observed him, and detaching a small troop, to | rudder would allow, seemed to be busy and did guard the entrance, kept their posts. They could nothing. So the elephants went home. They be seen collecting large stones, under the active had struck, and declined working out of business superintendence of an old gray-headed baboon, hours. Next morning, on the way to work, one who appeared to be issuing his orders as a gen- elephant was again brought, and pushed the ruderal. The soldiers rushed to the attack, when der down into the water, almost as a man might down came an avalanche of enormous stones, and push a walking-stick. Britons left baboons the masters of the situation. Of monkey-tricks, the Indians have an amusing fable. A man went on a journey with a monkey and a goat, and he took with him, for his refreshment, rice and curds. Arrived at a tank, the man resolved to bathe and dine. While he was in his bath, the monkey ate his dinner, and, having wiped his mouth and paws on the goat's beard, he left the goat to settle his account. When the man came out of the bath, and found his dinner gone, it was quite easy to see, by the goat's beard, who had stolen it. Stories illustrative of the kindness, gratitude; and kindred feelings of which animals are capable, have no end; one follows on another; for in fact, the animals, bird, beast, and fish, are all good fellows, if you come to know them properly. A rat tamed by a prisoner at Genf slept in his bosom. Punished for some fault, it ran away, but its anger or its fear died and its love lived on: in a month it returned. The prisoner was released, and in the joy of liberty it did not come into his mind to take his old companion with him. The rat coiled itself up in some old clothes left by his friend, all that was left of him, abstained from food, and died in three days. A surgeon at Dover saw in the streets a wound The monkey was no ass. The sense of asses is not rated very high; but that is a mistake about them. They are shrewder people than we take them for, and kind-hearted as well. A poor hig-ed terrier, and like a true man took it home with gler, living near Hawick, had an ass for his only him, cured it in two days, and let it go. The companion and partner in the business. The terrier ran home, resolved to pay the doctor by higgler being palsied, was accustomed to assist installments. For many succeeding weeks he paid himself often upon the road, by holding to the a daily visit to the surgery, wagged his tail vioass's tail. Once, on their travels, during a severe lently for some minutes and departed. Tailwinter, man and ass were plunged into a snow-wagging is dog's money, and when this dog wreath; near Rule Water. After a hard struggle, thought that he had paid in his own coin a prothe ass got out; but, knowing that his helpless per doctor's bill, the daily visit to the surgery was master was still buried, he made his way to him, discontinued. and placed himself so that his tail lay ready to his partner's hand. The higgler grasped it, and was dragged out to a place of safety. Zoologically speaking, it ought not to be thought disrespectful in a man to call his friend " an ass." Elephants, again. They show their good taste, and are very fond of children. Dr. Darwin says: The keeper of an elephant, in his journey in India, sometimes leaves him fixed to the ground by a length of chain, while he goes into the woods to collect food for him; and, by way of reciprocal attention, asks the elephant to mind his child -a child unable to walk-while he is gone. The animal defends it; lets it creep about his legs; and, when it creeps to the extremity of the chain, he gently wraps his trunk about the infant's body, and brings it again into the middle of the circle, And now we can not clear our minds of clephants without unburthening a story which we have from a tale-teller with Indian experience, and which we imagine to be now first told in print. It causes us to feel that in a Parliament of animals, elephants would have divided in favor of a ten-hours bill. There was a large ship's rudder to be floated; men were busy about it one evening, when a file of elephants were passing, on the way home from work, and it was proposed and carried that an elephant might as well save them their pains, and push the thing into the water for them. So an elephant was brought, and put his head down, and appeared to push with might, but not a beam stirred. Another was brought to help him, with the same result; and finally, as many elephants as the 1 AN EPISODE OF THE ITALIAN REVO DURI LUTION. URING my residence at London in the early part of 1848, I became acquainted with Count and his friend Del Uomo, both Italians. They had settled at London about two years previously, and were remarkable for the strength of attachment subsisting between them. I believe it was four years since they had left Lombardy, and they had clung together in exile closer than brothers. Del Uomo was several years the senior. His age might be about thirty; and a nobler looking Italian I never met with. There was a majesty in his fine manly form, and a dignity in his bearing, that impressed every body at first sight. His countenance was peculiarly handsome, yet shaded with an expression of habitual melancholy. His piercing black eyes, and long black hair, and flowing beard, added to the interest of his aspect. His influence over his young companion was most extraordinary. Count regarded him as friend, brother, father. Whatever Del Uomo did or said was right in his eyes; and yet on the vital subject of religion the two were diametrically opposed. At the time in question, Italy was in a flame of war, and refugee Italians were hurrying from all parts of the world to fight in what they deemed a righteous cause. For reasons not necessary to be named, Count could not himself join his fellow-patriots; but his pen and his purse were devoted to the cause. Del Uomo, however, at once prepared to leave for the seat of war. "I have a father, mother, and sisters,” said he, "who | done aught against Austria." He was searched, are exposed to all the horrors of war, and for and the letter given him to deliver found in his them, as well as for my poor bleeding country, pocket. It was opened, and proved to be a treamy sword must be drawn." His friend was al- sonable correspondence addressed to one known most heartbroken to part with him, but there was as a conspirator. Vain all explanation of the no alternative. Well do I remember the morning manner in which it came into his possessionwhen Del Uomo left London. Numbers of Ital- vain all the frantic prayers for mercy by his ians assembled to bid him farewell, and the part- agonized family. The ruthless Austrians only ing scene was deeply affecting. When I myself required a fair-seeming pretext to put so distinwrung his hand, and bade God speed him, I felt guished an enemy to death, and here it was. the subtle involuntary presentiment that he would Whether the general in command did or did not be shot, and mentioned it to my friends at the believe Del Uomo guilty, admits of some doubt; time. Little, however, did I think in what man- but that mattered not, so far as his doom was ner he would meet his end. concerned. Little respite-no mercy. He was condemned to be shot on the spot. The priest, hi confessor, was so satisfied of his innocency, tha. he even knelt to the Austrian general, imploring pardon, or at least a respite till the truth could be investigated; but the general only answered, "He dies!" Many months rolled on, with varying success to the arms of Italy. I frequently heard tidings of Del Uomo from his friend. The gallant fellow had obtained a commission in a regiment of cavalry, and was said to have distinguished himself in every action. Ere the close of the campaign, his regiment was almost annihilated, but he himself escaped, I believe, without a wound. Austria triumphed, and Italy was bound in chains heavier than ever. One morning, Count received a parcel of letters from Italy, the perusal of which threw him into a state of distraction. It was two or three days ere I learned their full import-detailing the following intelligence of the betrayal of Del Uomo to his enemies, and his cruel death. The parents and family of Del Uomo remained in Lombardy-he himself being in security in some other part of Italy. He was seized with an intense desire to see them once more, and at all hazards determined to indulge in this natural yearning. He had fought openly and manfully against the Austrians, and, however merciless they might be, he did not think they would have sufficient colorable excuse to put him to death, even if he were recognized and seized. Probably he was correct in this, but he had not reckoned on the depths of perfidy to which they would descend. Del Uomo behaved like a Christian and a hero. He prayed fervently to God to receive his soul. Death he feared not in itself, but the bitterness of such a death as this to his poor family was indeed an awful trial. He was led out to the fatal spot, and there he embraced his relatives for the last time. He gave his watch to his father, his handkerchief to a sister, and bequeathed other little mementoes to his friends. His poor mother swooned away, but his father and one or two sisters stood by him till all was over. They offered to bind his eyes, but he refused. "No," said he, "I am not afraid to look upon death. I will enter eternity with open eyes." And he looked his farewell at his friends, at the glorious orb of day, at the landscape, at the soil of Italy, so soon to be watered with his blood; then he drew himself to his full height, bared his breast, and, with flashing eyes, cried, "Fire, soldiers! Long live Italy!" Nine balls pierced him, and he ceased to breathe. Peace to the memory of Del Uomo! THE MIGHTY MAGICIAN. Waving a wand above his head uplifted; It fill'd the air with music as it leapt, Merrily bounding over hill and hollow; And swiftly to the distant plain it swept, Gurgling a challenge to the birds to follow. Onward and onward, parting as it ran A thousand streamlets from the parent river, Hardly had he set foot in the Lombard ter- HE stood upon the summit of a mount, ritory, ere he was recognized by a creature of Austria, who instantly planned his destruction. Accosting Del Uomo, this spy inquired whether he were not about to visit such a town? (I believe, the very town where his parents dwelt.) The unsuspicious fellow replied in the affirmative. “Then," said the other, "would you do me the favor to deliver this letter to a friend of mine, there resident? I have no other opportunity to send it, and shall be infinitely obliged." Del Uomo, with his usual kindliness of disposition, instantly consented, and put the letter into his pocket, without even looking at the superscription. From that moment his doom was sealed, and he went as a victim to the slaughter. No sooner had he embraced his family than the bloodhounds of Austria were on his track, and to his amazement, he was seized, and accused of being engaged in a traitorous design. He indignantly denied it. “I fought in open battle against you, man to man, sword to sword," replied he; "but the war is over, and never since have I Wooing the sunlight on its breast to quiver With wholesome aliment, its seeds to nourish; And bidding golden harvests spring and flourish Gather'd the noble, and enrich'd the humble; Throng'd with the happy in their various ranks, They rear'd proud domes that ages scarce could crumbla Beheld the world, with boundless plenty teeming, And his eye kindled with a sense of might, Proudly, yet softly, at the prospect gleaming. "I've wrought," he cried, "rich blessings for mankind And Fame will waft upon her wings of wind I've thrill'd with happiness the hearts of mourners; The deeds of PEACE to earth's remotest co ners!" SOM TWO KINDS OF HONESTY. OME few years ago, there resided in Long Acre an eccentric old Jew, named Jacob Benjamin: he kept a seed shop, in which he likewise carried on-not a common thing, we believe, in London-the sale of meal, and had risen from the lowest dregs of poverty, by industry and self-denial, till he grew to be an affluent tradesman. He was, indeed, a rich man; for as he had neither wife nor child to spend his money, nor kith nor kin to borrow it of him, he had a great deal more than he knew what to do with. Lavish it on himself he could not, for his early habits stuck to him, and his wants were few. He was always clean and decent in his dress, but he had no taste for elegance or splendor in any form, nor had even the pleasures of the table any charms for him; so that, though he was no miser, his money kept on accumulating, while it occurred to him now and then to wonder what he should do with it hereafter. One would think he need not have wondered long, when there were so many people suffering from the want of what he abounded in; but Mr. Benjamin, honest man, had his crotchets like other folks. In the first place, he had less sympathy with poverty than might have been expected, considering how poor he had once been himself; but he had a theory, just in the main, though by no means without its exceptions-that the indigent have generally themselves to thank for their privations. Judging from his own experience, he believed that there was bread for every body that would take the trouble of earning it; and as he had had little difficulty in resisting temptation himself, and was not philosopher enough to allow for the varieties of human character, he had small compassion for those who injured their prospects by yielding to it. Then he had found, on more than one occasion, that even to the apparently well-doing, assistance was not always servicea ble. Endeavor was relaxed, and gratuities, once received, were looked for again. Doubtless, part of this evil result was to be sought in Mr. Benjamin's own defective mode of proceeding; but I repeat, he was no philosopher, and in matters of this sort he did not see much farther than his nose, which was, however, a very long one. woman, In the mean time, he kept on the even tenor of his way, standing behind his counter, and serving his customers, assisted by a young woman called Leah Leet, who acted as his shopand in whom, on the whole, he felt more interest than in any body else in the world, insomuch that it even sometimes glanced across his mind, whether he should not make her the heiress of all his wealth. He never, however, gave her the least reason to expect such a thing, being himself incapable of conceiving that, if he entertained the notion, he ought to prepare her by education for the good fortune that awaited her. But he neither perceived this necessity, nor, if he had, would he have liked to lose the services of a person he had been so long accustomed to. At length, one day a new idea struck him. He had been reading the story of his namesake, Benjamin, in the Old Testament, and the question occurred to him, how many among his purchasers of the poorer class-and all who came to his shop personally were of that class-would bring back a piece of money they might find among their meal, and he thought he should like to try a few of them that were his regular customers. The experiment would amuse his mind, and the money he might lose by it he did not care for. So he began with shillings, slipping one among the flour before he handed it to the purchaser. But the shillings never came back-perhaps people did not think so small a sum worth returning; so he went on to half-crowns and crowns, and now and then, în very particular cases, he even ventured a guinea; but it was always with the same luck, and the longer he tried, the more he distrusted there being any honesty in the world, and the more disposed he felt to leave all his money to Leah Leet, who had lived with him so long, and to his belief, had never wronged him of a penny. "What's this you have put into the gruel, Mary?" said a pale, sickly-looking man, one evening, taking something out of his mouth, which he held toward the feeble gleams emitted by a farthing rush-light standing on the mantlepiece. "What is it, father?" inquired a young girl, approaching him. "Isn't the gruel good?" "It's good enough," replied the man; "but here's something in it: it's a shilling, I believe." "It's a guinea, I declare!" exclaimed the girl, as she took the coin from him and examined it nearer the light. 66 A guinea!" repeated the man; "well, that's the first bit of luck I've had these seven years or more. It never could have come when we wanted worse. Show it us here, Mary." To public charities he sometimes subscribed liberally; but his hand was frequently withheld, by a doubt regarding the judicious expenditure of the funds, and this doubt was especially fortified after chancing to see one day, as he was passing the Crown and Anchor Tavern, a concourse of gentlemen turn out, with very flushed faces, who had been dining together for the benefit of some savages in the Southern Pacific Ocean, accused of devouring human flesh-ait practice so abhorrent to Mr. Benjamin, that he had subscribed for their conversion. But failing to perceive the connection betwixt the dinner and that desirable consummation, his name appeared henceforth less frequently in printed lists, and he felt more uncertain than before as to what branch of unknown posterity he should bequeath his fortune. "But it's not ours, father," said Mary. "I paid away the last shilling we had for the meal, and here's the change." "God has sent it us, girl! He saw our distress, and He sent it us in His mercy!" said the man, grasping the piece of gold with his thin, bony fingers. "It must be Mr. Benjamin's," returned she. "He must have dropped it into the meal-tub that and partly from indolence, he allowed them to stands by the counter." "How do you know that?" inquired the man with an impatient tone and a half-angry glance. "How can you tell how it came into the gruel? Perhaps it was lying at the bottom of the basin, or at the bottom of the sauce-pan. Most likely it was." run such long accounts, that they were apt to overlook the debt altogether in their calculations, and to take refuge in bankruptcy when the demand was pressed and the supply of goods withheld-his negligence thus proving, in its results, as injurious to them as to himself. Five hundred pounds embarked in a scheme projected by a too “Oh, no, father,” said Mary: “it is long since sanguine friend, for establishing a local newswe had a guinea." "A guinea that we knew of; but I've had plenty in my time, and how do you know this is not one we had overlooked?" "We've wanted a guinea too much to overlook one," answered she. "But never mind, father; eat your gruel, and don't think of it: your cheeks are getting quite red with talking so, and you won't be able to sleep when you go to bed." "I don't expect to sleep," said the man, peevishly; "I never do sleep." "I think you will, after that nice gruel!" said Mary, throwing her arms round his neck, and tenderly kissing his cheek. "And a guinea in it to give it a relish, too!" returned the father, with a faint smile and an expression of archness, betokening an inner nature very different from the exterior which sorrow and poverty had encrusted on it. His daughter then proposed that he should go to bed; and having assisted him to undress, and arranged her little household matters, she retired behind a tattered, drab-colored curtain which shaded her own mattress, and laid herself down to rest. The apartment in which this little scene occurred, was in the attic story of a mean house, situated in one of the narrow courts or alleys betwixt the Strand and Drury-lane. The furniture it contained was of the poorest description; the cracked window-panes were coated with dust; and the scanty fire in the grate, although the evening was cold enough to make a large one desirable-all combined to testify to the poverty of the inhabitants. It was a sorry retreat for declining years and sickness, and a sad and cheerless home for the fresh cheek and glad hopes of youth; and all the worse, that neither father nor daughter was to the manner born;" for poor John Glegg had, as he said, had plenty of guineas in his time; at least, what should have been plenty, had they been wisely husbanded. But John, to describe the thing as he saw it himself, had always "had luck against him." It did not signify what he undertook, his undertakings invariably turned out ill. 66 He was born in Scotland, and had passed a great portion of his life there; but, unfortunately for him, he had no Scotch blood in his veins, or he might have been blessed with some small modicum of the caution for which that nation is said to be distinguished. His father had been a cooper, and when quite a young man, John had succeeded to a well-established business in Aberdeen. His principal commerce consisted in furnishing the retail-dealers with casks, wherein to pack their dried fish; but partly from good-nature, paper, which "died ere it was born;" and a fire, occurring at a time that John had omitted to renew his insurance, had seriously damaged his resources, when some matter of business having taken him to the Isle of Man, he was agreeably surprised to find that his branch of trade, which had of late years been alarmingly declining in Aberdeen, was there in the most flourishing condition. Delighted with the prospect this state of affairs opened, and eager to quit the spot where misfortune had so unrelentingly pursued him, John, having first secured a house at Ramsay, returned to fetch his wife, children, and merchandise, to this new home. Having freighted a small vessel for their conveyance, he expected to be deposited at his own door; but he had unhappily forgotten to ascertain the character of the captain, who, under pretense that, if he entered the harbor, he should probably be windbound for several weeks, persuaded them to go ashore in a small boat, promising to lie-to till they had landed their goods; but the boat had no sooner returned to the ship, than, spreading his sails to the wind, he was soon out of sight, leaving John and his family on the beach, with -to recur to his own phraseology—“ nothing but what they stood up in." Having with some difficulty found shelter for the night, they proceeded on the following morning in a boat to Ramsay; but here it was found that, owing to some informality, the people who had possession of the house refused to give it up, and the wanderers were obliged to take refuge in an inn. The next thing was to pursue, and recover the lost goods; but some weeks elapsed before an opportunity of doing so could be found; and at length, when John did reach Liverpool, the captain had left it, carrying away with him a considerable share of the property. With the remainder, John, after many expenses and delays, returned to the island, and resumed his business. But he soon discovered to his cost, that the calculations he had made were quite fallacious, owing to his having neglected to inquire whether the late prosperous season had been a normal or an exceptional one. Unfortunately, it was the latter; and several very unfavorable ones that succeeded reduced the family to great distress, and finally to utter ruin. Relinquishing his shop and his goods to his creditors, John Glegg, heart-sick and weary, sought a refuge in London-a proceeding to which he was urged by no prudential motives, but rather by the desire to fly as far as possible from the scenes of his vexations and disappointments, and because he had heard that the metropolis was a place in which a man might conceal his poverty, and suffer and starve at his ease, untroubled by impertinent curiosity or officious benevolence; and, above all, believing it to be the spot where he was least likely to fall in with any of his former acquaintance. But here a new calamity awaited him, worse than all the rest. A fever broke out in the closely-populated neighborhood in which they had fixed their abode, and first two of his three children took it, and died; and then himself and his wife-rendered meet subjects for infection by anxiety of mind and poor living-were attacked with the disease. He recovered; at least he survived, though with an enfeebled constitution, but he lost his wife, a wise and patient woman, who had been his comforter and sustainer through all his misfortunes-misfortunes which, after vainly endeavoring to avert, she supported with heroic and uncomplaining fortitude; but dying, she left him a precious legacy in Mary, who, with a fine nature, and the benefit of her mother's precept and example, had been to him ever since a treasure of filial duty and tenderness. A faint light dawned through the dirty window on the morning succeeding the little event with which we opened our story, when Mary rose softly from her humble couch, and stepping lightly to where her father's clothes lay on a chair, at the foot of his bed, she put her hand into his waistcoat-pocket, and, extracting therefrom the guinea which had been found in the gruel the preceding evening, she transferred it to her own. She then dressed herself, and having ascertained that her father still slept, she quietly left the room. The hour was yet so early, and the streets so deserted, that Mary almost trembled to find herself in them alone; but she was anxious to do what she considered her duty without the pain of contention. John Glegg was naturally an honest and well-intentioned man, but the weakness that had blasted his life adhered to him still. They were doubtless in terrible need of the guinea, and since it was not by any means certain that the real owner would be found, he saw no great harm in appropriating it; but Mary wasted no casuistry on the matter. That the money was not legitimately theirs, and that they had no right to retain it, was all she saw; and so seeing, she acted unhesitatingly on her convictions. She had bought the meal at Mr. Benjamin's, because her father complained of the quality of that she procured in the smaller shops, and on this occasion he had served her himself. From the earliness of the hour, however, though the shop was open, he was not in it when she arrived on her errand of restitution; but addressing Leah Leet, who was dusting the counter, she mentioned the circumstance, and tendered the guinea; which the other took and dropped into the till, without acknowledgment or remark. Now Mary had not restored the money with any view to praise or reward: the thought of either had not occurred to her; but she was, nevertheless, pained by the dry, cold, thankless manner with which the restitution was accepted, and she felt that a little civility would not have been out of place on such an occasion. She was thinking of this on her way back, when she observed Mr. Benjamin on the opposite side of the street. The fact was, that he did not sleep at the shop, but in one of the suburbs of the metropolis, and he was now proceeding from his residence to Long Acre. When he caught her eye, he was standing still on the pavement, and looking, as it appeared, at her, so she dropped him a courtesy, and walked for ward; while the old man said to himself: "That's the girl that got the guinea in her meal yesterday. I wonder if she has been to return it!" It was Mary's pure, innocent, but dejected countenance, that had induced him to make her the subject of one of his most costly experiments. He thought if there was such a thing as honesty in the world, that it would find a fit refuge in that young bosom; and the early hour, and the direction in which she was coming, led him to hope that he might sing Eureka at last. When he entered the shop, Leah stood behind the counter, as usual, looking very staid and demure; but all she said was, Good-morning ;" and when he inquired if any body had been there, she quietly answered: "No; nobody." Mr. Benjamin was confirmed in his axiom; but he consoled himself with the idea, that as the girl was doubtless very poor, the guinea might be of some use to her. In the mean time, Mary was boiling the gruel for her father's breakfast, the only food she could afford him, till she got a few shillings that were owing to her for needle-work. "Well, father, dear, how are you this morning?" "I scarce know, Mary. I've been dreaming, and it was so like reality, that I can hardly believe yet it was a dream;" and his eyes wandered over the room, as if looking for something. "What is it, father? Do you want your breakfast? It will be ready in five minutes.". "I've been dreaming of a roast fowl and a glass of Scotch ale, Mary. I thought you came in with the fowl, and a bottle in your hand, and said: "See, father, this is what I've bought with the guinea we found in the meal!'" "But I couldn't do that, father, you know. It wouldn't have been honest to spend other people's money." "Nonsense!" answered John. "Whose money is it, I should like to know? What belongs to no one, we may as well claim as any body else." "But it must belong to somebody; and, as I knew it was not ours, I've carried it back to Mr. Benjamin." "You have?" said Glegg, sitting up in bed. "Yes, I have, father. Don't be angry. I'm sure you won't when you think better of it." But John was very angry indeed. He was dreadfully disappointed at losing the delicacies that his sick appetite hungered for, and which, he fancied, would do more to restore him than all |