule cast upon him, to abate her fondness, insisted on her being locked up in the poultry yard. Well, shortly after, he goes to the adjoining town to attend petty sessions, and in the middle of his business what does he feel but something wonderfully warm and soft rubbing against his leg, and on looking down he saw his goose, with neck protruded, while quivering her wings in the fullness of enjoyment, looking up to him with unutterable fondness! This manners, for while it set them wild with laughter, it was too much for his patience or the bystanders' good urged him to do a deed he should ever be ashamed of; for, twisting his thong-whip about the goose's neck, he swung her round and round until he supposed her dead, and then he cast her on the adjoining dunghill. Not very long after, Mr GOOSEY was seized with a severe illness, which brought him to the verge of the grave; and one day, when slowly recovering, and allowed to recline in the window, the first thing he saw was his goose, sitting on the grass, and looking with intense anxiety at him. The effect on him was most alarming. 'What!' says he, is this troublesome bird come back to life, and am I, for my sins, to be haunted in this way? Oh! father,' says his daughter, 'don't speak so hardly of the poor bird. Ever since your illness it has sat there opposite your window-it scarcely takes any food. Passion, prejudice, the fear of ridicule, all gave way before a sense of gratitude for this unalterable attachment. The poor bird was immediately taken notice of, and treated, from henceforth, with great kindness; and, for all I know, Goose and Goosey are still bound in as close ties as man and bird can be. it came within my knowledge this summer; the cirI shall trouble you with but one story about cows; cumstance occurred to one of my own. I am in the habit every year of buying two or three Kerrys: they are the kindest little creatures in the world; they pay very well; and though wild at first, they become under when I buy them, I always choose from the head and proper treatment exceedingly gentle and familiar; horn; I pick out those I consider to have good countenances. Last year I was very lucky in the three I bought; they became in a short time great pets. I they always meet me at the gate of the pasture, exgenerally go out in the morning before breakfast, and pecting to have their heads scratched, and be spoken to; one in particular, a quaint crumpled-horned little lassie, used to put her snout into my pocket like a dog, to look for bread and potatoes, which I generally brought with me; her breath was so sweet, and her large eyes so placid, that I was almost tempted to be of the humour of the man who loved to kiss his cow. Well, there was a swing-swong in this field, and my Kerry lass, who was inordinately curious, seeing my young ladies swinging, thought (I suppose) she might take a swing herself; be this as it may, one day, about noon, a constant and loud lowing of cows was heard at the gate nearest the house, and my brother, who was within, hearing the unusual and continued noise, went out to see what was the matter; as soon as he came but not the third; so he proceeded into the grounds; to the gate, he saw two of the Kerry cows very uneasy, and as he went, the cows followed him still lowing, until he arrived at the farthest end of the land, when he saw my pet, the third Kerry, entangled in the rope of the swing, and caught by her head and horns, where moment my brother extricated her, the lowing of the she must have been soon strangled if not relieved; the others ceased. I could not learn that my Kerry fair one ever after attempted the humours of a swing-swong. Of dogs I need not say much. Large books are to be got, descriptive of their fidelity, intelligence, and usefulness; and each of you no doubt has some fact that has come under your own knowledge, and which convinces you, that dogs have almost reasoning powers. Many of you no doubt have read of the Newfoundland |