THE SPANIEL OF DARMSTADT.

THE educational capabilities of the spaniel have long been well known, and its instincts so highly appreciated by some men, as to bring them, in their opinion, into such close alliance with the reasoning faculties of human beings, as to render it nearly impossible to draw a line of demarcation between them. A multitude of instances might be adduced in support of the theory; but one will suffice for the purposes of present illustration, which a recent German publication first presented to our notice.

A new phenomenon has appeared in the musical world, possessed by an amateur of Darmstadt, in the grand duchy of Hesse, and which has become a strange source of terror to all the mediocre musicians of that place and its vicinity. A Mr. Shaving attained a competency by business, retired, and devoted himself heart and soul to the enjoyment of his favourite science, music; every member of his household was by degrees involved more or less in the same occupation. One individual alone in the family seemed to resist in this musical entrancement; this was a small spaniel, the sole specimen of the canine race in his dwelling; but Mr. S I was firmly resolved to make even her bear some part or other in the general domestic concert, and by perseverance, and the use of ingenious means, he attained his object. Every time that a false note escaped, either from instrument or voice, down came his cane on the back of Poodle, till she howled and growled again. After a while, simple menaces with the cane were substituted for blows; and at a still more advanced period of this extraordinary training, a mere glance of his eye was sufficient to make the animal howl to admiration. In the end Poodle became so thoroughly acquainted with, and attentive to false notes, and other musical barbarisms, that the slightest mistake of the kind was infallibly signalized by a yell from her, forming the most expressive commentary on the misperformance.

When extended trials were made of this animal's acquirements they were never found to fail, and Poodle became what she still is, the most famous, impartial, and conscientious connoisseur in the duchy of Hesse. At the present time there is not a concert or an opera at Darmstadt to which Mr. S-and his wonderful spaniel are not invited, or at least the dog. The voices of the singers, and the instruments of the band, must all execute their parts with perfect harmony, otherwise

Poodle erects her ears, shows her teeth, and howls outright.

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Whatever may have been the case at the outset of its training, the present and perfected intelligence of the spaniel extends even to the secrets of composition. Thus, if a vicious modulation, or a false relation of parts, occurs in a piece of music, the animal shows symptoms of uneasy hesitation; and if the error be continued, will infallibly give the grand condemnatory howl. Occasionally Mr. S- and his friends annoy the canine critic, by emitting all sorts of discordant sounds, from instrument and voice. On such occasions Poodle loses all selfcommand, her eyes shoot forth fiery flashes, and long and frightful howls respond to the immelodious concert of the mischievous performers; but they must be careful not to carry their torture to too great an extremity, for when her patience is over-tried, she becomes altogether wild, and flies fiercely at the tormentors and their instruments.

Poodle is certainly a marvellous creature, and its powers ought to be displayed on a wider stage. The operatic establishments of London might perchance be benefitted by the favour of a visit from this most extraordinary critic.

THE CONVERTERS.

A TALE OF THE THIRTY YEARS WAR.

(Continued from page 252.)

OVERCOME by sorrow for his father's anger, and racked with anxiety for the fate of his beloved Faith, whom he could protect no longer, Oswald sat in the criminal's apartment of the guardhouse, looking listlessly through his grated window upon the snow-covered market-place. It was a cold still night, and the stars shone through the clear atmosphere with unusual brilliancy. The persecutors and the afflicted were finally at peace, and had forgotten their insolence and their sufferings in the embraces of sleep. The clocks of the church towers struck the midnight hour. The guard was aroused for the purpose of relieving the sentinels on post, and the rattling of arms resounded through the guard-house. The noise, however, soon subsiding, quiet again prevailed, and Oswald, to whom the confused and restless working of his mind had become almost insupportable, laid his weary head upon the table and tried t

sleep. Just then the bolts were drawn and his door was softly opened. A corporal of the Lichtensteins, with a dark lantern, and accompanied by two soldiers, entered the prison. Releasing the prisoner from his chains, he commanded him, "follow me to the count!"

"Am I already sentenced?" asked Oswald, with bitterness. "Am I to be executed secretly, under the veil of night? It is a sad confession that your deeds will not bear the light of day!"

"Silence!" said the corporal, motioning him to follow. "God help me!" cried Oswald, throwing his mantle over his shoulders and advancing.

The whole guard were snoring upon their benches, the officer was in his well warmed little room slumbering amidst his wine flasks, and even the sentinel without, leaned nodding upon his halberd. He was roused, however, by the approaching footsteps, and presenting his halberd to the corporal he cried, "who goes there?"

"A good friend!" boldly answered the corporal, whispering the countersign. "We are commanded to bring the prisoner

to the general."

"Pass !" said the sentinel, shouldering his arms.

The four hastened forth together. A sharp wind whistled over the market, while a raven, scared by the wanderers, arose with loud croakings from its snowy bed and with its heavy flapping wings slowly moved away. The shivering youth wrapped his mantle more closely about him and followed the corporal without troubling himself respecting the soldiers; these last soon fell into the rear, and, dexterously turning into another street, disappeared.

"Here we are," said the corporal, suddenly turning 'to Oswald. The latter, startled from his death-dream, looked wildly about him. He was standing among the graves in a parish churchyard.

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"Is this indeed to be my last resting place?" he asked, throwing off his mantle. Only direct me where to kneel, and be sure you take good aim."

"Kneel, indeed, you must, my worthy youngster," cried the corporal, with joyful emotion," and thank God for your rescue, as soon as you are in safety; but with the death shot we have now nothing to do. You are free."

"Free!" cried Oswald, now for the first time missing the two soldiers.

"Have you really forgotten your old friend Florian ?" asked