A dark-brown retriever, named Sam, was in the habit of going into a kennel of hounds, who always crowded round and caressed him. When they were in the field at exercise, Sam was told to go and amuse them; he then went among them, jumped Jim Crow, and played all sorts of antics, leaping and tumbling about in the most laughable manner, they looking at him most attentively. He went with his master to call upon a lady; she patted him, asked if he were the celebrated Sam, and hearing he was, she invited him to stay with her. The animal ran to his master, looked up, and seemed to ask for his consent. He was told to return to the lady, and take care of her, upon which he ran to her, took her basket from her, and tried to express his willingness to serve her. He remained with her for some hours, and when his master arrived to fetch him, the lady was so pleased, that she asked for his company till the next day. Sam's owner petted and praised him, told him to be a good dog, and stay with the lady until she had given him his breakfast the next day. The dog was contented to remain, ate his breakfast on the ensuing morning, then looked up in the lady's face, wagged his tail, left the house, and ran home. He was in the habit of fetching his master's clothes, and of returning them to their proper places; and he knew their names. He sat in a chair at dinner with the family, without making any confusion; or dined alone, alternately taking a piece of bread and meat, and then drinking a little milk; and if any one said, "Give me a piece, Sam," he instantly obeyed. When all was gone, he cleared away the things. He would fetch his master's horse from the inn, pay the hostler, and ride back upon the saddle. In short, he seemed to comprehend every thing that was said to him and was a model of good nature and obedience.

Wonderful as these stories are as matters of reason, they are perhaps exceeded by some of the tricks performed by the Poodle-Dogs, who are easily distinguished by their crisply curling hair, their large round head, and long ears, and to whom water is as welcome and familiar as land. Two of them, educated in Milan, exhibited their powers in Paris, and I can vouch for the veracity of the following statement:—The elder was named Fido, and the younger Bianco. The former was a serious, steady dog, who walked about with much solemnity; but Bianco was giddy and frolicsome. A word was given to Fido from the Greek, Latin, Italian, French, or English languages, and selected from a book, where fifty words in each tongue were inscribed, which, altogether, made three hundred combinations. He selected from the letters of the alphabet those which composed the given word, and laid them in order at the feet of his master. On one occasion, the word heaven was told to him, and he quickly placed the letters till he came to the second e, when, after vainly searching for the letter in his alphabet, he took it from the first syllable, and inserted it in the second. He went through the four first rules of arithmetic in the same way, with extraordinary celerity, and arranged the double cyphers in the same way as the double vowel in heaven. Bianco, however, although so heedless, was quicker than Fido, and when the latter made a mistake, was called on to rectify it, but as quickly dismissed, as he was wont to pull his companion's ears, to come and play with him.

One day Fido spelt the word Jupiter with a b, but the younger savant being summoned to correct the error, he carefully contemplated the word, and pushing out the b, replaced it with a p. A lady held her repeating watch to the ear of Fido, and made it strike eight and three quarters. Fido immediately selected an 8, and then a 6, for the three-quarters; the company present and the master insisted upon his error, and he again looked among his cyphers, but being unable to rectify it, he coolly sat himself down in the middle and looked at those around him. The watch was again sounded, and it was ascertained that it struck two for every quarter, which quite exonerated Fido. Both dogs would sit down to play ecarte, asking each other for, or refusing cards, with the most important and significant look, cutting at proper times, and never mistaking one card for another. Bianco occasionally won, and went to the cyphers to mark his points, and when he was asked how many his adversary had gained, he took out an 0 with his teeth. They sometimes played at ecarte with one of the company assembled to see them, when they evinced the same correctness, and seemed to know all the terms of the game. All this passed without the slightest audible or visible sign between them and their master.

There is a water dog at Hastings, belonging to Page the boatman, who, on receiving a penny, immediately takes it to a baker's shop for the purchase of a roll, nor will he part with it till the person who serves him has put the bread upon the counter; he then lays it down, and walks off with his purchase in his mouth. Another dog of this kind, also of my acquaintance, was the family carrier; that is, she carried books, work, etc., to any person or any room pointed out to her; and as we rather encroached on her, she lost almost all her teeth from the hard and heavy burthens with which she was laden. We had only to say, "Cora, take this to so and so," and if the good dog could not find the person, she brought it back and stood before us. At the same hour every afternoon, she, untold, brought her master's boot-jack and slippers into his study, to be in readiness for his return.

Under the despised name of curs, Colonel Smith classes the sharpest, the drollest, the most pertinacious, the most mischievous, and yet the most useful terrier; together with several other small dogs. Long-haired, rough-haired, long-eared, short-eared, brush-tailed, smooth-tailed, long-legged, short-legged, black-eyed, black-nosed; white, brown, black, tan, sandy, mixed; every degree of pure or mongrel blood; terriers of all kinds swarm around us, playing all sorts of antics, evincing all kinds of impertinences, catching all sorts of vermin, and presenting themselves to us in every shape of beauty or ugliness, of which their race is capable.

The most ancient of this influential, if not respectable tribe of dogs, indeed the most ancient dog of Great Britain, is the Scotch Terrier, brought to us, probably, from the north-west of Europe by our primitive inhabitants. There are two varieties of indigenous terriers—the one, smooth, usually white or black in colour, with tan spots; sharp muzzle; bright and lively eyes; pointed or slightly turned-down ears; and tail carried high. It is, however, supposed that the Scottish race, with a shorter and fuller muzzle, stouter limbs, hard, shaggy fur, sometimes white in colour, but more often sandy or ochry, is the oldest and most genuine breed. One of these clever and excellent beasts, named Peter, lived with my mother for some years, and during the whole of that time evinced the greatest sagacity and attachment. He constantly understood the conversation, provided it related to cats, rats, or himself; and often when we spoke of him casually, without even knowing he was in the room, or calling him by his name, he has laid his head on our knees and wagged his tail, as much as to say, "I understand." He was a most inveterate enemy to all rats, mice, and cats, nipping them in the back of the neck, and throwing them over his head at the rate of one in a minute. Before he came into our family, he won a wager that he would kill twelve rats in twelve minutes: the second rat fastened on his lip, and hung there while he despatched the other ten, and then, within the given time, he finished that also. The inhumanity of such wagers did not rest with him. He was stolen more than once, and brought back when a reward was advertised; and, the first time, the signs of suffering about him were very manifest. The beard under the chin, the tufts of the ears, the fringes of the legs, had been all cut off, and he had been rubbed with red ochre to disguise him for sale. He was placed with many others in a cellar, ready for shipping, and the dog-dealer, or rather dog-stealer, who brought him to us, said he thought he would have died of grief in a day or two, for he refused to eat, and seemed to be insensible either to kindness or anger. For three weeks he hung his head and shrunk into corners, as if he felt himself degraded; but at last our caresses and encouragement brought back his usual bold and lively bearing.

For the last three months of my mother's existence, Peter was almost always on her bed, night and day; and during the final four weeks, when death was daily expected, he was sad and dull: which was attributed to the change in the habits of the family. Forty-eight hours before all was over, Peter crept into a corner under the bed, which had always been his place of refuge when in trouble; and we with difficulty prevailed on him to quit it, even when his mistress wished to see and say farewell to him. On that occasion he hung his head, and appeared to be so miserable, that apprehensions of malady on his part were entertained. He returned to his corner, and was not thought of for some time. At length all was quiet in the room, and I was about to leave it, when I recollected Peter. He was with difficulty prevailed on to leave his corner, where he lay, curled up and trembling. I lifted him up to take a last look of his beloved mistress, but he laid his head on my shoulder, and was so much distressed that I carried him away immediately. On the following day, he accompanied me up stairs, and when I passed my mother's door, he looked up in my face as much as to say, "Are you going in there?" but I replied "No!" and he never again asked for entrance. The coffin was soldered down, and removed from the bed-room to the dining-room; and thus had to pass the drawing-room where all the family were assembled. On ordinary occasions, Peter was furious at the sound of strange footsteps in the house, and even barked loudly when any one knocked or rang at the street-door. On this occasion, however, he suffered the men employed to pass and repass frequently, without making the slightest noise; but that he was conscious of some unusual occurrence was evident from his jumping into my arms, where, as the coffin was brought down, he sat with ears erect, and eyes fixed, and panted and trembled in the most agitated manner till all was quiet. As long as the body remained in the house, he took every opportunity of walking round it and lying under it, and when it was removed at five o'clock one morning, to begin its journey to the family vault, he was again much agitated, but never offered to bark. On the following day, I and others started to attend the funeral at a considerable distance, and my daughters were to arrive at eight o'clock, to pass the day in the house of their deceased grandmother. I took leave of Peter, placed him on a mat in the hall, and said, "Stay there till the girls come." He laid himself down; and the servants assured me, he never moved till the parties arrived; when he met them with subdued looks, and closely attached himself to them as long as they were present. I returned two hours after midnight; and the first sound which I heard, when the carriage stopped at the door, was a noisy demonstration of joy from Peter. He thenceforward resumed all his usual habits, barking on all occasions; but he never was quite the same in disposition. He grew indifferent to every one except my brother, never played again; and four years after was found dead in his corner of refuge.

But it is not in a mournful light alone that we must view the Scotch, or indeed any other terrier; for they are the most untiring playful beings under the sun. I picked up a poor little expiring puppy by the edge of a pond one day, recovered him, brought him up, and there never was a more faithful or amusing beast. He proved to be a shaggy Scotch terrier; and his heedless youth had to undergo many corrections before he became the perfect model of obedience which his maturity presented. One of his misdemeanours was, to kill the young chickens. The woman who managed the poultry could not imagine why these little creatures died so fast, and at first suspected that they picked up and swallowed something which poisoned them. She, however, opened one, and did not find anything in it which confirmed her suspicions; but the feathers were ruffled on the back of the neck, and she was then convinced that they were destroyed by a much larger animal than themselves. She watched for some days; and at length saw Mr. Bruin, my dog, creep through a little hole in the palings of the yard, and squat himself down, very gravely, as if he had not a thought of mischief in him; presently a little chicken ran past him, snap went Bruin at the back of its neck, and giving it a toss over his head as he would a rat, the little thing was dead. Another was served in the same way; and I was then called to inflict the punishment I thought most proper. I was averse to beating him at first, so I pointed to the chicken, and scolded him so much that he appeared to be very sorry for what he had done. But he was then young and giddy, and the impression made was but slight. In three days he returned to his tricks, and I was obliged to chastise him more severely. I tied a dead chicken round his neck, beat him, and shut him up all day in a tool-house, where I visited him several times, pointed to the chicken, and repeated how naughty he was. He was so ashamed that he could not look me in the face, and in the evening, when I released him, he could not eat. He recovered his gaiety in a day or two because he was entirely forgiven; but he never again went into the poultry-yard, and if by chance he saw a chicken, he would hang his head and tail, and walk round it at such a distance, that he evidently recollected his former conduct.

The great friend and playmate of Bruin, was Pincher a very accomplished, smooth terrier, capital dog to go with the hounds, and to kill all sorts of obnoxious animals. If the two appeared to be asleep, and we exclaimed "Cat!" or "Rat!" in one instant they were on their legs, seeking in every direction for their game. They hunted on their own account sometimes, and were often seen with a red spaniel, trotting through the fields, no doubt conspiring together to have a feast. Both Bruin and Pincher were perfectly aware when Sunday came round; and although on other days, when they saw us equipped for a walk, they were most vociferous in their entreaties to go also, on Sunday they hid themselves under the sofa, and never offered to accompany us. They knew where we went, and generally came to meet us on our return, sometimes venturing as far as the gate of the churchyard, which was a mile distant, but never went within the enclosure.

One of my brothers, who was more peculiarly Pincher's master, had a great fancy to be a doctor as he called it; and he chipped various flint stones into fancied instruments. With these he pretended to perform operations on Pincher, who would lie perfectly passive under his hands, to have his teeth drawn, his limbs set, his wounds bandaged, his veins opened. The grand finale used to be an entire cutting up, which the boy copied from the same process practised on pigs. The dog was laid upon a table, with his legs stuck out which he made as stiff as possible. His head was then cut off, and as soon as the flint was passed across his throat, the head fell on one side, and it might have been thought that the dog fancied it was really off, so entirely did he let it lie without motion. The flint was then passed round his legs, each of which fell down without further movement, as close to the body as he could pull them. At last, when all was ended, my brother said, "Jump up, good dog!" and Pincher bounding off the table shook himself to life again.

A favourite terrier was in the habit of accompanying his master, who was a clergyman, to church, where he was so perfectly quiet, that few persons knew of his presence. On one occasion, he went to a funeral, and when the procession left the church, accompanied his master to the side of the grave, where he mingled with the attendants. The parties remained for some little time looking at the coffin after it was lowered, and the clergyman slipped away, unobserved even by his dog. An hour after, as he sat at dinner with his friends, his sexton requested to speak with him. He was admitted into the room, when he said it was impossible to close the grave, and that he did not know what to do. "Why?" asked the gentleman, "Because Sir, your terrier stands there, and flies so fiercely at us whenever we attempt to throw a spade full in, that we dare not go on." One of the house servants was sent to the churchyard, and there saw the dog in a perfect fury, defending the grave; she refused to come to his call, so by main force he removed her, and carried her to the drawing-room. There, the moment she saw her master, her transport of joy equalled her former fury; and it is supposed that, not seeing her master go away, and missing him, she fancied he was in the grave, and thus strove to protect him from injury.

The same dog and a companion, equally faithful and sagacious, attached themselves to their master's horse, and whenever they could, went out with it. He rode out on it to dinner, the two dogs with him, who went contentedly into the stable with their friend. He ordered his horse when it was time to go away; but as it was a long while coming to the door, inquiries were made about the delay, upon which the groom appeared, and said he dared not take the horse out of the stable, for one of the clergyman's dogs was on its back, and the other by its side, flying at every person who came near the animal. The owner comprehended the mystery, and going to the stable himself, brought forth the steed: the groom was a stranger, and the dogs dared not trust him with their master's property.

A terrier, known to Professor Owen, was taught to play at hide and seek with his master, who summoned him, by saying "Let us have a game," upon which the dog immediately hid his eyes between his paws, in the most honourable manner, and when the gentleman had placed a sixpence, or a piece of cake in a most improbable place, he started up and invariably found it. His powers were equalled by what was called a Fox-terrier, named Fop, who would hide his eyes, and suffer those at play with him to conceal themselves before he looked up. If his playfellow hid himself behind a window curtain, Fop would, for a certain time, carefully pass that curtain, and look behind all the others, behind doors, etc., and when he thought he had looked long enough, seize the concealing curtain and drag it aside in triumph. The drollest thing, however, was to see him take his turn of hiding; he would get under a chair, and fancy that he was not seen; of course, those at play with him pretended not to see him, and it was most amusing to witness his agitation as they passed. When he was ill he had been cured by some homoeopathic globules, and ever after, if anything were the matter with him, he would stand near the medicine box, and hold his mouth open.

A black and tan terrier, belonging to a linen-draper in Swindon, directly the shop was opened in the morning, was in the habit of going to the post-office with his master; the letter bag was put into his mouth, and he carried it home. One morning he took it into his head to precede his master, and go alone. The post-master, on seeing him, felt so certain his owner was at the door, that he delivered the bag to him, with which he ran home while his master was seeking him. From that time it became his regular duty to fetch the letters daily.

Sir Walter Scott tells us of the remarkable comprehension of human language evinced by his Bull-dog terrier, called Camp. He understood so many words, that Sir Walter felt convinced an intercourse with dumb animals might be enlarged. Camp once, bit the baker, for which Sir Walter beat him, and, at the same time, explained the enormity of the offence; after which, to the last moment of his life, he never heard the least allusion to the story, in whatever voice or tone it might be mentioned, without getting up and retiring into the darkest corner of the room, with great appearance of distress. Then, if it were said that the baker had been well paid, or that the baker was not hurt after all, Camp came forward, capered, barked, and rejoiced. When he was unable, towards the end of his life, to attend his master in his rides, he watched for his return, and the servant used to tell him Sir Walter was coming down the hill, or through the moor, Camp never mistook him, although he did not use any gesture, but either went out at the front to ascend the hills, or at the back to get at the moor side.

These anecdotes, taken from many others concerning Terriers, cannot be better ended than by some concerning a Russian terrier. As I once was acquainted with an inimitable monkey, named Jack, so do I now know an inimitable dog of that name. He is small, white, with some quaintly placed dark brown spots on the body and head; his eyes are of the most brilliant black, he is slightly and genteelly made, and he has a quantity of curling hair on his back only, which gives him a peculiar appearance. He formerly resided in Ireland with the mother of his present possessor, to whom he evinced that devoted attachment which ought to be named canine, for there is nothing equal to it in any other animal. This lady was ill for some years before her death, and could only take exercise in an invalid chair. When she was ready to go out, she would say, "Now, Jack, I am ready for the chair," upon which he immediately scampered off to the stables, placed himself in the vehicle, and was dragged to the door. Then he got out till his mistress was placed comfortably in it, when he seated himself at her feet. If they went through the garden, the carriage was stopped at Jack's favourite beds of flowers, for he had a remarkable fancy, like a cat, to enjoy their perfume; mignonette being always a source of delight. On one occasion, in Dublin, he was lost; sought for, and met in the arms of a policeman, who was carrying him home. The man said he had actually delivered himself up at the station, for he came into the room where several men were seated, looked at one of them, as he stood at his feet, and quietly suffered his collar to be inspected and himself taken up and carried.

He entered the drawing-room where his two mistresses were sitting, and made signs for one of them to go to the door. She did not heed his request; upon which he pulled her gown with his teeth, and she, thinking he must have some extraordinary reason for it, then followed him; the instant she opened the door wide, he squatted himself in the middle of the mat placed there, thumping the floor with his tail; before him lay six dead rats, which he had killed and brought to be seen, they being laid out, rat fashion, in due form, and he displaying his prowess with great pleasure. Jack went to Torquay with his young mistress, where he was one day lying in the balcony, enjoying the sea breezes. An Italian came past with his organ, and a monkey; he stopped before Jack, and suffered his monkey to climb the pillars which supported the balcony and enter. Jack never tamely suffered the intrusion of strangers; but such a stranger as this was beyond all patience; he seized him, shook him; the poor monkey squealed, the Italian bawled out for his companion, and Jack's mistress rushed to the window and rescued the unfortunate creature, just time enough to save him from Jack's final gripe. Some days after this, Jack was walking out with his mistress's brother, who was a great invalid, when the sound of an organ saluted his ears. In one moment he came up with it, seized the accompanying monkey between his teeth, and dashed past his astonished master, with the hind legs of the creature hanging out on one side, and the feathered hat on the other. In vain did the gentleman call; Jack either did not hear or did not heed; he took his way to the stable where his master's horse was kept, and would have immolated the monkey, had not the grooms there saved him from death. The invalid and the owner of the monkey arrived at the same moment, each delighted at the safety of the poor victim. Jack, to this day, cannot endure an organ or a monkey.

The Pariah dogs of India, when wild, occupy the woods in numerous packs; they have long backs, pointed ears, sharp noses, and fringed tails. Their fondness for human beings is very remarkable; and they will attach themselves to a stranger, and not suffer any ill-usage to keep them at a distance. One was known to follow a gentleman travelling in a palanquin till he dropped from fatigue. There is a minute variety, white, with long silky hair, like a lap dog, and this is trained to carry flambeaux and lanterns. Bishop Heber gives an account of a poor Pariah dog, who followed him during a part of his journey through India. He ordered the cook to give him some scraps, and the animal strongly attached himself to the bishop. When the party were obliged to cross a rapid river, at rather a dangerous ford, the dog was so frightened at the black roaring water, that he sat down by the side and howled piteously, as the bishop went over. He, however, assumed courage to follow; but was again distressed when one of the Sepoys was missing; he ran back to the spot, and howled, returned to the bishop, then back to summon the defaulter, and continued this till the man had rejoined his party.

The bishop relates a story of one of these dogs who, being in search of water, thrust his head into an earthen jar, and could not get it out again; he rushed about in all directions, bellowing and howling in the most fearful manner. The guard sprang to their feet, and stood prepared to encounter an enemy, whose approach they thought was announced by the blast of a war-horn. Halters were broken, and horses and mules pranced over the tent ropes; and it was some minutes before the cause of this confusion was ascertained.

A massive form, arched skull, deep lower jaw, strong legs and neck, semi-hanging ears, truncated tail, and frequent presence of a fifth toe, distinguish the noble Mastiff. They are silent, phlegmatic dogs, conscious of their own strength, seem to consider themselves more as companions than servants, are resolute, and face danger with the utmost self-possession. A cold region, such as the highest ranges of Central Asia, is best adapted to their perfect development, and yet their only wild type is met with in Africa. They are old denizens of Great Britain, and are said to have been brought here before the Romans conquered the country. They are not supposed to have come originally from Africa, but from Thibet, through the north of Europe.

They have been known to conquer lions; and yet, while they possess the most indomitable strength and courage, they are the gentlest of animals, suffering children to sit upon them, pull them roughly, and small dogs to snap and snarl at them. Confinement alone disturbs their temper. They are excellent guardians, and such is their deliberate coolness, that they have been known to walk quietly by the side of a thief without doing him an injury, merely preventing his escape. They will, however, suffer the rogue to go away, if he has not already purloined anything.

It is well known that dogs love to be in a crowd of people, and this is frequently the temptation for them to enter churches. A number of dogs, in a village of Bohemia, had followed this practice, including an English mastiff, belonging to a nobleman who lived there. A magistrate who presided at a Court, observed upon it, and said, in an authoritative voice, "No dogs shall be allowed to go to church, let me not see one there in future." The mastiff was present, and seemed to listen with attention, not without effect, for on the ensuing Sunday, he, rising early, ran barking at the village dogs, took his station near the door of the church, killed the only dog that ventured in, notwithstanding the prohibition; and always posted himself as a sentinel on duty, before the church, but without ever afterwards entering it.

An English gentleman, some time ago, went to some public gardens, at St. Germain, with a large mastiff, who was refused admittance, and the gentleman left him in the care of the bodyguards, who were placed there. The Englishman, some time after he had entered, returned to the gate, and informed the guards that he had lost his watch, telling the sergeant, that if he would permit him to take in the dog, he would soon discover the thief. His request being granted, the gentleman made signs to the dog of what he had lost, who immediately ran about among the company, and traversed the gardens, till at last he laid hold of a man. The gentleman insisted that this person had his watch; and, on being searched, not only his watch, but six others, were discovered in his pockets. What is more remarkable, the dog took his master's watch from the other six, and carried it to him. This is rather an old story, but it is an excellent example of the sagacity of the mastiff.

The following anecdote has been sent to me while writing the above, by the gentleman who witnessed the occurrence, and, as Glaucous was half a mastiff, I insert it in this place:—

"An Irish gentleman, possessed a couple of immense dogs, male and female, half Newfoundland, half mastiff, which were celebrated for their sagacity, courage, and high-training. They were, in the most comprehensive sense, amphibious, and their home being near the sea, they spent many hours daily in the water.

"One day a young gentleman, related to the owner of these dogs, and to whom the male, who was called Glaucous, had attached himself with the ardent affection so characteristic of his species, was walking on the shore with him. It was nearly low water, and a sand-bank, covered during high tide, was visible at some hundred yards distance from the shore. His attention was drawn to this object, from the circumstance of the water being in a state of commotion around it, while the sea elsewhere was perfectly placid. On further examination, he discovered that some large fish was chasing a shoal of whiting, and in his eagerness to capture his prey, he more than once ran on the sand-bank.

"Directing the dog's attention to these objects, he was encouraged to swim to the sand-bank, which he soon attained, and he had not been there a minute, before the large fish made another dash almost under his nose. The dog immediately pursued the fish; and ere it had reached the deep water he seized it by the shoulders, and bore it to the sand-bank. The fish, however, remained far from passive under such treatment, for as soon as it was released, it opened its large jaws, and bit the dog so fiercely as to cause his muzzle to be crimsoned with blood.

"A few struggles brought the fish again into his own element, in which he quickly disappeared. But the dog, though severely bitten, was not discomfited. A cheering call from his young friend, was followed by his dashing into the water after his finny foe, and diving, he reappeared with the fish trailing from his jaws. Again he bore him to the sand-bank, and again the fish made good use of his teeth.

"But it was evident that the struggle could not be much longer continued. Availing himself of every opportunity, the dog used his powerful tusks with terrible effect on the fish's shoulders, and at last, taking a good gripe of his prey, he set off for the shore. When about halfway, the fish managed to break loose, but Glaucous was too quick for him, and once more seizing him, he landed his prize with all the apparent triumph evinced by a veteran angler, who secures a monster salmon after a lengthy battle. The fish turned out to be a hake; it weighed seventeen pounds, and when opened was found completely filled with whitings."

The Bull-dog, with his truncated nose, his broad mouth, red eyelids, large head, forehead sinking between the eyes, nose rising, under-jaw projecting, often showing the teeth, and thick make, has not those outward characters which compose beauty.

Their heads have always black about them; but the rest is brindled, buff, ochry, or white. They are said to be less sagacious than other dogs, and less capable of attachment; but their great strength, their courage, and extreme pertinacity in keeping hold when they have once taken a gripe, makes them most valuable for completing the packs of hounds trained to hunt boars, wolves, and still larger animals. When excited they are terrific in appearance, and were formerly used for bull-baiting in this country. In Spain and Corsica, where this practice is still continued, they may be seen in all their strength and power. I have been told they are gentle when not engaged in their cruel sport.

The Pug has been by some considered as a variety of the bull-dog, and others reject this opinion. His round head, grotesquely abbreviated muzzle, and small, tightly curled tail, they think, entitling him to a place of his own among dogs. Authorities state that he is a cross, ill-tempered little dog, but my own experience contradicts this. The two with whom I have come in frequent contact, have been remarkably playful and good-natured. One was the pet of a lady; and his bringing up ought to have made him gentlemanly; but he had several low tricks in the eating way; such as stealing from the scullery, which used to provoke his mistress. His place for hiding the purloined dainties was under the pillow of her bed, and frequently at her nightly examination of the spot, she found, not only bones, but dead mice.

Pug number two, was a very clever fellow, who used to walk out by himself every day, and when he wished to re-enter the house, he always rang the door bell; either by shaking the wire with his paw, or taking it between his teeth. He was clever in fetching what was wanted from distant parts of the house, but was very much afraid of being by himself in the dark. He had formed a great friendship with a kitten, and the two used to bask together before the fire. If Pug were told to fetch some article from the bed-room, after the house was closed for the night, he insisted on having puss's companionship. If she were unwilling to move, he dragged her along with his mouth, and frequently mounted several stairs with her, before she gave consent to the proceeding.

Multitudes of anecdotes exist, which have been handed down to us, as relating to dogs, without any information of the species of the principal actors, as in the following instances.

The fire dog, only just dead, was to be seen at almost every conflagration in London, either mounted on the engine, or tearing along by its side, seeming to think his presence necessary on all such occasions. He was well known at all the engine stations, though he did not belong to, or derive his support from any individual. There is now a dog, at the Temple, which belongs to the inn, and not to any one person; he is a mongrel, is fed wherever he chooses to ask, and is to be seen everywhere within the precincts of the place. Dogs have frequently been known to attach themselves to regiments, in the same manner. One named Battalion, belonged to the first regiment of Royal Guards in France. Being always stationed at the guard-house, he remained there. The frequent change of masters was of no importance to him; he did not even go to the barracks; and considered himself as the property of twelve soldiers, two corporals, a sergeant, and a drummer, whoever they might happen to be; but if the regiment changed garrison, he installed himself at the new guard-house. He never took any notice of those who did not wear the same uniform.

The histories of the smuggling dogs on the frontiers of France, are well known, but these smugglers are now almost all destroyed. The extent to which this illicit commerce was carried, was enormous. Dogs notions of property, however, are often very scrupulous; a lady at Bath found her way impeded as she walked by a dog, who had discovered the loss of her veil, though she had not; the animal had left his own master to seek it for her; he found it, and then returned to his owner. They often shew a presentiment of danger, and gave notice of the earthquake at Gabaluasco in 1835, by leaving the town, also at Concepcion, in the same manner.

Some dogs have a great antipathy to music, others only to certain tones, and I have known a dog who always set up a howl at particular passages. There was one who, before the great revolution in France, used to march with the band at the Thuileries because he liked it, and at night frequented the opera and other theatres.

The most surprising histories told of dogs are concerning their speech. Liebnitz reported to the French Academy of Sciences, that a dog had been taught to modulate his voice, so that he could distinctly ask for coffee, tea, and chocolate. After this we may believe that a dog was learning to say Elizabeth. I have often watched for such sounds, from energetic, clever dogs, who have evidently tried viva voce to make me acquainted with some circumstance, but never heard anything intelligible, and I cannot imagine that the organs of speech are bestowed upon a favoured few; without which the articulation of words must be impossible.

Volumes might be filled with these anecdotes of dogs, but I will here conclude my list with the picture given by Mr. St. John of his pets, portraying a happiness which contrasts strongly with the miserable condition of many ill-used animals, belonging to hard-hearted masters, who perform valuable services, and are yet kicked, spurned, or half-starved.

"Opposite the window of the room I am in at present," says this gentleman, "are a monkey and five dogs basking in the sun, a blood-hound, a Skye terrier, a setter, a Russian poodle, and a young Newfoundland, who is being educated as a retriever. They all live in great friendship with the monkey, who is now in the most absurd manner searching the poodle's coat for fleas, lifting up curl by curl, and examining the roots of the hair. Occasionally, if she thinks that she has pulled the hair, or lifted one of his legs rather too roughly, she looks the dog in the face with an inquiring expression to see if he be angry. The dog, however, seems rather to enjoy the operation, and, showing no symptoms of displeasure, the monkey continues her search; and when she sees a flea, catches it in the most active manner, looks at it for a moment, and then eats it with great relish. Having exhausted the game on the poodle, she jumps on the back of the blood-hound, and having looked into her face to see how she will bear it, begins a new search, but, finding nothing, goes off for a game at romps with the Newfoundland dog. While the blood-hound, hearing the voice of one of the children, to whom she has taken a particular fancy, walks off to the nursery. The setter lies dozing and dreaming of grouse; while the little terrier sits with ears pricked up, listening to any sounds of dog or man that she may hear; occasionally she trots off on three legs to look at the back door of the house, for fear any rat-hunt, or fun of that sort may take place without her being invited. Why do Highland terriers so often run on three legs, particularly when bent on any mischief? Is it to keep one in reserve in case of emergencies? I never had a Highland terrier who did not hop along constantly on three legs, keeping one of the hind legs up as if to give it rest."

A proof of the sudden attachments which dogs will form, is given by Mr. Murray, to whom the dog of his guide took a fancy. Mr. Murray passed the night in the house of his master, fed him, and the animal sat looking up in his face. The next morning the party started on foot to cross the Pyrenees, and when the guide had fulfilled his agreement and received his reward, he took his leave; the dog, however, followed Mr. Murray, and no threats or entreaties could prevail on him to turn back. He proceeded to an inn with his new friend, and Mr. Murray was making a bargain with the innkeeper to send the dog to his owner, when a boy came from the man, to claim the beast. He followed the boy two or three times for a few yards, and invariably returned. A strong cord was then tied round his neck, and the boy was told to lead him with that; but at a little distance, finding that he could not get rid of the cord, the dog leaped upon the boy, threw him down, dragged the cord out of his hand, and returned to Mr. Murray. After this it seemed inevitable that they should travel together. Mr. Murray sent for the master, bought the dog, and eventually took him to Scotland, having a place secured for him always in the diligence; and from the moment he arrived, he became the pet of the family.

Another instance of the same feeling in dogs, occurred to a sporting traveller in Norway (Mr. Lloyd, if I mistake not) to whom the dog of a peasant took the same sudden liking.

[4] Boyle.



WOLVES.

Strong, gaunt, ferocious, cunning, cowardly, and sinister-looking, wolves (Canis Lupus) still inhabit the forest and mountainous districts of Europe, Asia, and America; a few being occasionally met with in plains. Happily they have been extirpated from Great Britain and Ireland, but in many parts of populous countries on the European Continent, an unusually severe winter brings them to the habitations of man.

Their resemblance to dogs, internally and externally, has led to the supposition, that they were the original parents of the latter; but I have elsewhere alluded to this unsettled question.

The muscles of the head, neck, and shoulders of wolves, are extremely powerful, and the snap with which they bite is never to be mistaken, being apparently peculiar to them. They drink by suction, and it is said, that if the offspring which they have by a dog, should lap, they take a dislike to it. The cry which they make is not a regular bark, but a hoarse, ugly noise, and the howl which they delight in setting up at night, is one of the most melancholy sounds possible. They vary much in colour, being white, black, grey, brown, etc. Their digitigrade walk, sharp muzzle, oblique eyes, and hanging tail, in their wild state, are less conspicuous in domestication, and they then gradually assimilate themselves in appearance to our hounds.

Innumerable are the true histories which have been transmitted to us concerning wolves. Their nightly prowling, their quiet, untiring perseverance in pursuit, their skulking disposition, their artful stratagems, all impart a mystery to them which has been heightened by fear, and the natural proneness of man to magnify tales of horror.

Wolves are too suspicious to be often taken in traps; and when pursued they run with their noses almost touching the ground, their eyes glowing like fire, the hair of their head and neck bristled up, their tail drawn close to their legs. Their usual height at the shoulders is about two feet and a half; their young are born in caverns or gloomy recesses, and the female wolf is furious in their defence. They often fight with each other; and it is said, if a wounded wolf come among his fellows, he is immediately torn in pieces and devoured.

Mr. Lloyd, in his "Field Sports in the North of Europe," tells us of a peasant who, in the neighbourhood of St. Petersburgh, met with the following narrow escape:—"He was pursued by eleven of these ferocious animals, while he was in his sledge. At this time he was only about two miles from home, towards which he urged his horse at the very top of his speed. At the entrance of his residence was a gate, which happened to be closed at the time; but the horse dashed this open, and thus his master and himself found refuge in the courtyard. They were followed, however, by nine out of the eleven wolves; but very fortunately, at the very instant these had entered the enclosure, the gate swung back on its hinges, and thus they were caught as in a trap. From being the most ferocious of animals, now that they found escape impossible, they completely changed, and so far from offering molestation to any one, they slunk into holes and corners, and allowed themselves to be slaughtered, almost without making resistance."

A more tragic occurrence happened to an unfortunate woman, also in Russia, and is related by the same gentleman:—"A woman, accompanied by three of her children, was one day in a sledge, when they were pursued by a number of wolves. She put the horse into a gallop, and drove towards her home with the utmost speed. She was not far from it; but the ferocious animals gained upon her, and were on the point of rushing on to the sledge. For the preservation of her own life, and that of the remaining children, the poor, frantic creature cast one of them to her blood-thirsty pursuers. This stopped their career for a moment; but, after devouring the poor child, they renewed the pursuit, and a second time came up with the vehicle. The mother, driven to desperation, resorted to the same horrible expedient, and threw another of her offspring to her ferocious assailants. The third child was also sacrificed in the same way, and soon after, the wretched being reached her home in safety. Here she related what had happened, and endeavoured to palliate her own conduct, by describing the dreadful alternative to which she had been reduced. A peasant, however, who was among the bystanders, and heard the recital, took up an axe, and with one blow cleft her skull in two, saying, at the same time, 'that a mother who could thus sacrifice her children for the preservation of her own life, was no longer fit to live.' The man was committed to prison, but the Emperor subsequently granted him a pardon."

The tame wolf at the Jardin des Plantes, is described by M. Frederic Cuvier, in the following manner:—"This animal was brought up as a young dog, became familiar with every person whom he was in the habit of seeing, and in particular followed his master everywhere, evincing chagrin at his absence, obeying his voice, and showing a degree of submission, scarcely differing in any respect from that of the most thoroughly domesticated dog. His master being obliged to be absent for a time, presented his pet to the Jardin des Plantes, where the animal, confined in a den, continued disconsolate, and would scarcely take his food. At length, however, his health returned; he became attached to his keepers, and appeared to have forgotten all his former affection; when, after eighteen months, his master returned. At the first word he uttered, the wolf, who had not perceived him among the crowd, recognized him, exhibited the most lively joy, and, being set at liberty, lavished on his old friend the most affectionate caresses. A second separation and return was followed by similar demonstrations of sorrow, which, however, again yielded to time. Three years had passed, and the wolf was living happily in company with a dog, when his master again returned, and the still remembered voice was instantly replied to by the most impatient cries, which were redoubled as soon as the poor fellow was at liberty, when, rushing to his master, he threw his fore-feet on his shoulders, licking his face with every mark of the most lively joy, and menacing his keepers, who offered to remove him, and towards whom, not a moment before, he had been showing every mark of fondness. A third separation, however, seemed to be too much for this faithful animal's temper; he became gloomy, desponding, refused his food, and for a long time his life appeared to be in danger. His health, however, returned; but he no longer suffered the caresses of any but his keepers, and towards strangers manifested the original savageness of his species."

There was another wolf at the same Menagerie, who was very docile and affectionate, distinguishing those whom he knew from strangers, and seeking their caresses. We were very good friends, and I often played with him, so that he knew my voice. After an absence of two years, to my great surprise, he recognized it, dashed to the bars of the den, thrust his paws out to greet me, and gave every sign of delight. It is probable, that this circumstance, combined with another, may have given rise to the history related by Captain Brown, in his "Popular Natural History," of which I now beg to give a correct version:—"Mme. Ducrest [then Mlle. Duvaucel] and I were going out at Baron Cuvier's front door, when a man, holding something tied up in a handkerchief, asked if we belonged to the house. On replying in the affirmative, he offered his bundle; she shrank from it, as the same thing had occurred to me a few days before, and I received the dried and tattooed head of a New Zealander; but he opened the handkerchief, and displayed a beautiful little wolf puppy, covered with silky black hair. She joyfully received it; we carried it to the keepers of the Menagerie, and orders were given that it might be fed on soup and cooked meat. The wolf continued to be very handsome, very playful, and very tame for about a year, when she became a mother, and from that time was savage and unsociable to human beings, never recovering her former amiable disposition. She was from the Pyrenees."

The following story is told by a gentleman who was sporting in Hungary at the time the circumstance occurred:—"About dusk, just as the last sledge had arrived within a quarter of a mile of a village on the way homeward, and had cleared the corner of a wood which had bounded the road at a few yards distance for a considerable length; the owner, who was seated behind, with his back to the horses, espied a wolf rush out of the angle of the wood, and give chase to the sledge at the top of his speed. The man shouted to the boy who was driving, 'Farkas! farkas!' (a wolf! a wolf!). Itze het! itze het! (drive on),' and the lad, looking round in terror, beheld the animal just clearing the gripe which ran along the road they had passed. Quick as lightning, with shout and whip, and with all his might, he urged the horses to gain the village. Away they flew at their fullest stretch, as if sensible of the danger behind them, conveyed to them by the exclamation of the lad, and the dreaded name of the animal which he shouted in their ears. The man turned his seat and urged the boy still more energetically to lash the horses to their very utmost speed. He did not need any further incentive, but pushed on the nags with frantic exertion. The sledge flew over the slippery road with fearful speed; but the wolf urged yet more his utmost pace, and gained fast upon it. The village was distant about two hundred yards below the brow of the hill; nothing but the wildest pace could save them, and the man felt that the wolf would inevitably spring upon them before they could get to the bottom. Both shouted wildly as they pursued their impetuous career, the sledge swerving frightfully from one side of the road to the other, and threatening every moment to turn over. The man then drew his thick bunda (sheep-skin) over his head; he looked behind and saw the fierce, panting beast within a few yards of him; he thought he felt his hot breath in his face; he ensconced his head again in his bunda, and, in another moment, the wolf sprang upon his back, and gripped into the thick sheep skin that covered his neck. With admirable presence of mind the bold-hearted peasant now threw up both his hands, and grasping the wolf's head and neck with all his strength, hugged him with an iron clutch to his shoulders. 'Itze het,' now shouted the cool fellow, and holding his enemy in a death grip, they swept into the village, dragging the fierce brute after them, in spite of his frantic efforts to disengage himself. The shouts of the boy and man, with the mad speed and noise of the horses, brought the villagers out to see what was the matter. 'Farkas! farkas!' shouted both, and the peasants immediately seeing their perilous position, gave chase with their axes, calling out to the man to hold on bravely. At length the boy succeeded in slackening the speed of the animals, the sledge stopped, and the peasants, rushing on, dispatched the ferocious creature upon the man's back, whose arms were so stiffened with the immense muscular exertion he had so long maintained, that he could hardly loose them from the neck of the dead wolf."

An unfortunate clergyman, in the neighbourhood of Eauxbonnes in the Basses Pyrenees, was not as fortunate as the Slovack peasant; for, as he was returning from visiting the sick in January, 1830, he was beset by hungry wolves, and torn to pieces by them; the fragments which they left, and the blood upon the snow, alone telling his fate.

The North American wolves are not as gaunt as those of Europe, having shorter legs, thicker fur, shorter muzzle, broader heads, more bushy tail, and being altogether more compact. Their habits, however, are much the same, A farmer in New Hampshire was one night awakened by a noise in his hog-pen; on looking out he saw, what he supposed to be a fox, on the low, sloping roof of the sty. He went out, but found that the animal was a grey wolf, which, instead of making off, fiercely attacked him, rushing down the roof towards him; and before the man had time to move back, the wolf had bitten his arm three times, with his quick and repeated snaps, lacerating it from the elbow to the wrist; then, however, he leaped from the roof to the ground, and by so doing lost his advantage; for the man succeeded in seizing him on each side of the neck with his hands, and held him firmly in that position till his wife, whom he called out, came up with a large butcher's knife, and cut the beast's throat. It was three months before the man's arm was healed; every incision, it was said, piercing to the bone.[5]

A white wolf always attends the bull, called buffalo, of Western America; besides which the same country affords other varieties. Among them are the Coyotes, or Medicine Wolves, of the Indians, who show them great reverence. They are small, sagacious, and cunning; assemble in packs, and hunt in troops of from three to thirty, along the runs of deer and antelopes, and run down their quarry. When game has been killed by hunters, they sit patiently at a short distance, while larger wolves prowl around, pouncing on the pieces thrown to them by the men, and which the small ones drop instantly. They keep watch round a camp at night, and gnaw the skin ropes of horses and cattle.

When the Coyotes, or small white wolves, of Mexico, lose all hope of escape, they curl themselves up and await death. If impelled by hunger, one snatches a piece from the hunter, while he cuts up his game, the whole herd rush upon it, fight, growl, and tear each other for it. Mr. Ryan, from whose lively descriptions these notices are taken, was for days followed by a large grey wolf, and every evening when he encamped, the wolf squatted himself down, and helped himself whenever he could. Something, however, was generally left for him; and he became so tame, that he stopped when the party stopped, and when anything was killed, walked round and round, licking his jaws in expectation of his share. No one ever molested him, and, therefore, he continued quite harmless. This sort of proceeding will sometimes take place with a whole pack.

Mr. Ruxton one day killed an old buck, and left it on the ground, where six small wolves were in attendance. Ten minutes after he left his game, the six wolves came up with him, one of which had his nose and face besmeared with blood, and he seemed to be almost bursting. Thinking it impossible they should have devoured the buck in so short a time, he had the curiosity to return and see what impression they had made upon it, and why they had left it. To his astonishment, he found only the bones and some of the hair remaining, the flesh having been taken off as if it had been scraped with a knife. They flourish their tails, snarl, bite, squeak, and swallow the whole time of their meal; and if kindly treated, will come and warm themselves by the fires of the hunters when they are asleep, and sit nodding their own heads with drowsiness.

The Esquimaux dogs, though very bold when attacking bears, are so much afraid of wolves, that they scarcely make any resistance when set upon by them. Sir John Richardson tells us, that a wolf, wounded by a musket-ball, returned after dusk, and carried off a dog from among fifty others, who howled piteously, but did not dare to try and rescue their companion.

Several wolves will combine, and, forming a semicircle, creep slowly towards a herd of deer, if there be a precipice near, and hemming them in gradually, so as not to alarm them suddenly, drive them to the edge of the precipice; then they all at once set up the most terrific yells, and taking flight, the poor deer leap over the precipice, where the wolves follow them at their leisure by a safer path, to feed on their mangled carcases.

On one occasion, a troop of nine white wolves endeavoured to practise the same trick upon Sir John Richardson, evidently intending to drive him into the river. However, when he rose up they halted, and on his advancing, made way for him to go to the tents.

The lovers of tragic histories will find many of the most fearful kind among the legends of all countries where wolves abound; all probably founded on fact, but mostly interwoven with romance. There cannot be anything much more shocking than that of the solitary traveller, galloping into a village pursued by these beasts, and knocking at the doors, earnestly entreating for refuge. The inhabitants were mostly buried in sleep; some few heard and did not move, others had a dim, confused notion of what was passing, and also remained in their beds; while others again did not hear anything. The next morning the sad event was told by finding the traveler's cloak and a few bones.

[5] Gosse's Canadian Naturalist.



FOXES.

Stealing along in the dark of evening, the cunning and rapacious Fox (Canis Vulpes) leaves his hole in the earth, and roams in search of his prey. The poultry-yards, rabbit-warrens, and the haunts of game, tell of his skilful depredations; but he is not at all difficult in his appetite. To be sure, when he can get ripe grapes, he has a feast. If young turkeys and hares are not to be had, he puts up with a young fawn, a wild duck, or even weasels, mice, frogs, or insects. He will also walk down to the sea-shore, and sup upon the remains of fishes, or arrest the crabs and make them alter their sidelong course so as to crawl down his throat. Reynard also has an eye to the future; for he never lets anything escape which comes within his sharp bite, and as there must be a limit to the quantity which any animal can contain, when he cannot possibly eat any more, he, in various spots, well marked by himself, buries the remainder for the morrow's meal. With only his toes touching the earth, he prowls about with noiseless steps; his nose and ears alive to the faintest sound or odour; his cat-like eyes, with linear pupil, gleaming like coals of fire, and he suddenly springs upon his victims before they are aware of his vicinity. His bushy tail is the envied trophy of the huntsman, who calls it a brush. His colours are white, black, red, yellow, bluish, or variegated; and in cold climates he always turns white in winter. The father takes no care of his children; but the mother performs her duty with the most exemplary devotion for four months.

The fox is generally a solitary, suspicious animal; even when as much tamed as he can be, he seems to think he is going to be deceived and ill-treated: perhaps he judges of others by himself. He lives very often in a burrow, called an earth, belonging to somebody else, for he has very lax morals concerning property, and a great idea that right is established by possession. If he should be caught and put in confinement, he is very ferocious, or dies of ennui; but he is much too coy and clever to be easily entrapped. His cry is a sort of yelp, which, however, he is much too cautious to utter when he is earning his living.

Occasionally the fox has been caught in a trap, and there is the history of one who escaped and left one of his fore feet behind him. After a lapse of time, his trail was to be seen in various places, and was, of course, easily recognized. This continued for two years, when he was chased by Mr. St. John and easily killed. Another who was unearthed by the dogs, instead of running after the usual fashion of these beasts, turned suddenly upon each dog that came up and jumped over him. This could not last long, although it puzzled the dogs very much; he was taken, and then only was the reason for his manoeuvre discovered by finding that he had only three feet.

Mr. St. John relates the following history of the cunning of a fox:—"Just after it was daylight, I saw a large fox come very quietly along the edge of the plantation; he looked with great care over the turf wall into the field, and seemed to long very much to get hold of some of the hares that were feeding in it, but apparently knew that he had no chance of catching one by dint of running. After considering a short time, he seemed to have formed his plans, examined the different gaps in the wall, fixed upon one which appeared to be most frequented, and laid himself down close to it, in an attitude like that of a cat at a mouse hole."



"In the meantime I watched all his plans; he then with great care and silence scraped a small hollow in the ground, throwing up the sand as a kind of screen; every now and then, however, he stopped to listen, and sometimes to take a most cautious peep into the field. When he had done this he laid himself down in a convenient posture for springing on his prey, and remained perfectly motionless, with the exception of an occasional reconnoiter of the feeding hares. When the sun began to rise, they came, one by one, from the field to the plantation; three had already come without passing by his ambush, one within twenty yards of him, but he made no movement beyond crouching still more flatly to the ground. Presently two came directly towards him, and though he did not venture to look up, I saw, by an involuntary motion of his ears, that those quick organs had already warned him of their approach. The two hares came through the gap together, and the fox, springing with the quickness of lightning, caught one and killed her immediately; he then lifted up his booty, and was carrying it off, when my rifle-ball stopped his course."

In Captain Brown's "Popular Natural History," I find the following:—"In the autumn of the year 1819, at a fox-chase in Galloway, a very strong fox was hard run by the hounds. Finding himself in great danger of being taken, Reynard made for a high wall at a short distance, and springing over it, crept close under the other side: the hounds followed, but no sooner had they leaped the wall, than he sprang back again over it, and by this cunning device gave them the slip, and got safe away from his pursuers."

An American gentleman of Pittsfield, accompanied by two blood-hounds, found a fox, and pursued him for nearly two hours, when suddenly the dogs appeared at fault. Their master came up with them near a large log of wood lying on the ground, and felt much surprise at their making a circuit of a few roods without any object in view, every trace of the fox seeming to have been lost, while the dogs still kept yelping. On looking about him the gentleman saw the fox stretched upon the log, apparently lifeless. He made several unsuccessful efforts to direct the attention of the dogs towards the place, and at length he approached so near as to see the animal breathe. Even then Reynard did not show any alarm; but his pursuer aimed a blow at him with the branch of a tree, upon which he leaped from his lurking-place, and was taken.

One of the drollest incidents in fox-hunting was that at Newry, in Ireland, when, being pursued very hotly, the fox leaped on to the top of a turf-stack, where he laid himself down quite flat. At last, one of the hounds perceived him, and he was obliged again to run. After this, he climbed up a stone wall, whence he sprang on to the roof of a cabin near by, and mounting to the chimney top, from thence inspected his enemies. An old hound, however, followed him, and was on the point of seizing him, when Reynard dropped down the chimney into the lap of an old woman, who was smoking her pipe at the corner. The hound did not dare to follow, but the sportsmen came up, and entering the cabin, found it in possession of the fox; the frightened woman and children huddled into one corner, and the fox (who was taken alive) grinning at them.

In all ages of fable, the fox has been the principal hero. The most ancient fables on record, those of Lokman, the Arabian, from whom AEsop took most of his, gives him a very conspicuous place among the crafty courtiers of the lion. The chief phrase of which the wily flatterer makes use, as he bows with affected humility to his sovereign, is, "Oh, Father of Beauty," by which indirect compliment he generally gains his wishes. The early German writers have also chosen him as the principal hero of various histories, and the poem of "Reynard, the Fox," will live as long as printers and illustrators exercise their art and talent.

The Arctic fox is smaller than ours; even the soles of his feet are covered with fur, like those of the hare, and he is altogether more thickly clothed. He has often been supposed to be pied in colour, but this is only in process of turning to the hue of winter. He is in these climates a much more gregarious animal, and several families live in the same earth. Bishop Heber mentions one in India, which feeds chiefly on field-mice and white ants, and this probably is the species of which the natives say, that he can turn nine times within the space of his own length. He is about half the size of the European.

Much valuable fur is derived both from European and American foxes, where there is a great variety of colour, not depending on temperature.

In Ireland there is a small animal called a fox, which does not eat flesh, but contents itself with vegetables, and is so perfectly harmless, that it roams about, unmolested even by dogs.



HYAENAS.

There cannot be a much more uninteresting animal than the hard-hided, knock-kneed Hyaena, which is pre-eminently African, although he is found in the East; having, according to the opinion of some naturalists, migrated thither in the wake of caravans. He has a ferocious, ill-natured look, yet the first impression made by his appearance can only be expressed by the word "sneaking." He is of a tawny colour, more or less dusky till it approaches black, and is generally spotted, or striped. He has a mane continued all along the spine; his ears are long and erect; he is digitigrade, his claws are strong, and not retractile; he possesses a gland which sends forth a disagreeable odour, and his eyes have a pupil which is contracted at the top, and round at the bottom, which gives them a singular expression.

The great peculiarity of form in the Hyaena is the disproportionate smallness of his hind quarters; besides which, the vertebrae of his neck very often become stiffened, in consequence of the strain put upon them by the powerful muscles of that part, and of the jaws. So firm is the hold which they take, that nothing will make them leave what they have once seized. They devour bones as well as muscles, rejecting only hoofs, horns, and skull; and this power must have existed in former ages, for in the caves which they inhabited, and into which they dragged their prey, their fossil remains are found with those of gigantic mastodons, etc., on which their teeth had made impression. This stiffness of the neck has caused many to imagine that it was composed of one joint only, and led the Arabs to make Hyaenas the symbols of obstinacy.

The habits of Hyaenas accord with their outward appearance; they are nature's scavengers, and feed on everything, being, with the jackal and Genet cat, the especial robbers of the cemetery. Many are the stories told of their cruel depredations, such as their stealing into the kraals of the Caffres and Hottentots, and abstracting the sleeping infants from under the kaross of its mother, who only becomes conscious of her loss when she hears the cries of the victim. Major Denham, in his travels, tells us of a village stormed by them at night, when they carried off asses and other animals.

My own impressions of the Hyaena are, that he is a timid, cowardly animal. I always found them shun my approach; and my uncle has told me, that when he often encountered them during his command of the outpost of Tantum Querry, on the leeward coast of Africa, they invariably turned from him, and slunk out of sight with their dragging, shuffling gait. I cannot say that they disturbed the stillness of the night, because a tropical night never is still; but their cry used suddenly to come upon our ears, and I know not why, always seemed to be close to us. The roar of a leopard or lion is most grand, however terrific; but what is called the laugh of the hyaena, is just like the triumphant exultation of a fierce madman, when he reaches his long-sought victim.

All the natives of the Gold Coast bear witness to the powers of mimicry evinced by the hyaena; they say that he hides himself in the jungle, and imitates the cries of other beasts till he allures them to his side, when he falls upon and devours them. A gentleman, who long commanded a fortress on the Gold Coast, told me the following story, which confirms the above assertion:—"Some women from the neighbouring village were accustomed to pass the walls of the fort to fetch water after sunset, at the dinner hour of this officer, and made so much noise, that they disturbed him, so he ordered them to take another path. The next evening the noise recurred, and the same order was repeated the next morning; on which the women protested they had gone quite another way. On the third evening, when the laughing and talking were apparently recommencing, a sergeant sallied forth to bring the delinquents into the fort; but to his surprise there were only three hyaenas to be seen, whose imitation of human sounds had deceived all those who had heard them on the preceding occasions."

It was long supposed that the hyaena was incapable of attachment, but Mr. Burchell brought one with him from South Africa to this country, which evidently loved his master, and was jealous of other animals. Colonel Sykes procured one in India who followed him about like a dog, played with the sailors on board ship with the greatest good humour, and never forgot his first owner. He was placed in the Zoological Gardens, where, although Colonel Sykes paid him rare visits, he always recognized him amidst the crowd. One day, when the hyaena was asleep, this gentleman suddenly called him by his name; the poor beast as suddenly started on to his legs, looked up, rubbed his head against the bars of his cage, bounded about uttering short cries, looked sorrowfully at Colonel Sykes when he went away, and repeated these manifestations of joy when he returned.

The Spotted Hyaena has been called the Hyaena Capensis, from the belief that it only inhabited South Africa; but it is found as frequently in Guinea as the striped variety, and has just the same propensities. Near the Cape, however, it does more mischief, because colonists have settled themselves there, and their farms afford more valuable prey. They are said to prefer making an attack on strong, vigorous animals, because they run away, and the hyaenas can follow them; but the weaker animals turn round and face their enemy, which always intimidates them.

Mr. Steedman, a South African traveller, gives an unmitigated bad character to the spotted hyaenas, and says, that such is their preference for human flesh, that they will even pass by the cattle, and seize on children as old as eight years.

The Straand Wolf of the Dutch, or the Villose Hyaena of Dr. Abel Smith, who has done so much for the natural history of Southern Africa, is less common than the other species; and often feeds on the shore, from its preference for those dead animals which are cast up by the sea. If, however, it be pressed by hunger, it commits just as many depredations as the others. It is extremely cunning, conceals itself by day among the mountains, or thick patches of forest, and preys at a great distance from its habitation.

Mr. Pringle confirms Mr. Steedman's accounts of the terrible havoc occasioned by the hyaenas of South Africa, and says, that in the district of Somerset, they destroyed seventy foals in one year, belonging to the farmers; he, however, believes, that they never attack human beings by night or by day, and that they come in packs and play the part of four-footed vultures, even devouring their own kindred if they should chance to be killed; but no other beast of prey will eat them, from the offensive rankness of their flesh. The den of a spotted hyaena, that was kept in the Tower about twenty years ago, required some repair. The carpenter nailed a thick oaken plank upon the floor, about seven feet long, putting at least a dozen nails into it, each longer than his middle finger. At one end of this piece of wood, there was a small projection, and not having a proper chisel with him by which he might remove it, the man returned to his shop to fetch one. While he was absent, some persons came to see the animals; and the hyaena was let down by the keeper into the part of the den in which the carpenter had been at work. Directly the beast saw the projecting piece of wood, he seized it with his teeth, tore the plank up, and drew out every nail with the utmost ease; which action will give a good idea of the muscular strength of this creature.

It is impossible to say why there should be such conflicting accounts of the hyaena, given by those whose veracity is undoubted. No one dreads them on the Gold Coast, but they seem to be the terror of all the inhabitants at, and to the north of the Cape, also in Abyssinia, where Bruce called them "the plagues of their lives," and we can scarcely forbear a smile, when we read that one of them stood by his bed-side, with a purloined bunch of candles in his mouth; having found his way to him even through the streets of Gondar.



THE CAT TRIBE.—LIONS.

I must be allowed to give a somewhat more lengthened description than I have bestowed on other animals, to the Felidae, or Cat-tribe, because the same characters serve for all; size and colour being almost the only difference among those of which I shall treat. Grace and strength are their universal attributes, the latter lying chiefly in the fore parts of their frames; such as their paws, legs, shoulders, neck and jaws; the former in their arched and rounded form, and the extreme suppleness of their joints. Their muzzle is short and round, some of their teeth are of enormous size and strength, their sight is very acute both by night and day; their eyes are set obliquely in the head, and always glare in the dark; and sometimes by day when they are in a rage. It is only in the smaller tribes that the pupil is vertically linear, when the full light causes it to contract. The ears are large, and the sense of hearing much developed. Their smell is not equally perfect, and the roughness of their tongue shews, that their taste cannot be very delicate. This roughness is caused by the horny papillae, or small projections, with points directed backwards, which cover the tongue, and enable it to lick the flesh from the bones of their food. They have long bristles on each side of the mouth, which form the most sensitive organs of touch; each bristle being inserted in a bed of glands under the skin, communicating with a nerve. The claws of the Felidae are extremely strong, sharp, and crooked; and all four-feet are furnished with them, five before, and four behind; and the most effective system of muscular contrivance not only gives such force to the fore-paws, that a blow from one of these will fracture a man's skull, but keeps these claws from touching the ground, and enables the animal to draw them back into a sheath. In aid of this, the sole of the foot, and each of the toes, has a soft, elastic pad, or cushion under it, on which they walk, and as they never set the heel to the ground, their footsteps are noiseless, unless they choose them to be otherwise. It is with their formidable claws, and still more formidable teeth, that they tear their prey to pieces.

None of the Feline tribe will eat vegetables, unless domesticated, even then but rarely; and in their wild state, unless pressed by hunger, they will only eat what they themselves have killed. They have an abhorrence of anything which is decomposed. The fur, with the exception of the Lion's mane, and that of the cat, is short, close, and soft; capable, when dressed, of receiving a high polish. Many are striped and spotted with black, and the larger kinds, are generally of a warm, fulvous colour. The domestic cat is, however, often white, black, gray, and brindled; some leopards are black, and there is a small, beautiful wild cat, marked like the panther. All are very wary and cunning, and seldom face their foes. They lie in ambush for them, and suddenly spring upon them, seeming to take a pleasure in prolonging their torments. They are very sensible to caresses and affection, but a blow, or angry word, rouses them to fury. They are certainly capricious, and sometimes without any apparent cause burst into fits of ill temper, therefore are by no means to be trusted, even in the midst of love and docility.

The backward carriage of his head, his majestic stride, and the deliberate manner in which he looks at his enemy, have caused the Lion to be called the king of beasts. He is only occasionally seen in the forests, and inhabits plains, where rocks, or low jungle, afford him a shelter. He, however, retreats before the advance of men, and has now deserted many of those regions where he was once undisputed lord of the country. The Lion of America is altogether different; therefore it may be said, that only Central Asia, and almost all Africa are traversed by him. Formerly the eastern boundary of Europe scarcely formed a limit to his presence; the Arabian literature is full of allusions to him, and the Holy Scriptures constantly attest his presence in Syria, during the times in which they were written.

The beauty of the Lion's mane is well known. According to Mr. Gordon Cumming, its colour varies with age, being fulvous and bright when young, black when the animal is in his full strength, and grisly with old age. There has been, however, a species recently discovered in Guzerat, which has but little or no mane, it also has shorter limbs and tail, the latter having a larger brush at the end. It is bold, commits great havoc among the cattle; and is supposed to have been driven out of Cutch, by the practice adopted by the natives, of burning their grass. A nail or prickle at the end of a lion's tail is often found, but has nothing to do with the caudal vertebrae. It is probably a hardened piece of skin, or a mass of agglutinated hairs, in the manner of horn; it comes off with only a slight touch.

Lions come to their full strength at five years, but live a long time; for instance, one from the Gambia was proved to be sixty-three years of age. They sleep by day, and feed by night, lap their drink, and delight in coming forth in the midst of furious storms, when they add their mighty roars to those of the elements. Seldom does a tempest rage in tropical Africa, but its fearful sounds are increased by the din of wild animals; that of the lion being heard above all others. Countless are the histories of his depredations, and numerous are the daring and gallant exploits performed by Europeans against this noble game; the following is an abridgment of a narrative, from the pen of the Marchioness of Hastings; and published in the Miscellany of Natural History; herself being the heroine of the chase.

"The field was taken in quest of three lions, supposed to be lurking near the tents. The ground was flat and ploughed. When we came to the edge of the jungle, we halted a little; the people came round in crowds, and, in a few minutes, the trees were covered with men, placed there by Fraser for observation. When we were sent for, we found Fraser by the side of the great canal—he had received intelligence of both a lion and a tiger, and he desired Barton and myself to go down upon an elephant, watch the bed of the canal, and move slowly to the south, while he advanced in a contrary direction. The rest of the party were to beat the jungle above, which was too thick to admit the passage of an elephant through it. We fell in with Fraser where the canal was a little wider, and neither of us had been successful, though we had searched every bush with our eyes, in passing along. He desired us to wait till he had mounted the bank to look after the rest of the elephants. He had hardly gone away before a lioness crossed the narrow neck of the canal, just before us, and clambered up the opposite bank. I fired, but missed her, and she ran along the bank to the westward. We turned round and had the mortification of seeing her again go through the water, at which our elephant became refractory, wheeled about, and was so unsteady as to prevent us from firing. We followed her up to the thicket, put the elephant's head into it, and we heard the lioness growling close to us. Just as we were expecting her charge and had prepared our guns, round wheeled the elephant again, and became perfectly unmanageable. During the scuffle between the elephant and his driver, we heard the cry that the lioness was again off. She again crossed the Nullah, and just as we had got our elephant to go well in, the lioness ran back, and crouched under a thicket on our left, where she had been originally started. All this happened in less than a minute. Fraser then called to us to come round the bush, as the lioness being on a line with us, we prevented him from firing. Just as we got out of his reach, he fired, and when the elephant stopped I did the same. Both shots took effect, and the lioness lay and growled in a hollow, mellow tone. After a few discharges she tried to sally forth, but her loins were cut to pieces, which was fortunate for us, as her fore parts seemed strong and unhurt. She reared herself upon them, and cast towards us a look that bespoke revenge, complaint, and dignity. Her head, half averted from us, was turned back as if ready to start at us, if the wounds in her loins had not disabled her. As it was now a mercy to put an end to her sufferings, I took a steady aim, and shot her through the head. She fell dead at once, and her lower jaw was carried away; she was drawn up the bank and pronounced to be two years old. She had thrown one man down, and got him completely under her with his turban in her mouth, when a shot grazed her side. She immediately left her hold and crossed the canal, where we first perceived her."

There used to be, and perhaps is still, a lion in the menagerie of Brussels, whose cell requiring some repairs, his keeper desired a carpenter to set about them; but when he saw the lion, he drew back with terror. The keeper entered the cell, and then led the animal to the upper part of it, where he amused himself by playing with him, and then fell asleep. The carpenter, fully trusting to the vigilance of the keeper, pursued his work, and when he had finished, called to him to inspect what he had done. The man made no answer; the carpenter called again and again, but to no purpose, and, being alarmed, went to the upper part of the den, and looked through the railing. Seeing the lion and his keeper sleeping side by side, he uttered a loud cry. The lion suddenly awakened, started up, looked furiously at the carpenter, and placing his paw on the breast of his keeper, lay down to sleep again. The carpenter was dreadfully frightened, and ran out, telling what he had seen. Some of the attendants went and opened the door which the carpenter had secured with several bars, and contrived to wake the keeper; who, on opening his eyes, did not appear to be in the least frightened at his situation. He took the paw of the lion, shook it, and quietly led him down to the lower part of his residence.

It is from Mr. Pringle and Mr. Gordon Cumming that we derive the most stirring adventures with lions; and I profit by the advantage afforded me by their pages. The first was a relation of mine by marriage, and I have enjoyed frequent conversations with him concerning his travels; rendered the more extraordinary by his lameness, which proved the energy of that mind which could thus surmount bodily infirmity.

Mr. Cumming still lives to tell his own tales; and no one can hear or read his words without seeing that he has one of those ardent spirits which loves danger for the sake of danger, and that his indomitable courage and hardihood, from his early years, when he killed the deer on his father's domains, prepared him to be what he now is, the most successful of all men in his warfare with wild animals.

In a note to the "Poetical Remains of Mr. Pringle," I find the following remarkable escape:—"Lucas Van Buren usually carried a huge elephant gun, as long and unwieldy as himself; but left it at home one day when he had most need of it. He was riding across the open plains, near the Little Fish river, one morning about day break, when observing a lion at a distance, he endeavoured to avoid him by making a circuit. There were thousands of spring-bocks scattered over the extensive flats; but from the open nature of the country, the lion had probably been unsuccessful in his hunting. Lucas soon perceived that he was not disposed to let him pass without further parlance, and that he was rapidly approaching to the encounter. Being without his gun, the farmer, little inclined to cultivate his acquaintance, turned his horse off at a right angle, and galloped for life. But it was too late; the horse was fagged, and bore a heavy man upon his back; the lion was fresh, furious with hunger, and came down upon him like a thunder-bolt. In a few minutes he brought man and horse to the ground. Luckily, the man was not hurt, and the lion was too much occupied with the horse to pay any attention to him. Hardly knowing how he escaped, he contrived to do so, and reached the nearest house. His remarks, when he related his adventure, were concerning the audacity of the lion in attacking a Christian man; but his chief vexation was about the saddle. He returned to the spot the next day, and found the horse's bones picked clean, lion and saddle having both disappeared. Lucas said he could excuse the beast for killing the horse, as he had allowed himself to escape; but the abstraction of the saddle, for which, he added, the lion could not possibly have any use, raised his spleen, and called down a shower of abuse whenever he related the story.

"We had," says Mr. Pringle, "been to tea with Captain Cameron's family, to whom, as we were only three miles distant, we considered ourselves next-door neighbours; and as the weather was fine, we rode home by moonlight, jesting all the way about wild beasts and Caffres, and not at all suspecting that a lion was dogging us through the bushes the whole way home.

"About midnight I was awakened by an unusual noise in the cattle-fold, and looking out, saw all our horned cattle spring over the high thorn fence, and scamper round the place. Fancying that a hyaena, which I had heard howling when I went to bed, had alarmed the animals, I sallied forth to have a shot at it. I, however, could not find any cause for the disturbance, and calling a Hottentot to drive back the cattle, and shut them in, I again went to bed. The next morning Captain Cameron rode over to say, his herdsman had discovered that a large lion had followed us up the valley, and then, on further inspection, we found he had visited the fold, and carried off a sheep. He appeared to have retreated to the mountains, and we did not pursue him.

"The lion, however, was not disposed to let us off so easily. He returned that night, and killed my favourite riding-horse, a little more than a hundred yards from my door; I then considered it right to take measures for defence, and called forth a party for his pursuit, the Hottentots saying that as he had only eaten a small part of the horse he would be in the vicinity. Seventeen horsemen, Mulattoes and Hottentots, and a number of strong hounds, soon assembled.

"The Hottentots traced the lion on foot, discovering his spoor, or track, with surprising dexterity, and found him in a large thicket about a mile distant. The dogs failed to dislodge him, the Mulattoes rode round the jungle, and fired into it, but without effect. At last three Scotchmen determined to march in, provided the Mulattoes would support their fire. Regardless of the warnings of more prudent men, they went in, and, as they thought, found the lion crouched among the roots of a large evergreen bush, glaring at them from under the foliage. They fired and struck, not the lion, but a great block of sand-stone, which they bad mistaken for him; but beyond which he was actually lying. With a furious growl he bolted from the bush; the Mulattoes fled helter-skelter, leaving the Scots with empty guns, tumbling over each other in their haste to escape. In a twinkling he was upon them, with one stroke of his paw dashed John Rennie to the ground, and with one foot upon him, looked round upon his assailants in conscious power and pride, and with the most noble and imposing port that could be conceived. It was the most magnificent thing I ever witnessed; but the danger of our friends was too great to enjoy the picture. We expected every minute to see one or more of them torn to pieces; and yet in their position, one lying under the lion's paw, and the others scrambling towards us, we dared not fire. Fortunately, however, the lion, after steadily surveying us, turned calmly away, drove off the hounds with his heels, as if they had been rats, and bounded over the adjoining thicket like a cat, clearing bushes twelve or fifteen feet high, as if they had been tufts of grass.

"Our comrade had sustained no other injury than a scratch upon the back, and a severe bruise, and we renewed the chase. We found the enemy standing at bay under a mimosa tree. The dogs barked round him, but were afraid to approach; for he growled fiercely, and brandished his tail in a manner that showed he meditated mischief. The Hottentots, by taking a circuit, reached a precipice above him, another party of us occupied a position on the other side of the glen, so that the lion was between two fires; he became confused, we battered away at him, and he fell, pierced with many wounds. He appeared to be full grown, and six years old, measuring eleven feet from the nose to the tip of the tail. His fore leg, below the knee, was so thick, that I could not span it with both hands; his head was almost as large as that of an ordinary ox. His flesh, which I had the curiosity to taste, resembled very white, coarse beef, and was insipid rather than disagreeable."

The ensuing histories are from Mr. Gordon Cumming's pen;—"A buffalo was wounded, and two hunters in pursuit of him were joined by three lions, who also gave chase, and getting before the gentlemen sprang upon the buffalo. The latter, being very large, struggled much; the hunters fired upon the lions, and as each ball struck, the latter seemed to think the blood which flowed came from the buffalo's bones; consequently, two were easily secured, but the third had the sense to walk away.

"The Oryx sometimes fights the lion, and is victorious; but the bodies have been seen lying close together, the lion having been pierced through by the horns of the gemsbok, and as he could not draw them out again, each died from the mortal blow inflicted by, at least, one of them.

"Hendrick and Ruyter lay on one side of the fire under one blanket, and John Stefolus on the other; the fire was very small, and the night was pitch dark and windy. Suddenly the appalling and murderous voice of an angry, blood-thirsty lion burst upon my ear, within a few yards of us, followed by the shrieking of the Hottentots. Again and again the terrific roar of attack was repeated. We heard John and Ruyter shriek, 'The lion! the lion!' Still, for a few minutes, all thought he was only chasing one of the dogs round the kraal; but the next instant John Stefolus rushed into the midst of us almost speechless with fear, his eyes bursting from their sockets, and shrieked out, 'The lion! the lion! he has got Hendrick; he dragged him away from the fire; I struck him with the burning brand upon his head, but he would not let go his hold. Hendrick is dead! Let us take fire and look for him!' The rest of my people rushed about, shrieking and yelling as if they were mad. I was angry with them for their folly, and told them if they did not stand still and keep quiet, the lion would have another of us; most likely there was a troop of them. The dogs were let loose, and the fire increased. Hendrick's name was shouted; but all was then still. I told the men he was dead, and had everything brought within the cattle-fold, lighted a fire, and closed the entrance as well as we could. We sat with our guns in our hands till daylight, expecting a lion every moment; the dogs fought one another, then got scent of the lion, and barked at him till day broke, he now and then driving them back; and he lay all the night within forty yards of the party, having dragged the man into a little hollow at the back of the bush. He had grappled him with his claws, and bitten him in the breast and shoulder, all the while feeling for his neck, and when he got hold of that dragged him into the shade. The poor man cried, 'Help me, help me, oh God! Men, help me!' then all was still, except that his comrades heard the cracking of his bones. The beast did not heed the beating about the head with the burning wood. The lion dragged the remains of him away the next morning, but in the hollow was found one of poor Hendrick's legs, the shoe still on the foot, with fragments of his coat. The next day came the lion's turn; for the party, by killing him, avenged the death of poor Hendrick."

It has often been said that the human voice has great power over the fiercest animals; and I do not think a stronger proof of it can be met with, than in this adventure of Mr. Gordon Cumming's:—"I fired at the nearest lioness, having only one shot in my rifle. The ball told badly; the lioness at which I had fired wheeled right round, and came on, lashing her tail, showing her teeth, and making that horrid, murderous, deep growl, which an angry lion generally utters. Her comrade hastily retreated. The instant the lioness came on, I stood up to my full height, holding my rifle, and my arms extended high above my head. This checked her in her course, but on looking round, and missing her comrade, and observing Ruyter slowly advancing, she was still more exasperated, and fancying that she was near being surrounded, she made another forward movement, growling terribly. This was a moment of great danger, I felt that my only chance of safety was extreme steadiness, so, standing motionless as a rock, with my eyes firmly fixed upon her, I called in a clear, commanding voice, 'Holloa, old girl! What's the hurry? take it easy! Holloa! holloa!' She once more halted and seemed perplexed, looking round for her comrade. I then thought it prudent to beat a retreat, which I very slowly did, talking to the lioness all the time. She seemed undecided as to her future movements, and was gazing after me, and snuffing the ground, when I last beheld her."

I copy the ensuing anecdote from Mr. Campbell's second journey to Africa. "A lion had been near to a bushman's hut the whole night, waiting, it was supposed for the arrival of his companions, to assist in attacking the family; and if they had made the attack in conjunction with each other, it is probable they would have met with success. Two Bootchuana herdsmen, attending near the place next morning, saw him and ran to inform the people. On their way they met six Griquas coming to attack the formidable creature, having already heard he was there. Advancing towards him, they fired, and wounded, but did not disable him. Enraged by pain, he advanced to take revenge on his assailants. On seeing him approach, the Griquas leaped from their horses, formed them into a close line with their tails towards the lion, and took their stand at the horse's heads. The enraged animal flew upon a Bootchuana who was not protected by the horses, and who tried to defend himself with his kaross, or skin cloak. The lion, however, caught him by the arm, threw him on the ground; and while the poor man still tried to defend himself, by keeping the kaross round him, the lion got under it, and gnawed part of his thigh. His Bootchuana companion at that time threw his assagai, which entered the lion's back. The Griquas would have fired, but were afraid of shooting the man; in order then to drive him away, they made a great noise, and threw some stones. The lion then left the man, and rushed on them, when they again checked his attack by turning the horses round. He next crept under the belly of a mare, and seized her by the fore legs, but with a powerful kick she made him let go his hold. In revenge, and by one stroke of his paw, he tore open the body of the mare, and retired. After this, he tried to get round the horses to the men, but when on the point of making a spring, he was happily killed by a musket ball, the ball penetrating behind the ear."