spider (such a spider was a person to know)
who regularly placed himself upon the ceiling
over a young lady's head whenever she played
the harp, and followed her if she changed her
position. The celebrated violinist, Berthome,
(it is our shame never to have heard of him)
when a boy, saw a spider habitually come out
to hear when he was practising: this creature
at last became familiar, and took a seat upon
the desk. Lenz tells of a goose who followed
a harp-player wherever he performed,
probably to hiss him out of self-respect. Bingley
tells of a pigeon in the neighbourhood of a
young lady who played brilliantly on the
harpsichord; the pigeon did not greatly care
about her playing, except when she played
the song of " Speri si," from Handel's opera,
Admetus: then it would come and sit by the
window, testifying pleasure; when the song
was over, it would fly back to its dovecote,
for it had not learnt the art of clapping wings
for an encore.

In the matter of experience, we can believe
the story of a dog who either was not blessed
witli a love of music, or had a master given
to the perpetration of atrocities against his
canine ear: the dog whose peace vas broken
by his master's practice on the violin, took
every opportunity to hide the stick. Plutarch's
story of the mule we are at liberty, we hope,
to set down in the list of pleasant fables. The
mule laden with salt blundered, by chance,
into a stream: on coming out it found its load
to be so agreeably lightened, that it afterwards
made a point of taking a bath upon its
travels. To cure it of this trick, the panniers
were filled with sponge, and then when the
mule came out of the water with the sponges
saturated, it felt a load that it had reason to
remember.

Dr. Pelican saw a party of rats around the
bunghole of a cask of wine dipping their tails
in and then licking them. Mr. Jesse tells of
rats who performed a similar feat with an oil-
bottle. But this is nothing in comparison with
the acuteness of Degrandpre's monkey. Left
with an open bottle of aniseed brandy, he
sucked what he could from it with tongue and
fingers, and then poured sand into the bottle
till the rest ran over. Le Vaillant, the
African traveller, had with him dogs and a
monkey. When the monkey was weary he
leapt on a dog's back for a ride. One dog on
such occasions quietly stood still. The monkey,
fearing to be left behind would presently
jump off and hasten to the caravan: the dog,
with studious politeness, took good care to
give him precedence. An elephant— we must
at once append one tale about the elephant,
whose great sagacity makes him the hero of
a thousand and one—an elephant belonging
to an officer in the Bengal army, was left
during the long absence of his master to a
keeper; who, as ever elephant-ostlers will do,
cheated him of his rations. When the master
came back, the poor half-starved elephant
testified the greatest joy; the keeper, in his
master's presence, put, of course, the full
allowance of food before the elephant, who
immediately divided it into two parts; one
representing his short commons, which he devoured
greedily; the other representing the amount
to which he had been defrauded in his dinners,
he left. The officer of course understood the
hint, and the man confessed his breach of trust.

We must get rid of another story of an
elephant; like the last, perfectly credible.
Elephants have more sagacity than dogs, and
of dogs few tales that are current are
doubtful. This is the tale of an elephant in
the Jardin des Plantes, for which we are
obliged to Mr. Broderip. A painter used to
study from the animals in the garden, and
was minded once to paint the elephant. But
of course he must paint him in an attitude;
and even the sagacity of an elephant failed to
understand that the artist wished him to
keep his mouth open, and hold up his trunk.
The artist, therefore, got a little boy, and
entrusted to his care a bag of apples, which
he was to throw into the elephant's mouth
one by one, obliging him in this way to keep
his trunk uplifted. " The apples," says Mr.
Broderip, " were numerous, but the painter
was not a Landseer, and as he had not the
faculty of seizing and transferring character
with Edwin's magical power and rapidity, the
task was tedious. By the master's directions,
the boy occasionally deceived the elephant by
a simulated chuck, and thus eked out the
supply. Notwithstanding the just indignation
of the balked expectant, his gourmandise
checked his irritable impatience; and, keeping
his eye on the still well-filled bag, he bore the
repeated disappointment, crunching an apple,
when it chanced to come, with apparent glee.
At length the last apple was thrown and
crunched, the empty bag was laid aside, and
the elephant applied himself to his water-
tank as if for the purpose of washing down
his repast. A few more touches would have
completed the picture, when an overwhelming
douche from his well-adjusted trunk obliterated
the design, and drenched the discomfited
painter. Having, by this practical
application of retributive justice, executed
judgement on the instigator, the elephant,
disdaining the boy, whom he regarded as the
mere instrument of wrong, marched proudly
round his enclosure, loudly trumpeting forth
his triumph."

We have left that story in the pleasant
words of its accomplished narrator. Mr.
Thomson now shall tell us one in his way,
and then we will go on with our own random
recollections of the pleasant books, by means
of which these gentlemen have poisoned our
heads with tales. This illustrates the faculty
of imitation:—"An oran-otan, brought up by
a Père Carbasson, became so fond of him, that
wherever he went, it always seemed desirous
of accompanying him; whenever, therefore,
he had to perform the service of his church,
he was under the necessity of shutting him