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front; a fine forehead, broad nostrils; lively and piercing eyes; and a flowing mane, which nearly conceals his round ears, and extends over the shoulders, adding great dignity to his noble appearance. His body is a perfect model of strength joined with activity, When enraged, his forehead is furrowed with deep wrinkles; he erects this mane from an excess of the electric fluid. His eye-balls roll, and from the same cause flash fire. All the muscles of the lower jaw quiver. His long bushy tail terribly strikes backwards and forwards against his sides. He prepares his fore foot to, strike, the claws being extended to the extent of one's little finger, and with a growl, which discovers his huge teeth, and tongue covered with large reversed points, he attacks his adversaries, however numerous, There is no retreat, and the strongest spears held forth by intrepid huntsmen are shivered into atoms, whilst those not destined to receive the shock of his furious assault, coming upon his flanks, stab him with their weapons. All animals but man refuse to confront his power, Even when vanquished by the address of his adversaries, and wounded, he will not turn himself to flight, but retreats by falling back, still contending with assailing enemies.

Lions were formerly more abunde ant than now. Pliny relates, that Quintus Scaevola was the first who exhibited several of these animals at the same time in the circus, when he was edile; that Scilla, during his prætorship, made an hundred fight together, being all of them

princes of the same country think they make a mighty present by sending to European potentates one or two lions. The same abundance continued for some time during the emperors; but it appears that this diminished during the second century, since Europe already regarded it as a great magnificence on the part of Marcus Aurelius to have shewn an hundred lions at a time, when he triumphed over the Marcomani. To augment the number, a law was made to prevent the hunt of the lion. The great number of lions probably occasioned many of them to be tamed, and pushed their education to a pitch which might astonish us, although we haveseveral very striking examples in our times. Hanno, the Carthaginian, was the first who tamed the lion, and his fellow citizens condemned him to death, saying, that the commonwealth had every thing to dread from one who knew how to subdue such ferocity.' Antony, the triumvir, having seated by his side the actress Cytheria, was drawn in his car by lions: Prodigious excess,' says Pliny, more horrible than all the horrors of these melancholy times."'

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Let us now descend to the lion of the French menagerie. He was born at Senegal, and, being taken very young, was brought up in the country with a little spaniel of the same age. After some time, these two animals were given to the director of the East India company, who sent them to France, and made a present of them to the government: they were landed at l'Orient, and arrived at Versailles on the twenty

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resses, they were bound together with a mutual affection. This friendship between animals of a different species and opposite dispositions is not uncommon, but it is never formed except among those who live with man, and always begins by the common sentiment of his benefits.

At his arrival in France, the lion was gentle and as fawning as his companion; no one feared to approach him, and he returned all the caresses which he received: but soured, probably by his captivity, his original ferocity was not slow in appearing, and entirely unfolding itself with his age; faithful, however, to his keeper, he did not cease to shew his gratitude to him. It was feared that he would have perished in the process of cutting his teeth; he is the only lion brought young to the menagerie who has survived this pericd, which is always full of danger to these animals. He soon experienced another peril; one of his claws grew into the flesh, and would have killed him, had not an operation been performed; the claw was cut, the matter was let out by the keeper, and the animal recovered; he bore this operation very willingly. His removal to the Botanical Garden, which took place about two years since, was not attended with any difficulty; he was put into a great cage, used for removing beasts from one den to another; and his dog, being fastened to one of the bars, foliowed him in the same carriage: the same prison received them at their arrival.

There this noble animal was exhibited in the plenitude of his strength and vigour; he had reached his full growth, and his long captivity had not been able to impair his native dignity. His figure was awful and

tween the large and middling species of lions. He was six feet and a half iong, and three feet two inches high. A thick mane covered his head, and the front parts of his body, which was all nerve and muscle, The hue of his skin, a bright fawn colour on a dark ground, gave additional fire to his motions, and to the expression of his features; but through this fierceness appeared an air of gentleness cultivated by the sense of benefits, and the enjoyments of friendship. His food was horseflesh. His allowance was about fifteen pounds a day. He took it in his claws, tore it with his teeth, and swallowed it without chewing. The dog, his companion, eat bread, and gnawed the bones that the lion left him. Twice in the day, commonly morning and evening, he raised his thundering voice, as if he wished to give his lungs this salutary exercise. If the sky was overcast with thick clouds, he roared several times, as if presaging a storm: during the storm he was silent. Misfortune had strengthened the tie formed in childhood; deprived of the pleasures of love, he felt those of friendship the more strongly. He lavished on his dog the most tender caresses; the dog received and returned them without fear and without distrust: his natural gaiety, his frank and epen air, tempered the grave and serious disposition of the lion. He often threw himself upon his mane, and playfully bit his ears. The lion bent down his head, as taking part in his sport. Often he himself invited him to play, by putting him on his back, and pressing him between his paws. Neither the crowd that surrounded him, nor the new objects continu❤ ally passing before his eyes; nothing, in short, could take him from the

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he it was whom he wished first to bottom of his den, looked at the hole
See again.
where he had got out, walked away,
and returned again. When he came
back, the dog saw his companion.
with pleasure; but his last look
seemed to say to the keeper, I love
you most.' Some time after the
removal of the lion and his dog to
the Menagerie of the Museum, the
tender bond which united these ani
mals was broken. The dog con-
tracted the mange: this was per
ceived too late to be remedied; he
died. The lion, deprived of his
friend, called him incessantly in dis-
mal roarings; he soon fell into a
deep melancholy; every thing dis-
gusted him; his strength and his
voice grew weaker by degrees. Ap-
prehensive of his sinking, they en-
deavoured to divert his grief by pre-
senting him with another dog. One
was sought for, resembling his friend
in shape and colour. When such an
one had been found, it was brought
before the grating of the den. The
lion fixed him with a sparkling eye;
he uttered a tremendous roar, and,
with his paws extended, and his claws
unfolded, seemed ready to dart for-
wards. It was supposed, from this
sudden and violent passion, that the
instinct of the beast had been de
ceived, and that, in his fury, he only
wished to throw himself on the per-
son who detained his beloved dog;
hence he was abandoned to him with-
out hesitation. The dog, thrown
into the den, shuddered with dread;
he would have escaped, but the lion
seized him with his paw, and killed
him in an instant*.

Their meals when given by their keeper only suspended this intimacy for a moment. They then sepa rated to receive their several portions, and neither dared then to invade the property of the other. This interesting peace was, however, sometimes troubled by those who came to enjoy, and who ought to have respected it. Pieces of bread, thrown through the bars of the den, became almost always a subject of discord. The dog, regarding all that came from the hand of visitors as property belonging to him alone, seized it with extreme eagerness, If the lion made a motion towards it, he threw himself upon him, and bit his ear with such fury, that he often drew blood. The lion contented himself with putting aside his unreasonable friend with his paw. But these storms were only transient. The lion never abandoned himself to anger, and the dog soon recovered from his passion. But there was in their mutual attachment a remarkable shade of difference, which explains the caprices and humours of the one, and the unalterable kindness of the other. Independent on the earth, proud, and wild by nature, the lion, become solitary and a captive, had associated to himself a friend. He loved his friend for his own sake, and was attached to him chiefly. The dog, equally affectionate, loved him also; but before he had given himself to the lion, nature had given him to man. Faithful to his instinct, he ran with eagerness to meet him, who, opening the door

of bie psison restored bim

A similar regard had been observed in old Nero in the Tower.

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IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.

deprived from illness of his keeper, rior, with what sovereign contempt he became sulky, took food sparinge would he view the green laurel of ly, and evidently pined; but when victory, or the proud trophy of fame! his former keeper was restored, he could I offer the brilliant reward, looked cheerful, fawned about him, he would spurn it from him with and accepted his food as formerly. indignant arm, and exclaim, What

The lions in the Tower of London are such splendid triffes as these to have many of them lived from se- an immortal mind?' venty to eighty years* ; probably in . -- Could I call from the invisible the wilds of Africa, in their native regions the mind that once informstate, they may attain to an hundred ed the body of the ambitious statesyears.

man, and tender him an imperial crown, with an averted eye, which would dart one of the keenest glances

of scorn, he would cry out, Take SOLITARY WALKS

from my sight that fascinating bauþle! let it cause the head of some earthly tyrant to ach: such gewe

gaws are infinitely beneath the noBY JOHN WEBB.

tice of immaterial beings.--Could a soul that once animated the carcase

of a miser appear to me, and it were WALK III.

in my power to command fortune A raven from some greedy vauk,

to present him with the riches of Amid the cloister'd gloom,

Peruvian mines, and all the treaBids me, and 'tis a solemn thought! sures that are hid in the mountains Reflect upon the tomb.'

of Golconda; with looks not to be The tomb ! the consecrated dome, The temple raised to peace!

delineated by the pencil of the The port that to its friendly home painter, por described by the fancy Compels the human race!'

of the poet, he would say- Let me CUNNINGHAM.

not behold that white and yellow THE sun was sinking below the earth. Gold and silver pass not horizon, and the tower of the adja- current in the country where I dwell. cent church was catching 'the last The deity of gold, which I worsmiles of day,' when I began my shipped below, can gain no admisthird ramble among the tombs. 1 sion to realms where matter never was serious-such a frame of mind enters. is indispensable in one who walks After indulging the reflecting forth to meditate among the nations mood a while, my attention was diof the dead. As I had a few minutes verted by the spot where my ancestors before quitted the active scenes of repose, not in dull cold marble,'

life, I was led to make these reflec- but in the gelid bosom of mother * tions. What are all the riches, ho- earth. Though they filled no cone

nours, and enjoyments of this world spicuous situation in the world, never to one of those lifeless skeletons glittered in the gay circles of the who tenant the gloomy asylum be great, nor acquired the wreath of neath? Could I summon from the glory in the ensanguined field; * vasty deep' the spirit of a war- though no eloquence of theirs e'er

charmed the listening senate, nor

did their hands e'er guide the heln Dr. Shaw.

of state ; yet they were useful mem

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bers of society, and acted a decent part in the chequered scene of humble life;

And if their country stood not by their skill, At least their follies never wrought her

fall.'

COWPER

They had their foibles, and where is the race of men who have not? Too partial to company, and too fond of a cheerful glass, they cer◄ tainly were, and ofttimes exhilarated their minds and brightened their ideas, by pouring forth libations to

Let the bigot, if he please, condemn me for excess of charity, in consigning this hapless idiot to mansions of rest, and represent our al mighty Master as one who expects to 'reap where he sowed not.' These are not my religious tenets.

Poor youth! thy talent was not misimproved-thou possest none. In thy solemn audit, thou wilt never have to account for conscience stifled, faith profaned, privileges abused, opportunities neglected, and abilities prostituted. In that awful

doom!'

And leave to Mercy and to God your period, the Voltaires, the Boling brokes, and the Humes of the last century, will have abundant reason to envy thee,

DODDRIDGE.

• Bacchus, purple god of joyous wit,
With brow solute, and ever-laughing eye.'

YOUNG.

But here let me pause !— Rest in peace, ye sacred relics of my progenitors! may no unhallowed pen of mine record your frailties, but cover your faults with a mantle of charity,

sportlings, ever cause thy breast to palpitate with delight. Cut off by Heaven from the pleasures of life, like a solitary pilgrim, thou didst sojourn through a vale of tears, the ridicule of foolish men, the sport of mischievous boys, till death, the friend of the wretch who knows no friend, summoned thee to another and a better world.'

Beneath a turf of grass, that waved to the breeze of evening, lay poor idiotic Samuel, whose vacuity of rea

son

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Did pleasure to the gay dispense,
But pity to the wise."

Poor youth, how circumscribed were thy joys! how complicated were thy sorrows! The sweets of friendship, the delights of social in tercourse, the felicities of the soft attachment, and bliss of conjugal affection, were unknown to thee! No tender friend poured the balm of consolation into thy wounded mind: no sprightly circle im. proved thy intellectual faculties, by the attractive charms of conversation: the fascinating smiles of a be

• When pointed lightnings from the wrathful
Judge

Shall singe their laurels, and the men
Who thought they few so high, shall fall so
low.'
STANDEN

I had no sooner departed from one grave, than another, the restingbed of an old soldier, pressed upon my attention, whose exploits, had he moved in an higher sphere, would doubtless have given an additional lustre to the annals of British valour. But I may justly observe with Southey,

loved chient

nevet cave thuy heart

Of unrecorded name
Dy'd the mean man;'

and but for this humble memorial

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