ILLUSTRATIONS OF HUMANITY. No. XXXVI.-FISHERMEN ON THE FISHERMEN are a class by themselves. They live comparatively in a world of their own. In many towns on the southern coast of England, they have scarcely any communication with the other inhabitants. Marriages out of their own circle are unknown. In this respect, as well as in their non-intercourse with the general world, they resemble the gipsies. Their sons take to the net and the oar as if by a species of instinct, as soon as they come of age; while their daughters employ themselves in repairing the damaged tackling, curing the fish, and in attending to other matters connected with the occupation, until they get husbands and houses of their own. The habits, views, prejudices, and a considerable part of the language of the fishermen on most parts of the coast, are peculiar to themselves; and were their nearest neighbour belonging to any of the other classes of the community to spend a week in one of their humble abodes, he would feel himself as much a stranger as if he were living in a foreign land. Fishermen perform the duties of their occupation with a peculiar pleasure. They engage in their labours with a cordiality which could only result from a passionate fondness for their calling. They know scarcely any thing of that irksomeness of feeling which is so generally observed in those who follow the occupations which are common in our inland cities and towns. The sea may, in a modified sense, be said to be the fisherman's element. At all events he may be considered an amphibious animal, spending no inconsiderable portion of his time on and in the water. If it cannot be literally said in the same sense as it may be of the finny tribe, that he can live, and move, and have his being in the sea, he does not feel the slightest inconvenience from remaining for hours in the water, provided he be allowed to keep his head above it. He never knows what it is to have dry clothes on his back, and yet the damp does not subject him to the slightest inconvenience. It neither injures his health, nor diminishes his enjoyment. Wet clothes are in fact natural to him. Encase him in dry clothes, and he would feel as uncomfortable as a pig would do in a palace. Suffer her pigship to escape from a drawing-room, and she will hie at once to the nearest stye; in like manner clothe a fisherman in dry apparel, and he will hurry to the sea and not feel himself at rest until he has drenched himself with salt water! As for dry boots, stockings, or trowsers, these are things of which he knows nothing experimentally. All his knowledge on the subject is derived from observation or report. His are wet from morning to night, and from night to morning. They are thoroughly soaked all the year through,—from the time he first puts them on until he finally casts them off. The fisherman inverts the order of nature. He sleeps when the rest of the world are awake, and when all mankind are wrapt in the embraces of the dormant deity, his eyes are open, and his hands most busy in the avocation which he follows. The moon and the stars are marvellous favourites with him. In the absence of gas-light,-which modern science notwithstanding its wondrous achievements, has not yet applied to the lighting up of the ocean in the dark nights of winter,—he feels and is at all times forward to acknowledge, the deep obligations under which he lies to her lunar majesty, and the lesser luminaries that bespangle and irradiate the firmament. Without their aid he would frequently find himself in a very helpless condition. For the sun, however, he entertains no very great respect. In fact, he not only has no obligations to confess to the sovereign of the skies, but his acquaintance with him is of very limited extent. He and the sun very seldom exchange glances. When he emerges from his home to engage in his calling, the sun very unkindly hurries away to bed in the depths of the Atlantic ocean; and when the sun gets up, he, by way of retaliation, draws in his nets, sets the sail, puts the oar in requisition, and returns to his home with the utmost practicable expedition. Though the fisherman sooner or later dies like other men, he wears for the larger part of his existence a sort of charmed life. Though constantly exposed at all seasons to the influence of the weather, and though most of his nights are spent amid rain, frost, hail, snow, and salt water, you never hear him complain of cold or illness of any kind. He is the healthiest man alive; and the happiest too, we might have added, when the finny tribe, after whom he is in pursuit, are only so obliging as to allow themselves to be hooked, or entangle themselves in his nets. It is a luxury in the superlative degree to gaze on the countenance of the fisherman, when he reaches the shore with what, in the technical and emphatic language of his tribe, is called, "a good take." The felicity of the general returning from the field of battle, after achieving a triumphant victory, is nothing to his. It is a curious fact that while the rest of the world imagine fishermen to be always in imminent danger of drowning, we very rarely hear of one of their number meeting with a watery grave. His boat is tossed about in tempestuous weather like a plaything on the waves, and not only looks as if it would every moment upset, but often as if it already had upset. And yet, though thus every instant within a hairbreadth of being swallowed up by the voracious jaws of an angry ocean, the actual catastrophe is one of such rare occurrence, as to form an era in the annals of his calling, when it does take place. Though fishermen live in a great measure on the water, they somehow or other contrive to die on the land. Our engraving represents two noted fishermen, each a character in his way, who follow their catching profession off the town of Hastings, a favourite watering place on the Sussex coast. Great is the destruction which these two adversaries of the finny fraternity have committed in their day. And yet they have no compunctious visitings on the subject. It is one of NELSON'S SHIP AT PORTSMOUTH. WE were to go first to the Victory, which is now kept here, a kind of toy,' as one of our seamen of the St. James said, but which, in fact, is something more than that-a receiving and drilling ship. We found a boat awaiting us, put (of course by Captain Hall's intervention) at our disposal by the commander of the Victory. It was manned with a dozen youngsters in the Victory's uniform-a white knit woollen blouse, with the word Victory in MarieLouise blue on the breast. They were stout, ruddy lads. The Victory, you know, is the ship in which Nelson won the battle of Trafalgar, and died in winning it. Captain H. led us to the quarter-deck, and showed us a brass plate inserted in the floor, inscribed with these words, "Here Nelson fell!" This was a thrilling sight to those of us who remembered when Nelson was held as the type of all gallantry, fighting for liberty against the world. R. was obliged to turn away till he could command his emotions, and I thought of the time when we were all children at home, and I saw him running up the lane, tossing his hat into the air, and shouting, "Nelson! Victory!" Truly, "the child is father to the man." We were received very courteously by the commander, Captain S., who invited us into an apartment which, save the ceiling was a little lower, had the aspect of a shore drawing-room: there were sofas, showbooks, flowers, piano, and a prettier garniture than these-a young bride, reminding us, with her pale, delicate face and French millinery, of our fair young countrywomen-quite un-English. The Victory is Captain S.'s home, and the lady was his daughter. We then went into the cockpit, and groped our way to the dark narrow state-room (a midshipman's) where Nelson was carried after he was shot down. Captain H. pointed to the beam where his head lay when he died. There a heroic spirit had passed away, and left a halo in this dark, dismal place. Place and circumstance are never less important to a man than when he is dying, and yet it was a striking contrast (and the world is full of such), the man dying in this wretched, dark, stifling hole, when his name was resounding through all the palaces of Europe, and making our young hearts leap in the New World. Shall I tell you what remembrance touched me most as I stood there?-not his gallant deeds, for they are written in blood, and many a vulgar spirit has achieved such; but the exquisite tenderness gleaming forth in his last words, "Kiss me, Hardy!" These touched the chord of universal humanity. MISS MITFORD. I had written to Miss Mitford my intention of passing the evening with her, and as we approached her residence, which is in a small village near Reading, I began to feel a little tremulous about meeting my "unknown friend." Captain Hall had made us all merry with anticipating the usual dénouement of a mere epistolary acquaintance. Our coachman (who, after our telling him we were Americans, 66 Miss had complimented us on our speaking English, and "very good English, too") professed an acquaintance of some twenty years' standing with Miss M., and assured us that she was one of the "cleverest women in England," and "the Doctor" (her father,) an 'earty old boy." And when he reined his horses up to her door, and she appeared to receive us, he said, "Now you would not take that little body there for the great author, would you ?” and certainly we should have taken her for nothing but a kindly gentlewoman, who had never gone beyond the narrow sphere of the most refined social life. My foolish misgivings (H. must answer for them) were forgotten in her cordial welcome. K. and I descended from our airy seat; and when Miss M. became aware who M. was, she said, "What! the sister of pass my door?—that must never be;" so M., nothing loth, joined us. M. is truly "a little body," and dressed a little quaintly, and as unlike as possible to the faces we have seen of her in the magazines, which all have a broad humour, bordering on coarseness. She has a pale grey, soul-lit eye, and hair as white as snow; a wintry sign that has come prematurely upon her, as like signs come upon us, while the year is yet fresh and undecayed. Her voice has a sweet low tone, and her manner a naturalness, frankness, and affectionateness, that we have been so long familiar with in their other modes of manifestation, that it would have been indeed a disappointment not to have found them. She led us directly through her house into her "I must show you garden-a perfect bouquet of flowers. my geraniums while it is light," she said, " for I love them petted children, guarded by a very ingenious contrivance next to my father." And they were, indeed, treated like I believe, seedlings. She raises two crops in a year, and from the rough visitation of the elements. They are all, may well pride herself on the variety and beauty of her collection. Geraniums are her favourites; but she does not love others less that she loves these more. The gar den is filled, matted with flowering shrubs and vines; the trees are wreathed with honeysuckles and roses; and the girls have brought away the most splendid specimens of heart's-ease to press in their journals. Oh, that I could dise of flowers, that they might learn how taste and ingive some of my country women a vision of this little paradustry, and an earnest love and study of the art of gardenMiss M.'s house is, with the exception of certainly not culture, might triumph over small space and small means. smallest and humblest of our village of S; and such more than two or three, as small and humble as the in this country from ours, she keeps two men-servants, is the difference, in some respects, in the modes of expense (one a gardener,) two or three maid-servants, and two horses. In this very humble home, which she illustrates as much by her unsparing filial devotion as by her genius, she receives on equal terms the best in the land. Her literary reputation might have gained for her this elevablood to the Duke of Bedford's family. We passed a tion, but she started on vantage-ground, being allied by delightful evening, parting with the hope of meeting again, and with a most comfortable feeling that the ideal was converted into the real. So much for our misgivings. Faith is a safer principle than some people hold it to be. THE QUEEN. The little Queen (i. e. Victoria the First!!) was in her box behind the curtain, as carefully hidden from her people as an oriental monarch; not from any oriental ideas of the sacredness of her person, but that she may cast off her royal dignity, and have the privilege of enjoying unobserved, as we humble people do. No chariness of her countenance could make her "like the robe pontifical, ne'er seen but wondered at." She is a plain little body enough, as we saw when she protruded her head to bow to the high people in the box next to her-the Queen Dowager, the Princess Esterhazy, and so on. Ordinary is the word for her; you would not notice her among a hundred others in our village church. Just now she is suffering for the tragedy of Lady Flora, and fears are entertained, whenever she appears, that there will be voices to cry out, "Where is Lady Flora ?"—a sound that must pierce the poor young thing's heart. Ah! she has come to the throne when royalty pays quite too dear for its whistle! ROGERS THE POET. His manners are those of a man of the world (in its best sense,) simple and natural, without any apparent consciousness of name or fame to support. His house, as all the civilized world knows, is a cabinet of art, selected and arranged with consummate taste. The house itself is small: not, I should think, more than twenty-five feet 66 can a man want from town, in a modest house, with Miss Agnes Baillie, her only sister, a most kindly and agreeable person. Miss Baillie-I write this for J., for we women always like to know how one another look and dress,-Miss Baillie has a well-preserved appearance; her face has nothing of the vexed or sorrowing expression that is often so deeply stamped by a long experience of life. It indicates a strong mind, great sensibility, and the benevolence that, I believe, always proceeds from it if the mental constitution be a sound one, as it eminently is in Miss Baillie's case. She has a pleasing figure-what we call lady-like -that is, delicate, erect, and graceful; not the largeboned, muscular frame of most English women. She here, which I wish we elderly ladies of America may have wears her own grey hair-a general fashion, by the way, the courage and the taste to imitate; and she wears the prettiest of brown silk gowns and bonnets, fitting the beauideal of an old lady; an ideal she might inspire if it has no pre-existence. You would, of course, expect her to be, but I think you would be surprised to find yourself forgetas she is, free from pedantry and all modes of affectation; ting, in a domestic and confiding feeling, that you were talking with the woman whose name is best established among the female writers of her country; in short, forgetting every thing but that you were in the society of a most charming private gentlewoman. She might (would that closes itself against the noontide sun, and unfolds in the all female writers could!) take for her device a flower that evening shadows. We lunched with Miss Baillie. Mr. Tytler the historian, and his sister, were present. Lord Woodhouselee, the intimate friend of Scott, was their father. Joanna Baillie appears to us, from Scott's letters sation among so many personally familiar with him, natuto her, to have been his favourite friend; and the converrally turned upon him, and many a pleasant anecdote was told, many a thrilling word quoted. It was pleasant to hear these friends of Scott and Mackenzie talk of them as familiarly as we speak of W. B. and other household friends. They all agreed in describing Mackenzie as a jovial, hearty sort of person, without any indication in his manners and conversation of the exquisite sentiment he infused into his writings. One of the party remembered his coming home one day in great glee from a cockfight, and his wife saying to him, "Oh, Harry, Harry, you put all your feelings on paper.' front, and perhaps forty deep, in a most fortunate location, overlooking the Green Park. The first sight of it from the windows produces a sort of coup de théâtre; for you approach the house and enter it by a narrow street. Every inch of it is appropriated to some rare treasure or choice production of art. Besides the pictures (and "What," you might be tempted to ask, beside such pictures ?") are Etruscan vases (antiques), Egyptian antiquities, casts of the Elgin marbles decorating the staircase wall, and endless adornments of this nature. There are curiosities of another species-rare books, such as a most beautifully illuminated missal, exquisitely delicate paintings, designed for marginal decorations, executed three hundred years ago, and taken from the Vatican by the French-glorious robbers! In a catalogue of his books, in the poet's own beautiful_autograph, there were inserted some whimsical titles of books, such as "Nebu chadnezzar on Grasses." But the most interesting thing in all the collection was the original document, with Milton's name, by which he transferred to his publisher, for ten pounds, the copyright of Paradise Lost. Next in interest to this was a portfolio, in which were arranged autograph letters from Pope and Dryden, Washington and Franklin, and several from Fox, Sheridan, and Scott, addressed to the poet himself. Among them was that written by Sheridan, just before his death, describing the extremity of his suffering, and praying Rogers to come to him. But I must check myself. A catalogue raisonné of what our eyes but glanced over, would fill folios. I had the pleasure I have met many persons here whom to meet was like at breakfast of sitting next Mr. Babbage, whose name is seeing the originals of familiar pictures. Jane Porter, Mrs. so well known among us as the author of the self-calcu- Opie, Mrs. Austin, Lockhart, Milman, Morier, Sir Francis lating machine. He has a most remarkable eye, that Chantrey, &c. I owed Mrs. Opie a grudge for having looks as it might penetrate science, or anything else he made me, in my youth, cry my eyes out over her stories; chose to look into. He described the iron steamer now but her fair, cheerful face forced me to forget it. She long building, which has a larger tonnage than any merchant- ago forswore the world and its vanities, and adopted the ship in the world, and expressed an opinion that iron Quaker faith and costume; but I fancied that her elaboships would supersede all others; and another opinion satin gown, indicated how much easier it is to adopt a rate simplicity, and the fashionable little train to her pretty that much concerns us, and which, I trust, may soon be verified that in a few years these iron steamers will go to theory than to change one's habits. Mrs. Austin stands America in seven days! Macaulay was of the party. His high here for personal character, as well as for the very conversation resembles his writings; it is rich and delight-inferior but undisputed property of literary accomplishments. Her translations are so excellent that they class ful, filled with anecdotes and illustrations from the aboundher with good original writers. If her manners were not strikingly conventional, she would constantly remind me of- -; she has the same Madame Roland order of architecture and outside, but she wants her charm of naturalness and attractive sweetness; so it may not seem to Mrs. A.'s sisters and fond friends. A company attitude is rarely anybody's best. There is a most pleasing frankness and social charın in Sir Francis Chantrey's manI called him repeatedly Mr. Chantrey, and ing stores of his overflowing mind. Some may think he talks too much; but none, except from their own impatient vanity, could wish it were less. JOANNA BAILLIE. * * * I believe, of all my pleasures here, dear J. will most envy me that of seeing Joanna Baillie, and of seeing her repeatedly at her own home; the best point of view for all best women. She lives on Hampstead Hill, a few miles ner. CHANTREY. begged him to pardon me on the ground of not being "native to the manner." He laughed good-naturedly, and said something of having been longer accustomed to the plebeian designation. I heard from Mr. R. a much stronger illustration than this of this celebrated artist's good sense, and good feeling too. Chantrey was breakfasting with Mr. R., when, pointing to some carving in wood, he asked R. if he remembered that, some twenty years before, he employed a young man to do that work for him? R. had but an indistinct recollection. "I was that young man," resumed Chantrey, "and very glad at that time to earn five shillings a day!" Mr. B. told a pendant to this pretty story. Mr. B. was discussing with Sir Francis the propriety of gilding something, I forget what. B. was sure it could be done, Chantrey as sure it could not; and "I should know," he said, " for I was once apprenticed to a carver and gilder." Perhaps, after all, it is not so crowning a grace in Sir Francis Chantrey to refer to the obscure morning of his brilliant day, as it is a disgrace to the paltry world that it should be so considered. BIOGRAPHY OF A MOUSE. "BIOGRAPHY of a mouse!" cries the reader; "well, what shall we have next?-what can the writer mean by offering such nonsense for our perusal ?" There is no creature, reader, however insignificant and unimportant in the great scale of creation it may appear to us, short-sighted mortals that we are, which is forgotten in the care of our own common Creator; not a sparrow falls to the ground unknown and unpermitted by Him; and whether or not you may derive interest from the biography even of a mouse, you will be able to form a better judgment after, than before, having read my paper. The mouse belongs to the class Mammalia, or the animals which rear their young by suckling them; to the order Rodentia, or animals whose teeth are adapted for gnawing; to the genus Mus, or Rat kind, and the family of Mus musculus, or domestic mouse. The mouse is a singularly beautiful little animal, as no one who examines it attentively, and without prejudice, can fail to discover. Its little body is plump and sleek; its neck short; its head tapering and graceful; and its eyes large, prominent, and sparkling. Its manners are lively and interesting, its agility surprising, and its habits extremely cleanly. There are several varieties of this little creature, amongst which the best known is the common brown mouse of our granaries and store rooms; the Albino, or white mouse, with red eyes; and the black and white mouse, which is more rare and very delicate. I mention these as varieties, for I think we may safely regard them as such, from the fact of their propagating unchanged, preserving their difference of hue to the fiftieth generation, and never accidentally occurring amongst the offspring of differently coloured parents. It is of the white mouse that I am now about to treat, and it is an account of a tame individual of that extremely pretty variety that is designed to form the subject of my present paper. When I was a boy of about sixteen, I got possession of a white mouse; the little creature was very wild and unsocial at first, but by dint of care and discipline, I succeeded in rendering it familiar. The principal agent I employed towards effecting its domestication was a singular one, and which, though I can assure the reader its effects are speedy and certain, still remains to me inexplicable: this was, ducking in cold water; and by resorting to this simple expedient, I have since succeeded in rendering even the rat as tame and as playful as a kitten. It is out of my power to explain the manner in which ducking operates on the animal subjected to it, but I wish that some physiologist more experienced than I am would give his attention to the subject, and favour the public with the result of his reflections. At the time that I obtained possession of this mouse, I was residing at Olney, in Buckinghamshire, a village which I presume my readers will recollect as connected with the names of Newton and Cowper; but shortly after having succeeded in rendering it pretty tame, circumstances required my removal to Gloucester, whither I carried my little favourite with me. During the journey I kept the mouse confined in a small wire cage; but while resting at the inn where I passed the night, I adopted the precaution of enveloping the cage in a handkerchief, lest by some untoward circumstance its active little inmate might make its escape. Having thus, as I thought, made all safe, I retired to rest. The moment I awoke in the morning, I sprang from my bed, and went to examine the cage, when, to my infinite consternation, I found it empty! I searched the bed, the room, raised the carpet, examined every nook and corner, but all to no purpose. I dressed myself as hastily as I could, and summoning one of the waiters, an intelligent, good-natured man, I informed him of my loss, and got him to search every room in the house. His investigations, however, proved equally unavailing, and I gave my poor little pet completely up, inwardly hoping, despite of its ingratitude in leaving me, that it might meet with some agreeable mate amongst its brown congeners, and might lead a long and happy life, unchequered by the terrors of the prowling cat, and unendangered by the more insidious artifices of the fatal trap. With these reflections I was just getting into the coach which was to convey me upon my road, when a waiter came running to the door, out of breath, exclaiming," Mr. R., Mr. R., I declare your little mouse is in the kitchen." Begging the coachman to wait an instant, I followed the man to the kitchen, and there, on the hob, seated contentedly in a pudding dish, and devouring its contents with considerable goût, was my truant protegé. Once more secured within its cage, and the latter carefully enveloped in a sheet of strong brown paper, upon my knee, I reached Gloucester. I was here soon subjected to a similar alarm, for one morning the cage was again empty, and my efforts to discover the retreat of the wanderer unavailing as before. This time I had lost him for a week, when one night, in getting into bed, I heard a scrambling in the curtains, and on relighting my candle found the noise to have been occasioned by my mouse, who seemed equally pleased with myself at our reunion. After having thus lost and found my little friend a number of times, I gave up the idea of confining him; and, accordingly, leaving the door of his cage open, I placed it in a corner of my bedroom, and allowed him to go in and out as he pleased. Of this permission he gladly availed himself, but would regularly return to me at intervals of a week or a fortnight, and at such periods of return he was usually much thinner than ordinary; and it was pretty clear that during his visits to his brown acquaintances he fared by no means so well as he did at home. Sometimes, when he happened to return, as he often did, in the night time, on which occasions his general custom was to come into bed to me, I used, in order to induce him to remain with me until morning, to immerse him in a basin of water, and then let him lie in my bosom, the warmth of which, after his cold bath, commonly insured his stay. Frequently, while absent on one of his excursions, I would hear an unusual noise in the wainscot, as I lay in bed, of dozens of mice running backwards and forwards and concentrated desire. Before I had time to interfere, in all directions, and squeaking in much apparent glee. puss sprang from her chair, and bounded towards the For some time I was puzzled to know whether this un- mouse, who, however, far from being terrified at the apusual disturbance was the result of merriment or quarrel-proach of his natural enemy, scarcely so much as favoured ling, and I often trembled for the safety of my pet, alone her with a single look. Puss raised her paw and dealt and unaided, among so many strangers. But a very in- him a gentle tap, when, judge of my astonishment if you teresting circumstance occurred one morning, which per- can, the little mouse, far from running away, or betraying fectly re-assured me. It was a bright summer morning, any marks of fear, raised himself on his legs, cocked his about four o'clock, and I was lying awake, reflecting as to tail, and with a shrill and angry squeak, with which any the propriety of turning on my pillow to take another that have kept tame mice are well acquainted, sprang at sleep or at once rising, and going forth to enjoy the beauties and positively bit the paw which had struck him. I was of awakening nature. While thus meditating, I heard a paralysed. I could not jump forward to the rescue. I slight scratching in the wainscot, and looking towards the was, as it were, petrified where I stood. But, stranger spot whence the noise proceeded, perceived the head of a than all, the cat instead of appearing irritated, or seeming mouse peering from a hole. It was instantly withdrawn, to design mischief, merely stretched out her nose and but a second was thrust forth. This latter I at once re- smelt at her diminutive assailant, and then resuming her cognised as my own white friend, but so begrimed by soot place upon the chair, purred herself to sleep. I need not and dirt that it required an experienced eye to distinguish say that I immediately secured the mouse within his cage. him from his darker-coated entertainers. He emerged Whether the cat on this occasion knew the little animal to from the hole, and running over to his cage, entered it, be a pet, and as such feared to meddle with it, or whether and remained for a couple of seconds within it; he then its boldness had disarmed her, I cannot pretend to explain: returned to the wainscot, and re-entering the hole, some I merely state the fact; and I think the reader will allow scrambling and squeaking took place. A second time he that it is sufficiently extraordinary. came forth, and on this occasion was followed closely, to my no small astonishment, by a brown mouse, who followed him, with much apparent timidity and caution, to his box, and entered it along with him. More astonished at this singular proceeding than I can well express, I lay fixed in mute and breathless attention, to see what would follow next. In about a minute the two mice came forth from the cage, each bearing in its mouth a large piece of bread, which they dragged towards the hole they had previously left. On arriving at it, they entered, but speedily re-appeared, having deposited their burden; and repairing once more to the cage, again loaded themselves with provision, and conveyed it away. This second time they remained within the hole for a much longer period than the first time; and when they again made their appearance, they were attended by three other mice, who, following their leaders to the cage, loaded themselves with bread as did they, and carried away their burdens to the hole. After this I saw them no more that morning, and on rising I discovered that they had carried away every particle of food that the cage contained. Nor was this an isolated instance of their white guest leading them forth to where he knew they should find provender. Day after day, whatever bread or grain I left in the cage was regularly removed, and the duration of my pet's absence was proportionately long. Wishing to learn whether hunger was the actual cause of his return, I no longer left food in his box; and in about a week afterwards, on awaking one morning, I found him sleeping upon the pillow, close to my face, having partly wormed his under way cheek. There was a cat in the house, an excellent mouser, and I dreaded lest she should one day meet with and destroy my poor mouse, and I accordingly used all my exertions with those in whose power it was, to obtain her dismissal. She was, however, regarded by those persons as infinitely better entitled to protection and patronage than a mouse, so I was compelled to put up with her presence. People are fond of imputing to cats a supernatural degree of sagacity: they will sometimes go so far as to pronounce them to be genuine witches; and really I am scarcely surprised at it, nor perhaps will the reader be, when I tell him the following anecdote. my I was one day entering my apartment, when I was filled with horror at perceiving my mouse picking up some crumbs upon the carpet, beneath the table, and the terrible cat seated upon a chair watching him with what appeared to me to be an expression of sensual anticipation In order to guard against such a dangerous encounter for the future, I got a more secure cage made, of which the bars were so close as to preclude the possibility of egress; and singularly enough, many a morning was I amused by beholding brown mice coming from their holes in the wainscot, and approaching the cage in which their friend was kept, as if in order to condole with him on the subject of his unwonted captivity. Secure, however, as I conceived this new cage to be, my industrious pet contrived to make his escape from it, and in doing so met his death. In my room was a large bureau, with deep, old-fashioned, capacious drawers. Being obliged to go from home for a day, I put the cage containing my little friend into one of these drawers, lest any one should attempt to meddle with it during my absence. On returning, I opened the drawer, and just as I did so, heard a faint squeak, and at the same instant my poor little pet fell from the back of the drawer-lifeless. I took up his body, and placing it in my bosom, did my best to restore it to animation, Alas! it was to no purpose. His little body had been crushed in the crevice at the back part of the drawer, through which he had been endeavouring to escape, and he was really and irrecoverably gone. AUTOGRAPHS AND NOTICES OF DISTINGUISHED PERSONS.—No. X. WE resume our autographs of late members of the House of Commons, beginning with MR. LUCAS. The late member for the county of Monaghan is a very intelligent and excellent man. He is a man, too, of very great talents, though not a popular speaker. He writes a small, cramped hand. Mr. Lucas is a conservative, but one of the moderate school. He is a well-formed, middle-sized man, with light hair, a clear complexion, and pleasant expression of countenance. His age is about fifty. |