BROTHER BRUIN.

"The bear symbolises savage and primitive
equality, and is therefore the aversion, of
the aristocracy." Such is the clue to ursine
facts, according to Passional Zoology; which
subject, and MR. TOUSSENEL's treatment of
it, we now resume. It would appear that
MR. SNEAK, in the Mayor of Garratt, had
much reason in him, when he addressed the
rough personage of the piece as Brother
Bruin. Was he not a BEAR and a BROTHER?

Here again—Mr Toussenel exclaims—is
another poor, shamefully calumniated beast,
respecting whom hatred and ignorance have
imagined the wickedest tales! There is no
sort of infamies which anecdote-mongers have
refrained from using in order to defile the
biography of this unfortunate quadruped. M.
Toussenel read in a frightful book published
a century ago with authorisation and privilege
of the king, the history of the acts and
deeds of a brown bear of Jura, who had long
been the terror of the country, by reason of
his immoderate appetite for the flesh of young
girls. It was not enough for human malice
to attribute to the bear crimes and immoralities
of which he is innocent; but it has been
thought fit to turn the poor animal into
ridicule, and to make him the butt of
innumerable mystifications. The strife, amongst
ancient and modern writers, is who shall
hit him the most perfidious blows. Ælian,
the Greek, a narrator of fables, and not
less of a simpleton than Conrad Gessner
and great Saint Basil, goes so far as to make
the bear a murderer of the lowest grade, a
mean assassin, killing for the pleasure of
killing; all which is an atrocious calumny.

Once upon a time, he says, there was a lion
and a lioness, who had a large little family,
but who were not a bit the happier on that
account. For one day, when they both were
out of doors, a bear found his way in, and
treacherously slew every one of their babes;
a proof what an imprudent thing it is to
leave children by themselves. The murderous
deed was scarcely done, when a formidable
roar announced the return of the masters of
the house. Our bear, almost taken
in the fact of infanticide, had only just time
to jump up into a tree hard by. It is impossible
to describe the fury of the mother, at
the sight of her slaughtered offspring. It is
uncertain which feeling predominated in her
heart, grief or anger. She gave way at once
to furious imprecations and sorrowful groans;
and, in her burning thirst for vengeance, she
described a number of mad paraboles in the
air, thrust her thirsty canines into the sides
of the tree on which the assassin had found a
refuge, and tore its bark with her sharp
claws. Vain demonstrations of impotent
rage! The heartless monster only laughed at
her from his fourth story.

But now behold the father lion trot
off. It will not be long before he is
back again; for he has just caught a bright
idea, which he has duly communicated to his
spouse. He is determined to request the
assistance of man to avenge his wrongs. He
knows where there works a poor woodcutter,
of extreme leanness, whom he has long held
in reserve as the morsel for a fast day. He
addresses him in a manner which he strives
to render as pleasant as possible. The man,
whose limited comprehension prevented him
from attributing the visit of the king or
animals to any other motive than a violent
appetite for human flesh, at first felt
himself a little put out at the sight of the hairy
gentleman, and in his fright let his axe fall.
"Nothing of the kind," the lion seemed to
say, as he politely raised the instrument, and
returned it to the woodcutter's hand. Then,
he gently pulled him by the skirts of his
coat, and showed him how happy he should
be to have his company for a short walk.
The man—who understood at last from such
an unusual display of ceremoniousness, that
the beast had occasion for his services—
yielded to the invitation and followed his
guide. On and on and on they went. By
walking quick, they at last arrived at the
theatre of Bruin's crime. The lioness still
continued to rend the air and to perform
extraordinary leaps. The lion explained
everything—by signs—to his travelling
companion. He pointed out the butchered
whelps. He glared at the assassin—now
escaped to the highest branches of a colossal
pine—and nodded to the inconsolable mother
awaiting her revenge. The re-assured and
sympathising wood-cutter set to to fell the
tree at once. Then unanimous and roaring
"bravos" burst forth from the leonine pair;