AFFECTION OF ANIMALS.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, BY LAURA LOVELL.

N old rat had, for a long time, inhabited the hold of a vessel, and lived there at his ease, in the company of his grand-children and great-grandchildren. The fragments of salt beef and biscuits sufficed, and more than sufficed, for the wants of the family; and sometimes even, profiting by the shrinking of some of the planks, the grandfather would venture to conduct his children to the kitchen, or the cabin where the officers ate, and then, what a feast they had! But, alas! nothing beneath the sun is permanent, and the most inconstant and fantastic of all is happiness. The poor grandfather rat experienced the truth of this; pitiless old age brought infirmities, and he lost the sight of his eyes. This was a general desolation; for youth, in the rat species, knows that courage and agility need the guidance of experience, and the young family placed great dependence on the grandfather to conduct them in their little excursions, and preserve them from danger. They were, therefore, compelled to content themselves with the crumbs in the hold, and give up those from the table. But, at length, the friendship of a young rat found a way to repair the infirmities of old age. He seized his grandfather's ear, guided his steps, preserved him from all accidents, and conducted him, as a dog does a blind man, wherever he wished to go. Thanks to his devotion, the whole family could still follow their natural chief. As soon as the old rat suspected danger-for, though blind, he had his hearing and smell perfect he uttered a little cry, the family vanished, and the guide took him by the ear, and led him back to his hole. What more could Antigonus, so celebrated in antiquity, have done? And yet, we have heard this affecting story only from an officer, who observed these rats from his hammock. Alas! the most sublime virtue may thus remain buried and unknown!

Everybody has heard of Constantina, the beautiful lioness, who lived in the Garden of Plants, in perfect friendship with a dog, who took advantage of her affection to such a degree as to beat her. I will tell you the story. Constantina, taken in the desert of Sahara,

was brought from Algiers to Paris, and lodged in a cage, much more gloomy, damp, and less spacious, than those which the lions of the Garden of Plants now occupy. The poor animal received a great many visits; but, notwithstanding all these, was so home-sick, that she was about to die with consumption. Among the visitors, was a revolutionary ex-judge, followed by an ugly little dog. "How?" said he to Casal, then keeper of the menagerie, "do you not see that this poor animal is dying of ennui, because she has nothing living to devour? Throw her now and then a cat, a dog, a sheep, or other live animal, and you will soon see her recover her health. By way of commencement, you may, if you please, give her my dog." Casal accepted the proposal, and it was no sooner said than done. I will leave you to imagine the terror of Roquet,

the unfortunate dog, when he saw himself shut up in a narrow cage with this formidable animal. He ran to crouch in the farthest corner of the den, and from thence, trembling in every limb, cast supplicating glances at his master, who was laughing. Constantina rose slowly, and, growling, approached the poor dog, who uttered a plaintive cry, still looking at his master. It appears that this look of energy and despair struck the attention of the lioness, for she turned her head towards the judge, and fixed on him her red and frightful eyes; then she opened an enormous mouth, yawned, lay down, and, after having placed her paw over her nose, went to sleep, to the great disappointment of the spectators, and especially of the judge.

The hour of distribution being come, a quarter of a horse was thrown her for her dinner. She ate part of it, and left a part for her new companion in slavery, who dared not touch it; for the most ravenous hunger would not have tempted him to quit the corner where he was still crouching. Constantina approached him, twc or three times, with a very gracious air; but the dog remained insensible to all her advances. The next day he was a little less afraid, and ventured to eat the portion which the lioness had left for him. The day after, he came out of his corner, and ate after Constantina. A week later, he ate with her; a week after that, he seized her dinner, and did not allow her to have her share until he had finished his own. If Constantina approached, the dog would become furious, spring at her face, and bite her with all his strength. The lioness would lie down, wag her tail like a dog asking his master's pardon, and patiently await her turn. When the dog had finished, she would approach hesitatingly, and take the share he had left for her.

Nothing is meaner or more contemptible than a weak creature, which has assumed over a stronger one the empire allowed it by kindness and affection. Roquet often furnished a proof of this; for sometimes, through pure malice, he would not allow Constantina to dine, even after he had dined himself. Constantina would wait patiently whole hours, until the caprice of her friend had passed; but sometimes, urged by hunger, she would gently push him away with her paw, and in this case take great care to conceal her enormous claws.

When autumn returned, with its cold and damp days, Roquet, that he might sleep warmer, thought it expedient to pass his nights close to the body of the lioness; and the latter, under pain of being bitten, was obliged to assume an attitude convenient for him, and retain it, however constrained, through all her slumbers. One day, her little tyrant flew into such a rage, that he was about to tear out her eyes. She was obliged to repulse him with her paws, and make him understand, but very gently, that his anger was powerless. Roquet became only the more furious; he flew at the tail of Constantina, and bit it so severely, that it was mutilated for life. Now, you know that the paw of the lioness was alone much larger than the whole body of the dog, and that her claws were five inches long. On the day when they were cut off, because they embarrassed her, it took twelve men to throw her down, and hold her with the cords by which her limbs were fettered.

At the expiration of a few years, the dog died, partly with old age, and partly with a fit of anger; and poor Constantina was so grieved, that she remained several days without taking food. Her new keeper was mistaken in the object of her affliction. He thought she regretted only a companion, and not a friend, and that she would be easily consoled if he gave her another dog for company. Consequently, he introduced one into the den; but it was immediately strangled. A second, a third, and a dozen others were given, who all met the same fate. At last, the keeper found one who resembled the dead dog perfectly. He threw this also into the cage of the lioness. Constantina darted on him, before she had well seen him; but, after considering him attentively, suffered him to live, but never manifested the friendship she had done for Roquet. From the day on which she lost her adopted friend, she remained sad and languishing, and a few months afterwards died.

THE understanding is like the sun, which gives light and life to the whole intellectual world; but the memory, regarding those things only that are past, is like the moon, which is new and full, and has her wane by turns.

A STORY, SHOWING HOW ONE GOT INTO TROUBLE, AND HOW HE GOT OUT.

"AND So you have not been to work to-day neither, Jem?" said the widow Davis to her son, who stood opposite to her, smoking. The widow Davis, let it be premised, was one of the kindest mothers in England, who tried hard to bring up her family in the fear of God.

Jem, whom she addressed, leaned against a great chest, and gave several puffs before he answered. His eyes were half shut; his mouth had a weak, foolish, good-natured smile on it; his hair was matted and in disorder, and his shabby hat stuck on the top of it. "Well now, mother," he said, at last, "it's not such a great matter to take a holiday now and then."

"Now and then!" she echoed, in a tone half of anger, half of

sorrow.

"Well, I say now and then!' There's Bob Rappy and Sam Hone have been off work ever so long, and I went for a fortnight steady and regular every morning to the worshop, and slaved like any horse. You know I did, and the master can't deny it. Never fear, mother, all right!"