freshness of the tints. By an admirable knowledge of chiaroscuro, he produced the most astonishing effects.

Toward the end of his life, Rembrandt excelled not less as an engraver. His manner was entirely original: he devoted himself wholly to the general effects, without descending to particulars; and he attained his end. Rembrandt would never engrave in presence of any one: his secret was a treasure, and he never imparted it, so that to this day his manner of commencing and finishing his plates is entirely unknown."

Meanwhile the faculties of Rembrandt became more feeble'; at last he did not quit his chamber; and soon took entirely to his bed. He showed deep suffering at this, and redoubled his taciturnity during eight days. At the end of this time, one night when his sister was sleeping in an arm-chair beside him, he called her name in a gentler tone than ordinary. She rose instantly, and ran eagerly to him.

66 Sister," said he, "I shall soon die; but I am about to ask a favour of thee: do not refuse me."

"What is it, my brother?"

"Refuse me not, or thou wilt throw me into despair. Raise the trap-door beside my bed, that I may once more look at my treasure."

Louise did as the sick man desired. When the trap-door was opened, and the lamp-light shone into the depth of the hollow place glittering on the gold pieces, the face of Rembrandt brightened, his eyes filled with tears, he extended his hands, he muttered unintelligible words. A mother about to quit her children could not use more touching and tender expressions.

66 Adieu," ," he murmured feebly; adieu, my life, my soul!adieu for ever! Must I quit you, lose you, never more possess you? Louise, I wish to be buried here. Thou wilt not tell any one that I am dead, nor that my treasures are here—not even my son. He is an ingrate, who forgets me; a prodigal, who would dissipate my wealth. Do as thy brother implores thee on his deathbed, Louise, and I will bless thee-bless thee from heaven!"

66

Reflect, my brother," said Louise; "may not your own harshness have estranged your son from you? May not your penuriousness towards him have helped as completely to keep him in real ignorance of the value of money, as an opposite extreme would have done? He knows you are rich; all the world knows you have gold; all tradesmen are willing to trust him, believing that you must pay: there is not much wonder that he plays the prodigal."

"He has no love for his old father," murmured the sick man, or he would not pain me thus in the tenderest point. Oh, Louise, no one has loved me but you, and you shall have my gold: but keep it-bury it: promise to me-swear to me that he shall not have it."

"I will not take so wicked an oath," said Louise meekly, "but if you wish it, I will take charge of your gold-bestow a portion of it in deeds of charity, and transfer the remainder to your son from time to time, according as he may appear to know its uses."

Rembrandt turned uneasily on his pillow. He wept, and sobbed, and wished to rise and go to his treasure. Never was grief more expressive, nor despair more fearful. A long fainting fit followed this strange scene. But when Rembrandt recovered his consciousness, an inexpressible change had taken place: his countenance shone with solemn majesty; death at this last hour had divested the artist's soul of the mud of earth, and made it appear in its own sublime grandeur.

76 Louise," said he, "do as you will with my gold; my eyes are opened to a new and celestial light, of which I have dreamt in the mysterious thoughts of my heart, and towards which all my desires have tended. This knowledge fills up the perpetual void from which I have suffered so much, and inundates my heart with that fulness of joy for which I have thirsted in vain. Life and its miseries, human passions, all lie at my feet like the broken chains of a slave; for God and eternity are before me; angels call me, and cry, ‘Brother!' Oh let me go and rejoin them; and thou-I will pray to God that thou mayest follow me soon. Angels-my brethren! behold me-I am returning to heaven!"

He fell back-Louise held the hand of the dead!

Two months after, when she had fulfilled her promise and restored to the son of Rembrandt, just returned from Italy, the greater part of his father's property, Louise, now very old, undertook a journey to Leyden to see Thérèse, who was sick, and required the care of a sister whom she had seen but twice during ten years. This time, however, her courage was above her strength. Louise died on the journey.

Twelve leagues from Amsterdam, on the road to Leyden, are the ruins of a church, partly destroyed by wars and revolutions, so that the turret and the walls of the cemetery alone remain standing. At one side of this wall is fixed a tablet of black marble, on which is the following inscription:

HERE LIE THE REMAINS OF

LOUISE GERRETZ,

Who died at the age of ninety-three, in this village, on a journey.

MAY SHE REST IN PEACE.

Few of the curious visit these ruins, and none of those whom chance has led hither suspect the devotion and tenderness of the woman whose remains lie here. And so it is often in the world. While the deeds of conquerors are chronicled, books filled with

the account of their doings, countries called after them, and the most trivial actions connected with their lives are thought worth remembering, the heroism of private life remains for the most part unnoticed. And perhaps it is well so; for the sensitive mind would often be distressed were the details of private sorrows and hidden faults dragged into light. The virtuous members of a family suffer keenly from the disgrace attendant on the faults of the vicious; and every one must have noticed how very commonly it happens, as in the case of Rembrandt's sister, that the high qualities of the one are drawn out by the sufferings which fall on them in consequence of the errors of the other. There is a story of a nobleman being led to execution for some imputed political offence, when his servant, pitying his case, cried out, “Oh, that you should die innocent!" "Would you have me die guilty?" replied his master. The application of this anecdote is evident. All the sufferings of the evil doers are heightened by remorse, but the brave and virtuous, whose path lies in undoing the harm the wicked have done, are upheld by the consciousness of right, and the sweet reflection that sorrow when it comes is not of their own bringing. A moment's thought must convince us how much more important is the cultivation of the domestic virtues, than the performance of what the world often erroneously calls great actions. It is a thought almost too vast for the mind, yet one it should try to grasp, that the world contains millions of families-small domestic circles, each strong in its hopes, fears, affections, interests. How few of these, either from talent or the accident of position, can ever expect to play what is called a great and distinguished part in the sight of their fellow-creatures! -a poor ambition, after all, and one too often corrupted by selfish motives; but there is none so obscure that he cannot practise the virtues of self-denial, benevolence, truth, justice, and discretion. In leading such a life as this, we must always find the great reward attendant on the performance of our duties. Even one such character in a household spreads peace and happiness around it. If we throw a stone into the water, we observe how the ripples spread wider and wider; and so in human life does the influence of good conduct extend around us, teaching at the same time by example more forcibly than by precept; and it is an influence no human being is too humble to exert. To fulfil worthily the duties of our station, and the domestic relations of life, in the spirit of justice, love, and charity, is in reality the noblest destiny to which we can aspire. What matters it that the world does not often register such deeds, though it knows, by the sum of human happiness and virtue, that they must have been performed? Is it not written in the holy book-“ Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."

HE cat belongs to the same natural family as the lion, tiger, panther, leopard, puma, serval, ocelot, and lynx. The tribe is perhaps one of the best defined

in zoology, all its members having characteristics of structure and habit not to be confounded with those of other animals. Every reader must be familiar with the forms of the tiger and domestic cat, and these may be taken as types of the family. The rounded head and pointed ears, the long lithe body, covered with fine silky hair, and often beautifully marked, the silent stealthy step, occasioned by treading only on the fleshy ball of the foot, the sharp retractile claws, the large lustrous eyes, capable, from the expansive power of the pupil, of seeing in the dark, the whiskered lip, the trenchant carnivorous teeth, and the tongue covered with recurved bony prickles, are common to all.

In their habits and manner of life they are equally akin. They inhabit the forest and the brake, sleeping away the greater part of their time, and only visiting the glade and open plain when pressed by hunger. They are for the most part nocturnal in their habits, being guided to their prey by their peculiar power of vision, by their scent, and by their hearing, which is superior to that of most other animals. Naturally, they are strictly carnivorous, not hunting down their prey by a protracted chase, like the wolf and dog, but by lying in wait, or by moving stealthily with their supple joints and cushioned feet, till within spring of their victims, on which they dart with a growl, as if the muscular effort of the moment were painful

even to themselves. Whether the attack be that of a tiger on a buffalo, or that of a cat on a helpless mouse, the mode of action is the same a bound with the whole body from the distance of many yards, a violent stroke with the forefoot, a clutch with the claws, which are thrust from their sheaths, and a half-tearing half-sucking motion of the jaws, as if the animal gloated in ecstasy over the blood of its victim.

This mode of life has gained for these animals the common epithets of "cruel, savage, and bloodthirsty," and has caused them to be looked upon by the uninformed as monsters in creation. Nothing could be more erroneous. No creature is

capable of moral good and moral evil save man; he it is alone that can judge for himself; and he it is upon whom this gift of judgment has imposed the responsibility of right and wrong. The tiger in slaughtering a stag gratifies no evil passion; he merely satisfies an appetite which nature has implanted within him, and which nature has surrounded with the objects for its satisfaction. When these objects shall die out, then also will the tiger cease to exist; and were the whole world equally peopled and cultivated with our own island, the feline family would be limited to a single genus-namely, the humble cat. But as things are at present constituted, the valleys and plains of the tropics are clothed with an excessive vegetation, supporting numerous herbivorous animals, which could only be kept within due limits by the existence of carnivora, such as the lion, tiger, leopard, and panther.

The distribution of the feline animals is governed by those conditions to which we have alluded; and thus the puma inhabits the North American prairie, the jaguar the savannahs of South America, the lion the arid plains of Africa and Asia, the tiger and panther the tropical jungles of the old world; the minor species, as the ocelot and lynx, have a wider range in both worlds; while the domestic cat associates with man in almost every region. With the exception of the latter, none of the other genera have been tamed or domesticated, so that they are strictly "wild beasts," against which man wages a ceaseless war of extirpation. It is true that in the East one species of leopard is trained for hunting, but this but very sparingly, and even then he does not follow the game by scent, but is carried by the hunters, and only let loose when he is within a few bounds of the animal. It must not be inferred, however, that they are untameable; for every creature is capable more or less of being trained by man, provided it receives due attention; and we have sufficient evidence, in the wonderful feats performed by the lions and tigers of Mr Carter and Van Amburgh, that the Feline are by no means destitute of intelligent docility. The truth is, there is no inducement to tame them; and thus the cat-the most diminutive of the family, and the only one of direct utility to civilised man-is likely to continue, as it ever has been, the sole domesticated member.