spection. Sometimes the male warns the female by a particular cry of approaching danger, or defends her with the greatest courage. Those creatures which multiply in abundance have a proportionate number of enemies, whilst the lion and the eagle have little to fear except from man. These are able to defend themselves, but timid animals make use of evasion, and a variety of means to ward off impending danger. Fear is therefore implanted in them, and is a great preservative. The lofty forest tree, the unsightly heap of nettles, or the common bramble, are places to which a feeble bird may retreat, when apprehensive of an attack being made upon it.

Some animals under unusual or peculiar circumstances, seem to lose the power of self-preservation. Numerous instances have occurred of hares being overtaken, or met on a railroad by engines, and becoming so completely paralyzed with fear as to make no attempt whatever to avoid the coming danger. This they might easily have done by running to the right or left. Instead of which they have waited till the noisy and rapid machine was close upon them, when they have given one convulsive spring, and have thus been caught in the scoop under the engine. The same thing has happened with respect to partridges, and in one instance as many as five of these birds were knocked down at the same time by an engine,

and afterwards picked up by a person sent for that purpose from one of the adjoining Stations. When trains have been passing along the fine viaduct over the Thames at Maidenhead, rooks have flown against them as if the power of self-preservation had abandoned these otherwise crafty birds, or rather as if they had lost the faculty which would have enabled them so easily to have avoided the danger. The same thing has happened with pheasants, and one is now alive at Steventon, which flew into one of the windows of a first class carriage, and was taken.

way,

The following extraordinary circumstance lately occurred on a railway, and it proves not only that pigs are sensible animals, but that they are pos sessed with a certain degree of reflection, presence of mind, and nerve. One morning fifteen young pigs broke out of a field, and got upon the railand were between two of the rails, when a train approached with all its appalling accompaniments of noise, fire and smoke. The pigs were seen, but too late to stop the engine, and their owner, who happened to be on his farm, expected to have seen them all killed. They remained however in line, and stood perfectly still till the train had passed over them, and not one was hurt. They appeared to be sensible of the escape they had had, by running back to the field squeaking and capering with satisfaction.

When the cries of animals in distress are heard, it seems to excite the sympathy of others of their own species. Birds have been known to feed the young of those whose parents have been destroyed, and swallows, sparrows, rooks and other gregarious birds will join together in defending their young from predatory birds and animals. I lately, however, was informed of an anecdote, which places the kindly disposition of a dog in an interesting light.

A servant had thrown a litter of new-born kittens into a tub of soapy water, which stood in the yard of his master's house in order to drown them. A fine Newfoundland bitch happened to witness it, and, watching her opportunity, took each of the kittens out of the water, and conveyed them to her kennel, where she was seen endeavouring to foster and reanimate them. She had no milk to give them. If she had, the act would not, perhaps, have been so extraordinary. It must, therefore, have arisen, from an innate benevolence of disposition, thus exemplifying the beautiful precept of shewing kindness to each other. Indeed, during our passage through this life, we can seldom be better employed than in endeavouring to alleviate misery, and in fostering those feelings of love and good-will which we are all enjoined to shew to those around us. Much may be done towards softening the sufferings of

others, even when we have little to offer beyond our sympathy, and this will often be more appreciated by the unfortunate than any pecuniary assistance. If we can shew kindness when it is most needed-if we visit some forlorn, distressed, and, perhaps, forsaken being, and offer our little mite of compassion and solace, we may be enabled to afford comfort when the heart is feeling its own bitterness.

If this principle was more acted on,-if we treated all around us as our brethren,—if the injunctions so solemnly and yet so sweetly imposed upon us by our benevolent Saviour "to love each other," were followed by us all, we might then see a happy world, because we should all be endeavouring to make others so. The study of Nature is well calculated to produce these kindly feelings. It reveals the goodness of God, not only to us, but to all the works of His hands. It elevates as well as purifies our thoughts, and thus renders us more inclined to acts of kindness and charity. We learn to view with gratitude the many delightful objects which surround us, some intended for our use, and others for our gratification, and while we contemplate the many blessings thus bestowed on us, we are best disposed to practice those precepts of benevolence, which have been laid down for our guidance.

How many eat the bitter bread

Of misery, sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty.

THOMSON.

THERE are few places which furnish so many agreeable walks and rides as the neighbourhood of Windsor. Sometimes I stroll over the uncultivated heaths, on the borders of which may be seen some solitary and low roughly thatched cottages, inhabited by Broom Cutters; a rude and somewhat savage race of beings, discontented with the various enclosures which have taken place in their neighbourhood, over which they and their ancestors have roamed time immemorial, collecting heath and fuel, and their geese feeding on the patches of grass, which here and there were found amongst the furze and heather. They are indeed a curious race, and it is impossible to talk with them without discovering how distinct they are from the fine character of industrious English labourers, a class of men who perhaps have not their equal in the world. The broom-cutter seldom makes his appearance in the day-time. He roams about in the evening and night, cutting heath on the property of others, and generally attended by a rag