and spent itself against a wall. The ani- then tottered, and fell on his side without mal stood still for two or three seconds, convulsion or movement. Death of the Elephant at Geneva, May 31, 1820. The above engraving, from that in the foreign almanac already mentioned, represents the manner wherein his death was effected. 66 The event circulated through the town with the rapidity of lightning. They have killed the elephant !" "What had the noble creature done? he was so good, so gentle, so amiable!" "What a pity!" The people ran with one accord to the spot, to satisfy themselves with a nearer view. The eagerness was so great that the authorities were obliged to take steps for keeping order in the crowd, and a small sum of money was demanded from each for the benefit of the proprietor. The same evening, by arrangements entered into with mademoiselle Garnier, for securVOL. II.-75. ing the remains of the animal for the museum, the surgeons proceeded to open the body, which they continued to dissect for several successive days. The operations were executed by M. Mayor, the chevalier Bourdet, a naturalist and traveller, and M.Vichet, an eminent pupil of the veterinary surgeon of Alfort. They took an exact measurement of the animal. They traced its silhouette on the wall; and made separate casts of its head, and the two feet of one side. All the principal viscera, except the liver, which decomposed too rapidly, and the brain, which was shattered by the ball, were carefully removed and preserved in a solution of oxygenated muriate of mercury. The spleen was six feet long. The muscular or fleshy parts, as the season would not allow of their slow dissection, were taken away rather by the hatchet than the bistoury. They were given to the public, who were extremely eager and anxious to eat elephant's flesh, and much tempted by its excellent appearance, dressed as it was with every variety of sauce. They seemed perfectly regardless of the poison, which indeed had not time to develope itself in the muscular system. Three or four hundred persons ate of it without injury, excepting one or two individuals, who brought on a fit of indigestion by indulging to excess. The osseous carcass was put into a state of maceration previous to re-composing the skeleton, in order to its deposit in the museum of natural history. The interest taken in that establishment was so strong, that the large sum required to secure possession of the entire carcass, was raised by subscription in a few days. The skin was found too thick to be tanned by the ordinary process, and as the epidermis began to detach itself naturally, it was carefully separated from the dermis, which it was not essential to preserve entire. The epidermis retained its proper consistency, in order to be supplied by a well-known process in covering the artificial carcass, constructed under the direction of Messrs. Mayor and Bourdet. If mademoiselle Garnier had not succeeded in enticing the animal to the place where his destruction was effected, the mischief he might have occasioned by remaining at large, till the inhabitants of Geneva had risen from their beds to their daily occupations, can scarcely be imagined; especially as it was on a marketday, when the city is usually thronged with country people, and most persons are necessarily out of doors. May Custom at Buckingham. RINGING THE OLD BAILIFf out. To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Sir,-On this day, unusual bustle set the town of Buckingham alive. It was the festive consecration of the first Sunday after May-day Having taken care of my horse and left the inn, I heard a band of music approaching the church, which is a cheerful edifice, standing on an eminence with a painted glass window. The bells rung merrily, and the sunshine gave lustre to the surrounding country, beautified by light and shade. The main street was The presently lined with townspeople and villagers. My inquiries as to the cause of this "busy hum of men" were soon satisfied by the cry that, They're ringing the old bailiff out!" As the musicians (not of the opera band, nor of the Hanover rooms,) came nearer with the accumulating procession, I with difficulty learned the theme of their endeavours, to be Weber's "Hark! follow!" I never heard any thing surpass this murder of melody. Had Weber been present, he would not have regretted he had given the MS. of Der Freischütz, to discharge a trifling debt, which I am informed was really the case. Such discord, however, worked no "incantation" here. All faces smiled, all hearts appeared glad. cavalcade moved in pairs. First two small children in white with garlands, then, behind them, two, a size larger; then others, increasing in growth and tallness, till six wreathed maidens and their swains moved onwards, dancing and shaking their curly locks in sportive glee around the Maypole, decorated in the habiliments of nature's sweetest and choicest spring flowers and boughs. Dolls of various dresses were placed in the midst, as though they looked out of bowers for the arrival of kindred playfellows. Then came his worship, the bailiff, a sir John Falstaff-like sort of person, swelling with pleasurable consequence; the shining mace borne on the shoulder intimated his dignity. What a happy day of honour, of triumph, and greatness to him! Then followed the leading men of the town, the burgesses in their corporate robes and nosegays. Their friends paraded aside in their Sunday clothes, like "ladies of olden days" and "squires of high degree." Favours and flags played on the fresh air, inviting rural enjoyment. Many rosy-faced damosels in their "best bibs and tuckers" illustrated the time by appearing at the windows; infants were held up to behold, and the aged crept to the doors, to take a glimpse of what they might not live to see repeated. As the procession arrived at the churchyard gate, soldiers were arranged in line, preparing to meet and unite in the gaiety of the day. It is thus pleasant to view the military and civil powers, peacefully ornamenting the general harmony of the season. subordinates and illustrators of this annual custom, opened a passage at the church door, and the bailiff led the way into his seat. The bells rested their metal tongues, The and the music ceased awhile. People of all descriptions, in all directions, hurried to their respective pews, with accommodating civility to strangers. The curate opened his book and his duties, the clerk unsheathed his spectacles, confined his nostrils, and the service was reverently performed, with a suitable discourse and decent melody. After this was ended, the bailiff and his friends returned in like order as they came, perambulating the precincts of the town. Then the glory of all true Britons, was manifested by the clatter of knives and forks, at the favourite depôt for provisions, and genuine hilarity closed the "ringing out of the old bailiff," and the ringing in of the new one. J. R. PRIOR. 'Tis May! 'tis May! air, earth, and flood, 'Tis May! 'tis May! why should not man Dulce Domum. To the Editor of the Every-Day Book. Sir,-It may not, perhaps, be generally known what it was that gave rise to the writing of the old breaking-up song of "Dulce Domum," so loudly and so cheerfully sung by youngsters previous to the vacation; and as an old custom is involved in it, you may deem both the song and the custom worthy a place in your EveryDay Book. They are subjoined. I am, Sir, &c. Leadenhall Street, HENRY BRANDON. May, 1826. a About two hundred and thirty years ago, a scholar of St. Mary's college Winchester was, for some offence committed, confined by order of the master, and it being just previous to the Whitsuntide vacation, was not permitted to visit his friends, but remained prisoner at the college, as report says, tied to a pillar. During this period he composed the well known "Dulce domum," being the recollections of the pleasures he was wont to join in, at that season of the year. Grief at the disgrace and the disappointment he endured, so heavily affected him, that he did not live to witness the return of his companions, at the end of their holydays. In commemoration of the above, annually on the evening preceding the Whitsun holydays, the master, scholars, and choristers of the above college, attended by a band of music, walk in procession round the court of the college and the pillar to which it is alleged the unfortunate youth was tied, and chant the verses which he composed in his affliction. Hens! Rogere, fer caballos; Eja, nunc eamus. Limen amabile Matris et oscula, Greet our household-gods with singing, Home, &c. Mr. Brandon's account of the "procession round the courts of the college," and the singing of "Dulce Domum," is sustained by the rev. Mr. Brand, who Domum, domum, &c. adds, of the song, that "it is no doubt of Suaviter et repetamus, very remote antiquity, and that its origin *Milner's Hist. of Winchester, AMERICAN VOCAL MUSIC. By the favour of a correspondent in North America, we are enabled to extract from the "Colonial Advocate" of Queenston, the following interesting article, by a Scotch resident, on the state of melody in the region he inhabits. It particularly relates to May. affectation they display, cannot fail to disgust you: the form of godliness is present, but the power thereof is wanting. SCOTTISH SONGS. "Dear Scotia! o'er the swelling sea On earth where'er thy offspring roam, I have often thought it a pity that there is no feature in which Canada, and indeed America in general, exhibits more dissimilarity to Scotland, than in its want of vocal music. On the highland hills, and in the lowland vallies, of Caledonia, we are delighted with the music of the feathered choristers, who fill heaven in a May morning with their matin songs. The shepherd whistles "The Yellow Hair'd Laddie"-the shepherdess sings. "In April when primroses deck the sweet plain"-all nature seems in harmony. But here all is dulness and mo notony, "We call on pleasure-and around A mocking world repeats the sound!" Even the emigrant seems to have forgotten his native mountains; and in the five years in which I have sojourned in America, I have not once heard "Roslin Castle" sung by a swain on a blithe summer's day. Here they are all dull plodding farmers, as devoid of sober melody as the huge forests which surround them are void of grace and beauty: talk to them of poetry and music, and they will sit with sad civility, "as silent as Pygmalion's wife." Now and then you may hear a hoarse raven of an old woodchopper in the barroom of a filthy tavern, roaring in discordant notes, "Yankee Doodle:" or, in a church or meeting-house, you may behold fifteen or twenty men and women picked out of the congregation, stuck up in a particular part of the house and singing the praises of redeeming love, with the voices of so many stentors. The The memory of a native Scotsman retraces back those halcyon days, when gladness filled the corn-field-when sober mirth and glee crowned the maiden feast-when the song went merrily round at Yule, to chase away the winter frosts; and coming to the day of universal rest from labour, calls to mind the venerable precentor with his well-remembered solemn tunes, where old and young, infancy and advanced age, willingly joined together in singing HIS praise-where the fiddle and the flute, the harp and the organ, were uselesswhere no set people stood up in a corner, as if to say, 66 we, the aristocracy of this congregation, can offer a sweeter with our melodious voices so much better and more acceptable sacrifice than you, attuned than yours." It may, perhaps, appear irreverend in me, to say a word of sacred music in an essay intended for Scottish songs; but I thought the contrast would not be complete without this allusion. A late esLiterature," uses a fine argument in sayist "On vulgar prejudices against favour of native poetry. "Let us ask," says he, "has Britain a greater claim to distinction among the nations of the world, from any one circumstance, however celebrated it be in arts and arms, than from its being the birthplace of Shakspeare? And if the celebration of the anniversary of Waterloo be held in the farthest settlements of India, so is the anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, the pastoral poet of Scotland : "Encamped by Indian rivers wild, |