truly wonderful, as the following curious instance, related of James Sullivan, a horse-breaker at Cork, and an awkward rustic of the lowest class, will show. This man obtained the singular name of the Whisperer, from a most extraordinary art which he possessed of controlling, in a secret manner, and taming into the most submissive and tractable disposition, any horse that was notoriously vicious and obstinate. He practised his skill in private, and without any apparent forcible means. In the short space of half an hour his magical influence would bring into perfect submission and good temper even a colt that had never been handled; and the effect, though instantaneously produced, was generally durable. When employed to tame an outrageous animal, he directed the stable in which he and the object of the experiment were placed, to be shut, with orders not to open the door until a signal was given. After an interview between him and the horse for about half an hour, during which little or no bustle was heard, the signal was made, and upon opening the door the horse was seen lying down, and the man by his side playing familiarly with him, like a child with a puppy dog. From that time he was found perfectly willing to submit to any discipline, however repugnant to his nature before. The narrator of this account says, "I once saw his skill on a horse which could never before be brought to stand for a smith to shoe him. The day after Sullivan's half-hour lecture I went, not without some doubt as to the truth of the statements I had heard, to the smith's shop, with many other curious spectators, at which we were eyewitnesses of the complete success of his skill. This, too, had been a troop-horse; and it was supposed, not without reason, that, after regimental discipline had failed, no other would be found availing. I observed that the animal appeared to be afraid whenever Sullivan either spoke or looked at him. How that extraordinary ascendancy could have been obtained it is difficult to conjecture. He seemed to possess an instinctive power of inspiring awe, the result perhaps of a natural intrepidity, in which I believe a great part of his secret consisted." THE STAG. Ir is scarcely possible to behold a more beautiful object in the animal world than the stag, the male of the red deer, and the tallest of the species. To see him bounding along in the green parks of England, and bearing erect his large and branching horns in all the pride of conscious security, is a much more pleasing sight than to see the poor beast worried by the hounds and pursued by the hunter. It is said that when taken on these occasions the stag sheds tears. But the death struggle is frequently fierce, and the dogs pay a heavy penalty for their rashness, the stag being very strong, and possessing great power in his horns, which are renewed every year, and frequently weigh between twenty and thirty pounds. It is related that in the reign of George the Second, William, Duke of Cumberland, caused a tiger and a stag to be enclosed in the same area, and the stag made so bold a defence, that the tiger was obliged to yield. The hind, which is the female, is without horns. The flesh of the stag is much relished, and the horns are of great use to the cutlers, who fashion them into the handles for knives so much admired. The shavings serve to make hartshorn. Stag-hunting, upon which we will make a few remarks, has almost given way, owing to the greatly increased cultivation of the country ; and the stag has nearly ceased to exist in a state of perfect freedom. Some few wild deer are, however, still to be met with in Ireland; and in the Highlands of Scotland, particularly in the neighbourhood of Blair Athol, where these beautiful animals are still to be found roaming at large; in some parts of Devonshire, too, wild deer may be occasionally seen, but the mode in which the pursuit of them is at present carried on in this country is, by taking a half-tamed deer in a cart to an appointed spot, and turning him out before the hounds. A reasonable time is allowed for the stag to get considerably in advance of the hounds; and if they are found to approach him too closely they are stopped, and the stag allowed to get ahead again. Sometimes the poor animal gets sulky, and will not run; but if, on the contrary, the stag bounds away in gallant style, the hounds are then let loose on him, and would soon run up to him if they were not checked; and thus the chase would very soon be at an end. By frequently stopping the hounds, however, the hunt is prolonged to several hours. George the Third, who liked country life, was fond of stag-hunting; but it has been said, that if the monarch had known the pleasure and excitement attending the pursuit of the fox, he would have preferred it to chasing the stag. The king's hunting establishment was kept up on a scale of great splendour. Many English noblemen have also extensive establishments for stag-hunting, and engage in the sport with the greatest ardour. The hounds for following the stag have been bred from fox-hounds, and are consequently of the fleetest kind. Hunting these animals is a source both of amusement and profit to the Indian tribes of America, where they exist in vast numbers. Here, too, they have other enemies, besides man, to contend with, the young being often carried away by the eagle and the vulture. The large brown snake is also a great destroyer of them, but the jaguar and wild cat are their worst foes. In a herd there are generally four males to one female, which shows what destruction there must be of the latter. The Indians, having found the haunts of the animals, assemble at day-break; some of them ascend the highest trees, to watch their progress; others hide themselves under leaves, so as to entrap them when they are about to retire to places of greater security; then the whole tribe-men, women, and boys-stretch over a large track of country, and, assisted by their dogs and horns, they make every kind of hideous noise, frightening the deer from their grazing spots while the dew is on the ground. As the animals assemble, they form in complete marching order, headed by the elder ones, while the bucks of the second class remain behind to protect the females and young from any attack. In this manner they arrive at their haunts; and the Indians, advancing in all directions, prevent their leaving by closing up all the openings, and while the deer are preparing to defend themselves, their pursuers are getting ready the weapons for their destruction, viz., large lances, resinous torches, and nooses fixed to long poles. The women are also busy stuffing jaguar and tiger skins. The Indians, having dug deep trenches in the path, now advance, with the stuffed figures, which the males no sooner perceive than they make a violent effort to toss them into the gulf. The Indians then strike, and hurl them into the abyss, where the women are ready to disable them before they can recover from the stupor. When the hunters can no longer provoke them to rush on the stuffed tigers, they make signals to those above to throw lighted torches among them. This causes them to make a desperate effort to escape, and when the Indians have hurled a sufficient number down the precipices, they suffer the females and young ones to escape. In this way they take generally from four to five hundred. We will conclude our observations on this noble animal with the following fable, which contains a moral against pride and self-conceit it would be well to remember: "A stag, drinking at a clear spring, saw himself in the water; and 6 pleased with the prospect, stood afterward, for some time, contemplating and surveying himself from head to foot. Ah,' said he, 'what a glorious pair of branching horns are these! how gracefully do those antlers hang over my forehead, and give an agreeable turn to my whole face! If some other parts of my body were but proportionable to them, I would turn my back to nobody; but I have a set of such legs, as really makes me ashamed to see them. People may talk what they please of their conveniences, and what great need we have of them upon several occasions, but for my part, I find them so very slender and unsightly, that I would as soon have none at all.' While he was giving himself these airs, he was alarmed by the noise of some huntsmen and a pack of dogs, who were making rapid way toward him. Away he flies, in much consternation, and bounding nimbly over the plain, left dogs and men at a vast distance behind him; after which he had the ill-luck to get entangled by his horns in a thicket, where he was held fast till the dogs came in, and pulled him down. Finding how it was likely to go with him, in the pangs of death, he uttered these words: Unhappy creature that I am! I am convinced, too late, that what I prided myself in has been the cause of my undoing; and what I so much disliked, was the only thing that could have saved me. I am ruined by my own folly.'" THIS timid and gentle creature is a great favourite with all who admire and love the works of the beneficent Creator. Too often the victim of cruel sport, at the sight of man the hare pursues its way in fear and trembling, and with panting eagerness endeavours to escape the grey Its hounds, or the harriers and beagles which are put upon its track. hind legs are longer than its fore ones, to enable it to run up hills; and its eyes are so placed as to enable it to observe on either side the object it seeks to evade. There are several instances, however, of the hare being domesticated. Cowper was a great lover of hares; but he was no sportsman. He could not bear to hurt anything that lived. You remember, perhaps, what he says in his "Task" about being kind to animals : "I would not enter on my list of friends Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. He was right-the kind-hearted poet was right. He was not only careful about giving pain to animals, but he was very fond of pets. From time to time he had many of these pets; but there were none that he took so great delight in as his hares. He had two of these pretty little creatures, and they seemed to be as fond of him as he was of them. Cowper was subject to fits of great despondency, or depression of spirits. With him this complaint was a sort of incurable disease. He would try to be cheerful. He knew the nature of his melancholy, and often tried to remedy indirectly what could not be reached directly. He resorted to innocent amusements in order to lead the mind away from the contemplation of its own ills, real or imaginary. This was well-it was philosophical-but it did not always succeed. The disease was too deeply seated in his system. The |