fervent, so tender, that it is scarcely surprising that it should sometimes beget that horrid accompaniment-jealousy, with which in our nobler bosoms it is so often associated. Nor is it only of their own species that Dogs are jealous ; any intruder that appears to share the regard which they had been accustomed to consider exclusively their own, becomes an object of fierce hatred. M. Blaze mentions a Dog which died of consumption, because its mistress received home an infant that had been put out to nurse. He growled whenever he saw her kiss the child. In 1841, a bull-dog in Paris flew upon and killed a child of six years old, in the arms of his mother; the only reason for this ferocity being that the little fellow had been in the habit of caressing another Dog in the sight of the savage animal, which had always, before this, been kept chained.

As to pride, it is well known in the East that the Elephant receives pleasure from his gorgeous trappings, and moves with a more stately step, and with manifest appreciation of his honours, when bedizened in scarlet and gold. Pliny relates that one of the Elephants of Antiochus, having been deprived of his silver ornaments for refusing to sound the depth of a river, rejected his food, and actually died under the sense of his disgrace.

The same intelligent creature shall afford us an illustration of sympathy, so strong as to overcome even the obedience habitual to the animal. Bishop Heber saw an old half-starved Elephant fall under his work, and being unable to rise, another of very large size was brought to assist him. "I was much struck," says the good Prelate, "with the almost human expression of surprise, alarm, and perplexity in his countenance, when he approached his fallen companion. They fastened a chain round his neck and the body of the sick beast, and urged him in all ways, by

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encouragement and blows, to drag him up, even thrusting spears into his flanks. He pulled stoutly for a minute; but on the first groan his companion gave, he stopped short, and turned fiercely round with a loud roar, and with his trunk and fore-feet began to attempt to loosen the chain from his neck."

Dr. Abel, in his minute account of the manners of a Bornean Orang, speaks of the fits of passionate anger into which he would sometimes fall. "If repeatedly refused an orange, when he attempted to take it, he would shriek violently, and swing furiously about the ropes; then return and endeavour to obtain it: if again refused, he would roll for some time like an angry child upon the deck, uttering the most piercing screams, and then suddenly starting up, rush furiously over the side of the ship, and disappear. On first witnessing this act, we thought he had thrown himself into the sea; but on a search being made we found him concealed under the chains."

The worthy Doctor says that this act, in a rational being, would have been called the threatening of suicide. Was it anything else in this Ape? Was not the act evidently the result of a process of reasoning, founded on his observation of the value his master set on him, and comprehending the sorrow which the supposed loss would produce? The cautiousness which determined that it should be only a deceptive loss was a refinement of intellect, almost human; it reminds us of that inimitable line of Burns's—

"Spak o' loupin' owre a linn."

A kindred animal-the Siamang-shall afford us an example of a mental principle very like conscience. The Dog and Cat, however, often display its workings as well. In Mr. Bennet's " Wanderings," there is an account of this

Ape, which he was keeping. In the cabin, there was a piece of soap, which had excited the Siamang's cupidity, and for the abstraction of which he had been several times One day Mr. Bennet, while engaged in writing, happened to see the Siamang engaged in his thievish practices. "I watched him," says the observer, "without his perceiving that I did so; he occasionally cast a furtive glance towards the place where I sat. I pretended to write; he seeing me busily engaged, took up the soap and moved away with it in his paw. When he had walked half the length of the cabin, I spoke quietly, without frightening him. The instant he found I saw him, he walked back again, and deposited the soap nearly in the same place whence he had taken it; thus betraying, both by his first and last actions, a consciousness of having done wrong."

We shall close these anecdotes with a very touching one, illustrative at once of the most tender and faithful love, and of the deepest sorrow. After the Battle of Aughrim, the bodies of the Irish were left where they fell, to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field. Among them was an Irish officer, who was killed and stripped in the battle. But his faithful Dog discovered his remains, and guarded the body day and night; and though he fed with other dogs on the slain around, yet he would not allow them or anything else to touch the body of his master. When all the dead bodies were consumed, the other dogs departed; but this one used to go in the night to the adjacent villages for food, and presently return to the place where his master's bones only were then left. Thus he continued from July, when the battle was fought, till January following, when one of Colonel Foulk's soldiers, who was quartered in the neighbourhood, happening to go near the spot, the Dog, fearing he came to disturb his master's bones, rushed upon the man,

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who unslung his musket on the instant, and shot the poor animal dead. He expired faithful as he had lived.

We

Here we take a respectful leave of our readers. have sought to lead them, rapidly but not unobservantly, through the wide range of animated being. Our course has been like that of a railway-passenger through a varied and fertile country: it is but a small portion of the expanse that falls under his brief and rapid glances, but then this affords him a fair sample of the whole. We have left untouched multitudes of details, not less interesting in themselves, nor less suggestive than those which we have noticed; but these may suffice to be the spokesmen of the vast band, who with one accord render unceasing praisenot less eloquent because silent to the ear of sense-unto Him who made them all for His own glory. Let us listen to and join in their song-the song of "every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them:”—

"BLESSING, AND HONOUR, AND GLORY, AND POWER, BE UNTO HIM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND UNTO THE LAMB, FOR EVER AND EVER!"

"THOU ART WORTHY, O Lord, to receive glory, and HONOUR, AND POWER; FOR THOU HAST CREATED ALL THINGS, AND FOR THY PLEASURE THEY ARE, AND WERE CREATED!" P. H. G.