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the bush. He rallied instantly, and made a brilliant charge close up to the Elephant's trunk, when he was again turned by a well directed volley from the spare guns, and retreated, growling, to his lais.

We now retired to a short distance to reload : and wben we advanced again, the Tiger, although bleeding at every pore, rushed forth to meet us, as savage as ever; he was again turned before he could spring on the Elephant, and again dragged forward his bleeding body to the charge, roaring as if his heart would burst with impotent rage. We now let him come up quite close, so that every ball might tell, and gave him shot after shot, till he crawled back, exhausted, into the bushes. We followed him up, and, in a last expiring effort to reach the Elephant, was shot dead, while struggling to make good bis charge. He was game to the last, and Elliot, who has killed many Tigers, says he never saw one die more gallantly.

Having ascertained, by poking him with a spear, that the Tiger was actually dead, we dismounted from the howdah, and,-leaving the Mahout to reward his unwieldy pet after his exertions, by giving him balls of sugar dipped in the Tiger's blood,went to look after the unfortunate Beater who had been struck down. We found him lying under a bush, in a dying state, and a more frightful spectacle I never beheld. His lower jaw was carried away as if he had been struck by a cannon ball, his cheek bones were crushed to pieces, and the lacerated muscles of the throat hung down over his chest. So dreadful was the injury that literally nothing of the face was left, below the eyes. He appeared quite sensible, poor fellow, and made frantic signs for water, whilst his bloodshot eyes rolling wildly, imparted to the shattered head the most ghastly expression I have ever beheld. It was, of course, impossible to afford him the slightest relief, and death soon put an end to his sufferings.

I was much struck by the extraordinary apathy of the Natives on this occasion; many of them passed the mangled body of their companion with a careless glance, merely remarking, “that it was bis fate;" and those who remained to witness his dying struggles evinced no more feeling for him than if he had been a dog. .

The important operation of singeing the Tiger's whiskers having been performed by the oldest Shikarie, the carcass was laid upon a cart, drawn by six bullocks, and decorated with flags, and was thus dragged home in triumph.

On skinning the Tiger we found sixteen balls lodged in his body, most of which had entered his chest; a strong proof of the extraordinary tenacity of life possessed by these animals.

He was a male, about the medium size, and his dimensions as follows:

Feet. Inches.
Length from point of nose to point of tail
Length of tail .
Height from heel to shoulder
Length from shoulder to point of toe
From elbow to point of toe
Girth of body, immediately behind the shoulder
Girth of forearm
Girth of neck
Girth of head .

5

10

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TO MY OLD HARPSICHORD.

I'm sixty-two this birth-day

Some one must share my glee
Forth to the daylight, friend revered,

I'd have a chat with thee.
Thy tones, methinks, are husky,

Years have not smoothed thy tongne;
Speak out— the old are garrulous-

Good listeners the young-
How many a jewelled finger,

Once from thy bosom drew
Old joyous strains, now cast aside,

Or furbished up anew!
How many a band—(ah-cunning!)

Did to ihine aid appeal,
Making the jangle of thy chords

A téte-à-tête conceal-
Look not so shocked—'tis needless-

But tell me if you can-
What did my grandsire whisper, when

My grandame shook her fan?
I honour thy discretion-

Thou confidant so true-
Mayst keep thy secret if thou wilt-

Our age can whisper too.
Yet one more simple question,

Old relic, thou shalt hear; True chronicle of days defunct

(Better than these I fear). There is a word-forgotten

(Albeit of sound divine)It means—self-interest in our days ;

What meant it, friend, in thine ? Stay-stop—there comes a critic,

Some halting verse to blameLet's steal away- the worldly-wise

Full oft have done the same. Thou to thy silent chamber

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MY TWO PET WOMEN.

BY WALTER ELLIS. It was a lovely afternoon, that might have been o'er glowing, but for the zephyrs, dancing and singing 'mid the rich leaves of the tall trees; no other sound, save the notes of loving fond birds, stole on mine ear. The odours of a thousand flowers were wasted through my lattice; a checkered, shimmering light fell on the velvet turf, and golden sand.

I sat with a noble company. My two best male instructors bad brought me back my favourite fairs. Those godlike men are always dearly welcome. One

« Oh wise indeed were that astronomer

Who knew the stars as I his characters !" Even the other I revere, without pretence; nor will I falsely vaunt a close intimacy with him, to evade the denunciation which a late politician said awaited all Britons who did not “ lift up their eyes at his name.” That it is easier to lift up one's eyes than examine an object, the great man to whom this allusion refers was but too well aware,

Each of the worthies now honouring my bower hath presented me to dames more exemplary than the pair in question, but none among them half so engaging to the speculative mind. I turned from one to the other, observing their resemblances and dissimilarities. Shall I attempt to describe them? The one was gorgeously apparelled, “ like a lady from a far countrie,” with a blendure of majesty and voluptuousness in her air and visage, now sad, now haughty, now sportive, now petulant. I did not forget that she was no longer young, but dark, brief of stature, and irregular of feature, yet I worshipped her the more for “making defect perfection.” The other was tall, of a fair, blooming, perfect beauty, half maidenly, half matronly, modest in its consciousness, mild in its dignity. Her costume I cannot depict; yet, misconstrue not a student's reverie! My female guests were Shakspeare's Cleopatra and Milton's Eve. Perhaps it were difficult to select any historical or poetic characters which, to a superficial view, offer more strong and varied contrasts; yet these exist rather in situation than in disposition. That their actions would, under the same circumstances, have been alike, we may in fer from the texts that prove their impulses were much the same, even in the most opposite positions; their very habits as similar as possible, in the utmost extremes of life, save the heiress of Ptolemy, the mistress of Pompey, Cæsar, and Antony, was really the best Woman of the two. Yet those who overrate Eve as a beroine, judge our Egyptian by rules of far more strict morality than they ever apply to the forward, false tongued, disobedient Juliet, whose unbridled passion disgraces youth and maid hood, “ in a Christian land."

Cleopatra, and all the other daughters of Eve, must, more or less, resemble her; therefore did Milton draw. our original mother from her children. Leaving it for Nature to create, he copied her creations, with wise and bold simplicity; transcribing not only the merits he rould himself have esteemed, but the endearing errors, and commanding weaknesses, to which most men pay homage, in spite their reason. A meaner mind straining after novelty and effect, would have made the first, the unborn woman, a brilliant nondescript, whom we might wonderingly have admired, but with whom we could have had no mutual feelings. I scarcely need say that I neither accuse Milton of imitating Shakspeare, nor am dead to the originality of both ; but, though Satan's language be more grand, and the Angel's more pure than that of a mortal, they are still capable of human emotions. So Shakspeare, though he

" Exhausted worlds and then imagined new,” Peopled those worlds with beings calling on our sympathies. Even Ariel, the most passionless of Spirits, suffers within himself a contest between grateful deference for Prospero, and a vehement yearning for liberty, Lord Byron says

“ Dante's Beatrice, and Milton's Eve,

Were not drawn from their spouses, you perceive.” Two idle lines, considering that Beatrice was Dante's real theme, not bis wife, is known to persons of the most obluse perceptions; nor is there any reason why Milton's Eve should not have been drawn from his spouses; allowing for the poetical colouring which her singular situation demanded at the hands of one whose fancy is less apparent than is his knowledge of our kind, and of that adorable enigma Woman!

Milton's Eve received but slight assistance from Scripture. Shakspeare derived his outline of Cleopatra from authentic effigies more modero and complete-but finished the picture by the aid of his own heart's imagination and memory, his own experience of the frailer sex. Et cetera.

Eve's state is peculiar, unparalleled. No infancy, no childhood, no mother's precepts, no sister's example, prepared her for youth, beauty, praise, love, temptation. She wakes to life in a scene of primitive nature. Cleopatra reigns a luxurious despot o'er the first civilized country in the world. A descendant of Eve, robbed, by that ancestress's fall, of the beauty which should have been bequeathed to our race, yet proving that she inherited, at least, Eve's vanity, by making even the disguises which veiled her imperfections, supply the places of the charms so lost.

Eve's first instinctive sensation, by chance, and unconsciously indeed, is a vain one; yet, as she gazes on her own reflection, its "answering looks of sympathy and love” attract her most, I own, and that, had she beheld Adam ere she felt this interest, she might earlier have acknowledged his claim on her preference. As it is she begins by thinking him

“Less winning soft, less amiably mild

Than the smooth watery image.” Most very young maidens value their own personal dowers above the more rugged comeliness of Man. Eve'thus shows greater self-love than

doth Cleopatra, who for ever admires Mark Antony beyond all other Men-beyond herself, and, in his absence, wonders at his supposed regret of her, sighing,

“ Think on me! That am with Phæbus' amorous pinches black,

And wrinkled deep in time?” Eve never relapses into forgetfulness of her own power; the more she respects Adam's mind, the more she prizes her influence over him, though angels disapprove.

Cleopatra has but earthly censure to defy; she glories in the hero whose best fame she undermines; she must look up to the man she deigns to love,-she must control the man she thinks all others should obey.

In Eve's unsophisticated world no fear of opinion shames her out of candour. "To her lord she confides the Aatteries that fill her dreams, without one lowly, deprecating comment. She expects to be called “angelic,” “accomplished," “ Empress,” and “sole queen."

Cleopatra, though as frank an egotist, boasts rather her past than present self, and for purposes that have more heart in them. She says,

“I was a morsel for a monarch," repining, for Antonius's sake, that she is so no more. She offers her

“bluest veins to kiss, a hand that kings have lipped, and trembled"why says she so, but that she hopes her hand may eke out other bribes, and win her news of Antony ? When she cries, of one who hath long served her,

“The man hath seen some majesty, and should know”— (whether Augustus's sister be majestic or not)—Her feeling is-notAm I the most august ?" but is she not less to the Roman's taste than my poor self, once so majestic ?"

Adulation has thrust this foible on her. Even women are at heart her slaves, and grey men, who fain would chide Antony's infatuation, need but behold to be fascinated by this “ Serpent of old Nile."

Eve, untaught, cultivates her dignity, eloquence, and love of ornament, which inspires all her domestic cares, that she may deck both bower and board, feasting her husband's senses, subjecting his judgment, and, by her blandishments, rendering herself still the crowning honey-drop of his joy's full chalice.

Cleopatra's arts are less gratuitous; she fears to lose her “ Man of men,” and, diffident of personal spells, calls in the aid of sumptuous entertainments, seeking to make herself his fate, because she feels that he is hers.

In Eve no dread of wearying, intruding, no direct confession of secondary intellect, induces her to establish the lady-like custom of leaving the gentlemen, after dinner, free to discuss matters “ abstruse." She retires from Adam and their celestial visitant

“With grace that won who saw to wish her stay."

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