milk and fruit were served to us in abundance; while the beast was taken from his former bondage and tied to a post, where I found him bellowing with madness, and still furiously striving to release himself. A man now came forward with an instrument called a facam, somewhat resembling both a large carving-knife and a short sword; and, warning every one to be on his guard, passed near the heels of the ox, and endeavoured by a back-handed stroke to hough him. The attempt was clumsily made, and the beast though wounded was not disabled. Another took the instrument, and used it with greater effect; when the ox gave a desperate kick at the operator, and snapping the tendon fell on his haunches. A third then drew a sharp knife across his throat; blood copiously followed; and with a deep bellow, expressive of rage and agony, he yielded up his life. Immediately the people set about skinning the beast, and preparing a part of him for dinner. The former operation was performed in a workmanlike manner; and the skin as it was taken off, being stretched upon the ground, preserved the flesh from blood and dirt. During this process, fires had been kindled, and had burned down to clear embers. Slices of flesh were then cut off. from the ribs, as the choicest part, for the master and his guests, and roasted at a fire apart; afterward, the attendants helped themselves as they pleased, and cooked their portion after their own modes.

"Horses are trained for the exercises of the field, by fastening a dry hide to the back part of the saddle, and allowing it to trail on the ground. As the horse moves, the hide rattles, and the noise alarms him he attempts to fly, when it beats against his heels, and he kicks at it violently; but soon convinced that all his alarm and rage are fruitless, he learns to be patient and quiet. In this state, a person mounts him, and compels him to move forward; at first gently, afterward at an increased pace. He begins with trampling upon the hide; but this incommodes him, perhaps almost throws him down backwards; he then sets down his feet more carefully and safely. The contrivance induces him also to keep

an eye turned on the object behind; while the rider takes him over rough and boggy ground, obliging him at the same time to look forward and mark where he is going. Thus he forms a habit of quickly discerning danger and avoiding it, from whatever quarter it may come. So much are the Brazilian horses in general fenced against alarms, that I hardly ever met with one of the description which we call skittish."-Cabinet of Curiosities.

TO A SKYLARK.

ETHEREAL Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will:
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain
("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)

Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain!
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with rapture more divine;
Type of the wise who soar-but never roam,
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.

THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH.

AH! why should the thought of a world that is flying,
Encumber the pleasures of seasons like these?
Or, why should the Sabbath be sullied with sighing,
While Faith the bright things of Eternity sees!

Now let us repose from our care and our sorrow,
Let all that is anxious and sad pass away;
The rough cares of life lay aside till to-morrow,
But let us be tranquil and happy to-day.

Let us say to the world, should it tempt us to wander,
As Abraham said to his men on the plain;
There's the mountain of prayer, I am going up yonder,
And tarry you here till I seek you again.

To-day on that mount we would seek for thy blessing,
Oh! Spirit of Holiness, meet with us there!

Our hearts then will feel, thy high influence possessing, '
The sweetness of praise and the fervour of prayer.

While the English language is understood, PARADISE Lost will be read and admired; and the enraptured reader of that wonderful poem will feel a desire to know something concerning its author. John Milton was born in London, December 9th, 1608. He was designed by his parents for the clerical office, but as he grew up to manhood he imbibed strong prejudices against the discipline of the established church, and refused to officiate at her altars. In 1632 he took his degree of Master of Arts at the University of Cambridge, where he had greatly distinguished himself by his intimate acquaintance with the classic authors, and by the remarkable elegance of his Latin versifications: so much so that it was remarked by Mr. Hampton, the learned translator of Polybius, that Milton was the first Englishman who, after the revival of letters, wrote Latin verses with classic elegance: on leaving college he repaired to his father's house in the country, where he passed five years in the study of the best Greek and Roman authors, and in the composition of some of his finest miscellaneous poems, including the Allegro and Penseroso, Comus and Lycidas. That his learning and talents had, at this time, attracted considerable attention, is proved by the production of the masque of Comus,

which was written at the solicitation of the Bridgewater family, and performed at Ludlow Castle, in 1634, by some of its youthful members; as also by his Arcades, part of an entertainment performed before the countess of Derby, in the same manner, at Harefield: on the death of his mother, in 1637, he obtained his father's permission to visit the continent, and proceeded to Paris where he was introduced to Grotius; and thence he visited successively Florence, Rome and Naples, in which latter capital he was kindly entertained by Manso, Marquis of Villa, the patron of Tasso. After remaining abroad for fifteen months, he returned to England, giving up his intention of visiting Sicily and Greece in consequence of hearing of the commencement of hostilities between the King of England and the parliament. "I esteemed it dishonourable," writes he, "for me to be lingering abroad, even for the improvement of my mind, while my fellow citizens were contending for their liberties at home." He hastened home to render all the assistance in his power to the party which he believed to be in the right. He espoused the side of the Parliament and the Puritans, and employed his pen in their cause with great zeal and effect. He now opened an academy and was also employed as Latin Secretary of State under Cromwell, and at this time was afflicted with blindness; that calamity having been hastened by the time and attention which he devoted to writing in defence of the ruling party in the nation. In a treatise which he published about this time on church government, he promised to undertake something, but yet he knew not what, which "might be of use and honour to his country;" a calm anticipation of great performance, which he amply redeemed by his Paradise Lost. This great work was composed after his withdrawment from public life, and was published in 1667. It was sold by the author for an immediate payment of five pounds: but the agreement with the bookseller entitled him to five pounds more when thirteen hundred copies had been sold of the first edition; of the like sum after the same

number of the second; and another five pounds after the same sale of the third. The number of each edition was not to exceed fifteen hundred copies. The first edition was published in ten books. In two years the sale gave the Poet a right to his second payment. The second edition was not given till 1674: and the poem now, by a judicious division of the seventh and tenth, was made to contain twelve books. Milton did not live to receive the payment stipulated for this impression. The third edition was published in 1678: and his widow, to whom the property of Paradise Lost then devolved, agreed with the printer to receive eight pounds for her right. After the publication of this great work, Milton wrote his Samson Agonistes, Pa radise Regained, and several prose compositions. He died on Sunday, November 8th, 1674, and his remains were interred beside those of his father, in the chancel of St. Giles' church, London. He was thrice married, and, at his death, left a widow and three children who had been born to him by his first wife.

Milton had a very fine skin and fresh complexion. His hair was of a light brown; and parted on the top of his head, hung down in curls upon his shoulders.