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Indian's feet. Should he take wing, his flight is of short duration, and the Indian, following the direction he has gone, is sure to find him dead.

It is natural to imagine that, when a slight wound only is inflicted, the game will make its escape. Far otherwise; the wourali poison almost instantaneously mixes with blood or water, so that if you wet your finger and dash it along the poisoned arrow in the quickest manner possible, you are sure to carry off some of the poison.

Though three minutes generally elapse before the convulsions come on in the wounded bird, still a stupor evidently takes place sooner, and this stupor manifests itself by an apparent unwillingness in the bird to move. This was very visible in a dying fowl.

Having procured a healthy full-grown one, a short piece of a poisoned blow-pipe arrow was broken off, and run up into its thigh, as near as possible betwixt the skin and the flesh, in order that it might not be incommoded by the wound. For the first minute it walked about, but walked very slowly, and did not appear the least agitated. During the second minute it stood still, and began to peck the ground ; and ere half another had elapsed, it frequently opened and shut its mouth. The tail had now dropped, and the wings almost touched the ground. By the termination of the third minute, it had sat down, scarce able to support its head, which nodded, and then recovered itself, and then nodded again, lower and lower every time, like that of a weary traveller slumbering in an erect position : the eyes alternately open and shut. The fourth minute brought on convulsions, and life and the fifth terminated together. --(PP. 60-62.)

We are rather afraid that these experiments will strike some of our readers as inconsistent with the character for humanity which we have given to our author, but they must remember that he is a naturalist, and the kindness which he bears to Nature's creatures is in some cases conquered by his curiosity to pry into Nature's secrets.

Having already made such frequent extracts from this book, and extended our notice of it beyond our customary limits, we must now close it, but not without returning our thanks to the author for the instruction and amusement we have derived from his pages, a sentiment in which, we are confident, all those who read the work will cordially concur. Some surprising affairs at close quarters with serpents there certainly are in it, but these adventures, though undoubtedly out of the common course of events, have really, after all, nothing in them which should throw discredit on the veracity of the traveller. De Retz tells us, that it is the peculiarity of a superior mind to distinguish between things difficult and things impossible; and certainly it is the peculiarity of vulgar minds, to consider every thing that is unusual as incredible, that is to say, where the agent is man, for nothing is with these folks incredible which is altogether out of the sphere of human action. Tell them that Mr. Waterton picked a quarrel with a Coulacanara snake ten feet long, by taking a liberty with his tail; and that when the snake vindicated his affronted honour, Mr. Waterton thrust his hat between his jaws, and marched off in triumph with him ; and they will refuse to believe a word of the story, because they cannot conceive a man making so free with a creature which is an object of peculiar disgust and horror to their imaginations ; but tell them in the same breath, that John Dobbs, a mariner on board the Lovely Sally, saw two armies fighting in the air in latitude 15° 4/ N. and longitude 4° 14' E. and they will eagerly credit every syllable of the marvel.

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THE COUNT DE ST. GERMAIN'S TALE. From the Memoirs of the Court of Louis XV. By Madame du Hausset. “At the beginning of this century, the Marquis de St. Gilles was sent Ambassador from Spain to the Hague. In his youth, he had been particularly intimate with the Count de Moncade, a grandee of Spain, and one of the richest nobles of that country. Some months after the Marquis's arrival at the Hague, he received a letter from the Count, entreating him in the name of their former friendship, to render him the greatest possible service. “You know, said he, “my dear Marquis, the mortification I felt that the name of Moncade was likely to expire with me. At length, it pleased heaven to hear my prayers, and to grant me a son; he gave early promise of dispositions worthy of his birth, but he, some time since, formed an unfortunate and disgraceful attachment to the most celebrated actress of the company of Toledo. I shut my eyes to this imprudence on the part of a young man whose conduct till then, caused me unmingled satisfaction. But, having learnt that he was so blinded by passion, as to intend to marry this girl, and that he had ever bound himself by a written promise to that effect, I solicited the King to have her placed in confinement. My son, having got information of the steps I had taken, defeated my intentions, by escaping with the object of his passion. For more than six months, I have vainly endeavoured to discover where he has concealed himself, but I have now some reason to think he is at the Hague.' The Count earnestly conjured the Marquis to make the most rigid search, in order to discover his son's retreat, and to endeavour to prevail upon him to return to his home. “It is an act of justice, continued he,' to provide for the girl, if she consents to give up the written promise of marriage which she has received, and I leave it to your discretion to do what is right for her, as well as to determine the sum necessary to bring my son to Madrid, in a manner suitable to his condition. I know not,' continued he, " whether you are a father; if you are, you will be able to sympathise in my anxieties.' The Count subjoined to this letter an exact description of his son, and the young woman by whom he was accompanied. On the receipt of this letter, the Marquis lost not a moment in sending to all the inns in Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague, but in vain-he could find no trace of them. He began to despair of success, when the idea struck him, that a young French page of his, remarkable for his quickness and intelligence, might be employed with advantage. He promised to reward him handsomely if he succeeded in finding the young woman, who was the cause of so much anxiety, and gave him the description of her person. The page visited all the public places for many days, without success; at length, one evening, at the play, he saw a young man and woman, in a box;who attracted his attention. When he saw that they perceived he was looking at them, and withdrew to the back of the box to avoid his observation, he felt confident that they were the objects of his search. He did not take his eyes frem the box, and watched every movement in it. The instant the performance ended, he was in the passage leading from the boxes to the door, and he remarked, that the young man, who, doubtless, observed the dress le wore, tried to conceal himself as he passed him, by putting his handkerchief before his face. He followed him, at a distance, to the inn called the Vicomte de Turenne, which he saw him and the woman enter; and being now certain of success, he ran to inform the Ambassador. The Marquis de St. Gilles immediately repaired to the inn, wrapped in a cloak, and followed by his page and two servants. He desired the landlord to show him to the room of a young man and woman, who had lodged for some time in his house. The landlord, for some time, refused to do so, unless the Marquis would give their


The page told him to take notice, that he was speaking to the Spanish Ambassador, who had strong reasons for wishing to see the persons in question. The innkeeper said, they wished not to be known, and that they had absolutely forbidden him to admit any body into their apartment, who did not ask for them by name, but that since the Ambassador desired it, he would show him their room. He then conducted them up to a dirty, miserable garret. He knocked at the door, and waited for some time; he then knocked again pretty loudly, upon which the door was half-opened. At the sight of the Ambassador and his suite, the person who opened it immediately closed it again, exclaiming, that they had made a mistake. The Ambassador pushed hard against him, forced his way in, made a sign to his people to wait outside, and remained in the room. He saw before him a very handsome young man, whose appearance perfectly corresponded with the description, and a young woman, of great beauty, and remarkably fine person, whose countenance, form, colour of the hair, &c., were also precisely those described by the Count de Moncade. The young man spoke first. He complained of the violence used in breaking into the apartment of a stranger, living in a free country, and under the protection of its laws. The Ambassador stepped forward to embrace him, and said, ' It is useless to feign, my dear Count; I know you, and I do not come here to give pain to you or to this lady, whose appearance interests me extremely. The young man replied, that he was totally mistaken; that he was not a Count, but the son of a merchant of Cadiz; that the lady was his wife; and, that they were travelling for pleasure. The Ambassador, casting his eyes round the miserably-furnished room, which contained but one bed, and some packages of the shabbiest kind, lying in disorder about the room, ' Is this, my dear child (allow me to address you by a title, which is warranted by my tender regard for your father), is this a fit residence for the son of the Count de Moncade?' The young man still protested against the use of any such language, as addressed to him. At length, overcome by the entreaties of the Ambassador, he confessed, weeping, that he was the son of the Count de Moncade, buit declared, that nothing should induce him to return to his father, if he must abandon a woman he adored. The young woman burst into tears, and threw herself at the feet of the Ambassador, telling him, that she would not be the cause of the ruin of the young Count; and that generosity, or rather, love, would enable her to disregard her own happiness, and, for his sake, to separate herself from him. The Ambassador admired her noble disinterestedness. The young man, on the contrary, received her declaration with the most desperate grief. He reproached his mistiess, and declared, that he would never abandon Bo estimable a creature, nor suffer the sublime generosity of her heart to be turned against herself. The Ambassador told him, that the Count de Moncade was far from wishing to render her miserable, and that he was commissioned to provide her with a sum sufficient to enable her to return into Spain, or to live where she liked. Her noble sentiments, and genuine tenderness, he said, inspired him with the greatest interest for her, and would induce him to go to the utmost limits of his powers, in the sum he was to give her; that he, therefore, promised her ten thousand florins, that is to say, about twelve hundred pounds, which would be given her the moment she surrendered the promise of marriage she had received, and the Count de Moncade took up his abode in the Ambassador's house, and promised to return to Spain. The young woman seemed perfectly indifferent to the sum proposed, and wholly absorbed in her love, and in the grief of leaving him. She seemed insensible to every thing but the cruel sacrifice which her reason, and her love itself, demanded. At length, drawing from a little portfolio the promise of marriage, signed by the Count, I know his heart too well,' said she, 'to need it.' Then she kissed it again and again, with a sort of transport, and delivered it to the Ambassador, who stood by, astonished at the grandeur of soul he witnessed. He promised her, that he would never cease to take the liveliest interest in her fate, and assured the Count of his father's forgiveness. · He will receive with open arms,” said he,' the prodigal son, returning to the bosom of his distressed family; the heart of a father is an exhaustless mine of tenderness. How great will be the felicity of my friend on the receipt of these tidings, after his long anxiety and affliction ; how happy do I esteem myself, at being the instrument of that felicity.' Such was, in part, the language of the Ambassador, which appeared to produce a strong impression on the young man. But, fearing lest, during the night, love should regain all his power, and should triumph over the generous resolution of the lady, the Marquis pressed the young Count to accompany him to his hôtel. The tears, the cries of anguish, which marked this cruel separation, cannot be described; they deeply touched the heart of the Ambassador, who promised to watch over the young lady. The Count's little baggage was not difficult to remove, and, that very evening, he was installed in the finest apartments in the Ambassador's house. The Marquis was overjoyed in having restored to the illustrious house of Moncade the heir of its greatness, and of its magnificent domains. On the following morning, as soon as the young Count was up, he found tailors, dealers in cloth, lace, stuff, &c., out of which he had only to choose. Two valets de chambre, and three laquais, chosen by the Ambassador for their intelligence and good conduct, were in waiting in his anti-chamber, and presented themselves, to receive his orders. The Ambassador showed the young Count the letter he had just written to his father, in which he congratulated him on possessing a son, whose noble sentiments and striking qualities were worthy of his illustrious blood, and announced his speedy return. The young lady was not forgotten; he confossed, that to her generosity he was partly indebted for the submission of hor lover, and expressed his conviction that the Connt would not disapprove the gift he had made her, of ten thousand dorins. That sum was remitted, on the same day, to this noble and interesting girl, who left the Hague without delay. The preparations for the Count's journey were made; a splendid wardrobe, and an excellent carriage, were embarked at Rotterdam, in a ship bound for France, on board which a passage was secured for the Count, who was to proceed from that country to Spain. A considerable sum of money, and letters of credit on Paris, were given him at his departure; and the parting between the Ambassador and the young Count was most touching. The Marquis de St. Gilles awaited with impatience the Count's answer, and enjoyed his friend's delight by anticipation. At the expiration of four months, he received this long-expected letter. It would be utterly impossible to describe his surprise on reading the following words. Heaven, my dear Marquis, never granted me the happiness of becoming a father, and, in the midst of abundant wealth and honours, the grief of having no heirs, and seeing an illustrious race end in my person, has shed the greatest bitterness over my whole exist

I see, with extreme regret, that you have been imposed upon by a young adventurer, who has taken advantage of the knowledge he had, by some means, obtained, of our old friendship. Excellency must not be the sufferer. The Count de Moncade is, most assuredly, the person whom you wished to serve; he is bound to repay what your generous friendship hastened to advance, in order to procure him a happiness which he would have felt most deeply. I hope, therefore, Marquis, that your Excellency will have no hesitation in accepting the remittance contained in this letter, of three thousand louis of France, of the disbursal of which you sent me an account.”

The manner in which the Count de St. Germain spoke, (says Madame du Hausset,) in the characters of the young adventurer, his mistress, and the Ambassador, made his audience weep and laugh by turns. The story is true in every particular, and the adventure surpasses Gusman d'Alfarache in address, according to the report of some persons present. Madame de Pompadour thought of having a play written, founded on this story; and the Count sent it to her in writing, from which I transcribed it.


But your


[The following letter appears to be written by an enraged snuff-taker,

whom certain observations in the Medical Adviser, copied, as we suppose, for we never saw them, into the Times newspaper, have inflamed into a passion of wordy eloquence. Mr. Dustington's style is peculiar to himself, unless, indeed, it bears some resemblance to that of the worthy Solicitor-General; or, among ancient writers, that of the wonderful Sir Thomas Urquhart, of Cromartie, Knight, the real admirable Crichton.-Ed.]

The evils of snuff-taking," forsooth—the blessings of snuff-taking, sir. A Medical Adviser! what does he mean by a Medical Adviser ? Does he mean that he is an apothecary, and is giving advice, that he is giving it for nothing? That, sir, I shall never believe as long as I live ; I know the gentlemen too well. Or does he mean that his advice is of a medical quality and nature. A

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