men called squireens, than any other part of the country I had ever lived in. To this latter class belonged the heads of two branches of the same family, both of whom resided in the immediate vicinity of my friend's house. Their names were Peter and James Kavanagh. Peter was by many years the elder of the two; his family consisted of three grown-up sons and one daughter. Peter had married in early life, and his wife died in giving birth to a fifth child, which did not long survive its mother. James had a large family of young children. Peter's only daughter, Alice, had been brought up in her uncle's house in order that she might receive the education and care which a girl of her tender age, without a mother, might expect from the kindness of her nearest female relative. The family of Peter Kavanagh, then, consisted of himself, his three sons, and a single in-door servant as housekeeper, who was already an old woman and of indolent habits. The household of a widower in the middle and humbler ranks of life is rarely ordered with regularity and decorum, and Peter's was no exception to the general case. Every room had an aspect of untidiness and discomfort. Seldom were the boards of the floors or staircase washed or swept seldom were the window panes cleansed, or the hearth-flag whitened, or the tables rubbed, or the chairs dusted. Things soiled were never cleaned things broken were never mended things lost were never replaced. Each of the family felt in turn the inconvenience of this state of things, but one threw the blame upon the other, and nothing was done to remedy the evil. Every one thought it strange that such a good practical farmer and shrewd man-of-the-world as Peter Kavanagh should care so little about the comforts or conveniences of every-day existence-but so it was. ner. handful of hard silver was he relieved of by his dutiful sons. Hence the dashing "bit of blood" which carried Dick and Matt alternately over the stubbles-hence the couple of spaniels and the leash of greyhounds, which had the reputation of being the best noses or the fleetest feet in the county-hence the double-barrelled "Rigby" belonging to Dick, which was the admiration and envy of his acquaintances. As they grew up, and cared less for the anger of their father, vicious habits became more settled-looking and systematic with them. They drank to frightful excess whenever they had the slightest opportunity. No one ever saw them for twenty minutes at a time without having full proof that they were slaves to as odious and disgusting a tyranny as ever the depraved tastes of human creatures created for mankind-I mean, no one ever saw them for so long a time without a tobacco pipe between their teeth, and surrounded by every one of the usual nastinesses which accompany the practice when carried to a hateful extent; and yet, even as they were, the county could not boast of two manlier looking fellows than Richard and Matt Kavanagh when dressed for Sunday mass, which they still attended with a punctuality which would be more praiseworthy if it sprang from anything but a motive of vanity and pride. Under different culture they might have become excellent members of society. They had still some faint pretensions to generosity and spirit, and many a pretty girl of the neighbourhood would have trusted to her sole powers of persuasion for their reclamation. Such were these three youths when Peter Kavanagh, after a short illness, died, and left his property, such as it was, to be equally divided between his children. Gerald Kavanagh, the youth of fifteen, was a lad of different stamp. He was open-featured and open-hearted both. He was never seen with a pipe in his mouth, or a tattered 'racing calendar" sticking out of his pocket; and while his brothers were out upon their sporting expeditions, or amusPeter, however, had or thought he had one especial house- ing themselves in a less innocent way, it was poor Gerald's hold virtue to be proud of. Very early in life he had nar-pleasure to scamper across the fields to his uncle James's garrowly escaped disgrace and ruin by severing himself from a den, and walk, or talk, or read, or play with his pretty little parcel of dissipated associates, who had led him step by step sister Alley, or romp with his pretty little cousins Bill and into all the labyrinths of premature debauchery. He receded Bess, and Peter and Dick, after school hours-the time he before it was quite too late, and the recollection of what he knew he would find most company looking out for him. Alsuffered (for he did suffer) was sufficient to make him re- ley and he were as fond as they could be of each other, and solve that his sons should never be tempted in a similar man- not the less so because they did not live entirely together. The eldest of these, Richard, was now one-and-twenty, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," is as true a line as the second, Matthew, nineteen, and the youngest, Gerald, fif- ever was penned, whether we apply it to the lover and his teen years of age, at the time I lived near P. and they mistress, or the brother and his distant sister. Many of us, had never yet partaken of any spirituous liquor at their fa- with sighs and tears, can testify this. It was a lovely sight ther's table. That father, however, was by no means so ab- to see that affectionate boy and his fond sister sauntering stemious as he had compelled his boys to be. Every day along the borheens in the wild-strawberry season, with their since they had first learned the taste of whisky toddy had they arms around each other's necks in the intervals of their fruitbeen tantalised with the sight of the "materials" for their fa- finding, until they bade each other good-bye for another day, ther's favourite beverage. Peter Kavanagh was indeed a tem- and returned, "with lingering steps and slow," to homes, alas, perate man, but he was not a generous man. He was not one how different! of those kind parents who cannot bear to gratify their appetite with any delicacy, whether much or little, dear or cheap, while their children are looking on with wistful eyes and watering mouths in vain expectancy. He had his reward. One day the two eldest lads, Dick and Matt, were carried home from a neighbouring fair, stupidly drunk. It was the first time they had ever been so, and the quantity they had taken was perhaps trifling; but the father was thenceforward more watchful than ever to prevent them from repeating the excess. In his usual manner to his sons Peter Kavanagh was not particularly harsh, but the least evasion of his strict commands in respect of drink was sure to be visited with great severity. How wretchedly inconsistent was this man's practice! Other misdemeanours of infinitely a greater degree of moral crime were winked at, nay encouraged, by him. The young men were not naturally vicious; but when they found that they could with impunity curse and swear in their father's hearing -when they found that even some of the graver offences against society could be committed without their father's reprehension, was it any wonder that they should soon grow ripe in wickedness? Matt and Dick, in their personal appearance, showed every token of the accomplished village scamp-battered hats jauntily carried on one side of the head-rusty shooting coats of bottle green, with an amazing plurality of pockets-knee-breeches of once-white corduroy insufficiently buttoned over coarse worsted stockings, and heavy brogues with nails like the rivets of a steam-boiler. These were the hardiest betters of the ball-alley, the keenest lads at the roulette-table-the deadest shots at a mark over all the country side. Plenty of money had they, and who dared to ask them how they came by it? Their father had lots of cash lying by, and selfish as he was, and knowing as he was, many a heavy I may venture to say that Richard and Matt were not sorry for their father's loss. On the night of the grand "wake" they collected all the idle and profligate young men of their acquaintance together at the house, and dreadful was the depth of drunkenness to which they sank, as might be expected. Every more prudent person present saw how it was saw that the previous restraint was about to be amply atoned for, and many a shake of the head was intended to be prophetic of coming calamity. On that same night-early in the night too little Alley perceived that all was not right with her brother Gerald. She had seen Richard plying him with liquor, which he at first refused, but afterwards accepted-stealthily, however, and with an abashed and crimsoning face as he met the first reproachful glance of Alice. Gradually the temptation worked, and again and again the draught was repeated with less hesitation at the request of his brothers, who seemed happy in the idea of making their innocent companion as guilty as themselves. The devil surely has those in his clutches who find comfort and consolation in the visible abandonment of the fair and innocent to the miserable pleasures for which they have sold their own souls. At length she was frightened to perceive that Gerald had grown hardy and boastful of his feat he had asked for more whisky, and had been given it by Dick, who, half drunk himself already, was determined to make Gerald drunk for once in his life. The boy was now in the condition wished for by his brother; he had slunk behind Matt's chair; Alice could see his head hanging upon one shoulder, while his eyes were closing in the stupor of intoxi cation he was about to fall to the ground. Quietly she stole to his side, and leaning her head upon his shoulder she whispered, "Gerald, darling, I didn't think you would drink so much -why did you do it?" "Don't tell uncle James, Alley, if he hasn't seen me this way, and I'll never drink so much again." "Hold up your head for another bucket, you dog," said Matt, with sundry drunken hiccupings, as he heard the boy speaking behind his chair, and proffering at the same time a fresh bumper. "Come, Gerald, my boy, it will do you no harm-sorrow's dry, they say, and Lord knows but you've blubbered enough all day for a little fellow." "Matt, dear Matt, don't ask him," said Alice. Matt, however, was not to be thwarted: with a brutal cuff he struck his little sister to the ground, and tried to force the liquor upon Gerald's acceptance. In the attempt the glass fell from his hand, and Alice rose and drew her brother softly from the room. The funeral took place, and there was another carouse more disgraceful than the first, and another, and another, and another! until the week was out. When Gerald's uncle saw how completely besotted his nephews had become, he took Gerald to live with him, but not until it had become too painfully evident that the boy had acquired a liking for the liquor which had turned his two brothers into human beasts. Poor little Alice wept over the change. There was no more reading, or playing, or wandering through the country together. He sat sulky and silent in the house all day, more like a poor relation on charitable allowance than the joint-heir of the largest farm in the parish. But this was to have an end! A month had passed away since the death of Peter Kavanagh, and the zeal of the eldest heirs had by this time drunk up his entire stock of "mountain dew," when in some out-ofthe-way nook or other they discovered five gallons of malt whisky, which perhaps had lain there forgotten for twenty years. It was on a Saturday morning this was found, and one of the Kavanaghs was heard to swear that he would never quit it till the last drop was drained. It was to be the last bout before they set off for Australia, whither they intended to emigrate that very spring, having, with their uncle's consent on behalf of the two younger orphans, converted their land into money for the purpose. One or two choice spirits had been invited to join them, but these begged to be excused -even these were appalled at the dreadful excesses of their boon companions. Towards evening Gerald had been missing from his uncle's house. James Kavanagh guessed how it was, and with little Alice in his hand repaired to the brothers' dwelling. The door was locked on the inside, and on asking for Gerald he was told that he was all safe there, with the saucy addition that "there wasn't any admission for any d teetotaller." Shocked and grieved, James Kavanagh went away with his dejected niece. The next day was Easter Sunday. The festival had occurred that year unusually late in the spring, and there was already a foretaste of summer in the air. A lovely noon it was when James Kavanagh, his wife, Alice, and the children, walked out in Sunday trim to the parish chapel. The sky was fretted with light silver clouds the fields were already green with the new growth of the grass--the hawthorn bushes were almost visibly bursting their buds the whin braes were in a blaze of golden beauty-the birds, especially the redbreast, were chirping away with intense glee, being, in the glorious language of the poet Shelley, 66 They passed the church-groups of joyous children were playing in the graveyard-five or six immense chesnuts towered, coeval and almost coequal with the ancient steeple, and in these there was a rookery, now in full din-the voices of the children and the cawing of the rooks, disturbed by the sudden peal of the bells, mingled with the chime without discord to the ear. Alice's eyes glistened for a moment when she recognised her youthful playmates; but she suddenly felt she could not laugh with them-her heart was heavy. At length they stood before the door of the brothers' house. No signs of wakefulness had it yet exhibited. "Let us go in, uncle, and tell them to get up," said the little Alice. "Let them sleep it out, the scoundrels !" was the indignant reply of James Kavanagh. They passed on to the place of worship. In about an hour and a half from this time the same group were on their way homewards, with hearts elevated by the imposing service which they had just been witnessing. A gloom was, notwithstanding, perceptible upon the face of James Kavanagh and of his little niece, as they walked along in company with their happy and smiling neighbours. None of the three sons of Peter Kavanagh had ever before been known to have absented himself from Sunday mass, and their absence on that most holy day was of course a subject of much wonder. "I could not have thought it possible," said James Kavanagh gravely, "that they could become so wicked all at once-God forgive them! God help them!" Oh, uncle !" cried Alice, as they came in view of the house of guilt once more, "they are not up yet! See, the shutters are still closed!" They were now in front of the house. "Dear uncle,” said Alice entreatingly, "go into them-do, dear uncle, bring out poor Gerald to eat his Easter dinner with us." A thought struck James-he knocked loudly at the door. There was no answer. Another loud knock, and a long pause; and still no sound within the house. Alice's little heart echoed the last unsuccessful knock-it almost said, "Wake, Gerald, with the knocking." She could endure the suspense no longer, and, running to the gripe at the road-side, she took up a heavy stone, with which she battered the panels of the hall-door as long as her strength permitted her. When she was obliged to desist, her screams might be heard afar off, and still there was no sound in the house. James Kavanagh had dispatched one of his little boys to a neighbouring cottage for a crow-bar. The boy quickly returned with one, and James, assisted by the crowd who gathered near, was not long in forcing the door. "Good people," said he to the anxious company outside, "don't come in till I tell you there's no use in further exposing the shame of my brother's house.” He and Alice, with one or two particular friends, entered the hall with faltering steps, and they closed the door behind them. The first object which met their eyes was Peggy, the old housekeeper, lying on the mat at the foot of the staircase, in a trance of intoxication: she had evidently fallen down stairs in her attempt to reach the door, and had been for hours perhaps insensible. Alice jumped over her, and darted up stairs with the speed of lightning. James and his companions, after a vain attempt at arousing the housekeeper, slowly fol lowed her. They entered the room which fronted them on the landing. of ale and whisky, almost overpowered them. The room would The thick stench of tobacco-smoke, mingled with the fumes have been quite dark had it not been for the flickering remnants of two candles, which still glared in the heated sockets of a large old-fashioned branch candlestick. James went to heavenly-glorious sunshine streamed into the reeking apartment, with the window, opened the shutters, and let down the sash. The the blessed air of the Sabbath. How strange-how painful was the paling glimmer of those expiring candles in that holy light! The three young men were lying on the floor at some distance from each other, around the legs of a crazy table in the centre of the room. On the table were huddled together the fragments of salt herrings, the parings of cheese, broken glasses, half-emptied decanters, and the other usual paraphernalia of a low debauch. The whole meaning of the scene was taken in at a glance by James Kavanagh, as soon as he had opened the window. He stooped over one of the Many a voice of one delight!" They continued to walk on, and now the bells of the neighbouring church struck out their Easter jubilee with such exquisite sweetness as we might fancy arrested the sceptical purpose of the despairing Faust in Goethe's surpassing drama, when the heart-touched metaphysician exclaimed, "Oh, those deep sounds those voices, rich and Proud bells! and do your peals already ring To greet the joyous dawn of Easter morn? And ye, rejoicing choristers! already Flows forth your solemn song of consolationThat song, which once from angels' lips resounding Around the midnight of the grave, was heardThe pledge and proof of a new covenant." Yes! indeed, those bells almost distinctly said to the heart as they swung in the soft air of that delicious noon, "Christ our passover is sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast!" prostrate forms it was that of Richard. He turned up the face great God! it was the face of a livid corpse! A smothered groan burst from James: he rushed towards the nextMatt Kavanagh was dead also, quite dead and stiff! James and his friends looked at each other solemnly, and without speaking a word. They turned their glance simultaneously to the place where Gerald was lying. They moved or rather tottered to the spot. There he lay, with Alice in a swoon beside him, his eyes glazed, the skin of his face tightened over his nose and cheek-bones, his lips covered with viscid froth, and his beautiful brown hair tossed backwards from his damp forehead, glistening in a streak of sunshine which came full upon it from the window. "He is alive still!" they all three exclaimed: "he may yet be saved!" One of them ran to the window and made a sign to the neighbours to come in. The room was soon full of horrified spectators. They parted Alice from her dying brother, and both were brought out into the open air as quickly as possible. Amidst the cries and lamentations of the bystanders Alice recovered. She sat for a while on the grass, trying to recall her scattered senses. The sight of Gerald lying near her, as the crowd opened to admit the air to his face with a freer freshness, brought the whole terrible truth to her mind. She rose with difficulty, but, gathering strength with recollection, she succeeded in breaking from the woman who had her in charge, and in a moment the head of Gerald was pillowed upon her bosom. The soft cooling breeze had restored the unfortunate boy to a momentary consciousness. He was barely able to turn his head towards Alice in recognition of their presence. A faint pleasure was expressed in his glassy eyes as he did so. "Won't you speak to me, Gerald? Won't you speak to your own Alley ?" The boy shook with a convulsive shudder, but could not utter a syllable. "Don't die, dear Gerald; don't leave poor Alley all alone in the world! Och, och, och!" said the little girl in the very agony of childish despair, "he'll never be the same again he'll never speak to me again!" The boy made an effort to bring Alice's ear to his clammy lips; she strove to hear the almost inarticulate whisper which hovered upon them. "Is-uncle James-here?" gasped the dying lad; "tell him -I-couldn't help it! Oh! Alley! oh!" Gradually the groan, extorted by the last pang of dissolution, died away, and with it the spirit of poor Gerald Kavanagh. Alice perceived what had happened as soon as any of the bystanders, but high and shrill her scream mounted over the wailing which arose from the others, ere she once more sank down in the swoon which the excess of her anguish had so mercifully caused. On the following day a coroner's inquest was held upon the bodies of the three sons of Peter Kavanagh, in a public-house not far distant from the scene of this fatal debauch. A surmise had been afloat that poison had somehow or other been the cause of their death, and an examination of one of the bodies was considered needful. I will not shock my readers with a description of the fearful chamber where this most loathsome operation was performed. The result was a verdict to the effect that the three Kavanaghs had died "from the excessive use of ardent spirits." I commenced by saying I feared that this narrative might fail in pointing a moral. It has a moral-a moral to selfish and ill-judging parents, and equally ill-judging societies, who lay the flattering unction to their souls that coercion will have a better effect than a fair and consistent example. Verily, the Spartan nobles, who exhibited the drunken slave before their children, and then placed the wine-cup within their reach, had a better knowledge of human nature than the Irish father who would exorcise the demon of alcohol out of his children by pledges of abstinence, or threats of punishment, while, in the security of his own experience, he feels he can temperately enjoy the luxury of spirituous drink.* R. M. * From the Londonderry Standard. Fine connexions are apt to plunge you into a sea of extravagance, and then not to throw you a rope to save you from drowning. SAP IN VEGETABLES. SECOND AND CONCLUDING ARTICLE. WE endeavoured in our last article to describe the principal circumstances of interest with respect to the ascending or unelaborated sap. We have found that it is derived from the aliment which consists of water and carbonic acid; that it is composed of a solution of sugar and gum in water; that it ascends in the ordinary trees of this country through the wood, which is situated between the bark and pith; that the causes which elevate it are partly a vital attraction or suction exercised by the buds, and partly an endosmose, by which, in consequence of its superior density, it draws in its aliment through the spongy extremities of the roots; that its use is not only to furnish materials for the descending or elaborated sap, but by developing the fleshy part of plants to cause the growth of stems in length and roots in thickness. We shall now proceed to show the origin, the course, the composition, and the uses of the descending or elaborated sap. The elaborated sap is formed out of the ascending sap. The place where this change takes place is in the leaves and green parts of vegetables; it is generally in the spring season that the ascending sap pushes out the buds into branches, and developes the little scales which had surrounded these organs into leaves; but when these leaves are formed, the sap continues to ascend into them, and there undergoes those alterations from whence the elaborated sap results. Now, these alterations consist in the getting rid of all superfluous water and carbonic acid, which, originally absorbed as aliment, had not undergone the conversion into gum and sugar during the ascent of the sap; secondly, in the acquisition of additional nutriment from the atmosphere; and, thirdly, in the conversion of these substances into a variety of new compounds. Let us examine each of those changes to which the ascending sap is subjected, in succession; and, first, with respect to the disengagement of superfluous water and carbonic acid, every one must have observed drops of water collected on the leaves of cabbages and other vegetables, when examined early in the morning. These are commonly supposed to be dewdrops, but are truly in great part the result of a kind of perspiration which is always taking place from the surface of plants. That this is the case, can be proved by covering a cabbage-plant with a bell-glass, and placing it in a room sufficiently heated to prevent the deposition of dew, when drops of water will be found equally to collect upon its leaves. These drops are not observed during the day, because the temperature is then commonly so high as to evaporate them as fast as they are transuded; but the fact is, that plants actually give off much more water during the day than night. The escape of carbonic acid is not so easily detected as that of water; it can, however, be proved, through the resources of chemistry. Unlike water, which is liberated both night and day, and indeed in greatest quantity during the latter period of time, carbonic acid is found to be disengaged during the night only. As long as plants are exposed to the light of the sun, their green parts liberate none of this gas. We have mentioned that when the ascending sap arrives into the leaves, it not only throws off superfluous water and carbonic acid, but likewise derives an additional quantity of nutriment from the atmosphere. The presence of light is necessary for this latter circumstance to take place. The nutriment which, under the influence of sunlight, it acquires from this source, is a substance named "carbon;" this substance is a constituent of carbonic acid, which is indeed composed of carbon and oxygen; carbonic acid is contained in the atmosphere in the proportion of one part in a thousand; the green parts of plants absorb it, and under the influence of light decompose it; the carbon is retained, but the oxygen is again liberated. We now may perceive the reason of the fact mentioned in the preceding paragraph: plants give out no carbonic acid during the day, because the superfluous carbonic acid of the ascending sap becomes decomposed under the influence of light, in the same way as that which has been absorbed from the atmosphere. A great many compound products are obtained from the vegetable kingdom. We need merely recall to the reader's recollection starch, resin, camphor, bland and aromatic oils, bitter principles, colouring matters, the acids of the grape, the lemon, and the apple, &c. to assure him of this truth. All these different substances form themselves out of the sugar and gum of the ascending sap, together with the carbon absorbed under the influence of light. When the ascending sap has parted with its superfluous water and carbonic acid, when under the influence of light it has absorbed carbon from the atmosphere, and when its constituents arrange themselves anew, so as to produce some or all of the substances above enumerated, its name as well as its functions cease: it has now become the descending or elaborated sap. Let us now inquire the course which the descending sap pursues. We have stated in our last article, that if a ligature be twisted tightly round a branch of one of our common trees, the portion immediately above the ligature will become swollen, while that beneath it will retain its former thickness. If instead of a ligature we remove a circular ring of bark, the same phenomenon will take place: the part above this annular incision will swell out on every side. From this experiment we derive several important inductions. We learn from hence that this kind of sap descends, and moreover that the channel which conveys it is the bark. Having ascertained the course which the elaborated sap pursues, let us now turn our attention to its composition. This is found to vary in different plants: thus in some, bitter principles are the chief constituents; in others, aromatic substances; in others it is principally resinous; but whatever may be the principal components, they may always be divided into two groups namely, those which are subservient to the growth of the vegetable, and those which, becoming deposited in the different organs, confer on them those properties which entitle them to be employed as articles of medicine or aliment for animals, and by means of which different plants are in this respect distinguished from each other. The portion of the descending sap which serves for the growth of the vegetable, exudes in ordinary trees between the bark and the wood, forming a glutinous layer which separates these organs, and is the cause of the facility with which in autumn the bark can be detached from the stem: this portion is called cambium. In palms, and other trees of warm climates, there is no bark, and in such vegetables the nutritive part of the descending sap passes down through the centre of the stem. The portion of elaborated sap which becomes deposited in the organs, and which varies more or less in every plant, is called the proper juice: proper vessels is the name given to the reservoirs which contain the proper juices; and according to the nature of their contents, the proper vessels are called milk-vessels, turpentine-vessels, vesicles of essential oil, &c. In the foregoing paragraphs we have somewhat anticipated the uses of the descending sap: we have found that one portion of it is destined for the nutrition of the vegetable. Now, the same means which revealed to us the uses of the ascending sap, will also tell us how far the elaborated sap is concerned in vegetable nutrition. In the dark no sap is elaborated, and no vegetable fibre is developed. Are we not therefore justified in supposing that vegetable fibre is formed out of this elaborated sap? Again, let our readers call to their remembrance the experiment of tying a ligature around a branch: in that experiment not only does a considerable swelling take place above the ligature, but from this swollen portion cereal roots frequently protrude. These facts afford us a clue to the uses of the descending sap, for by developing vegetable fibre, it increases the thickness of the stem and the length of the roots, just as the ascending sap, by developing vegetable flesh, lengthens the stem, and enlarges the root in diameter. T. A. SONNET ABOUT A NOSE. 'Tis very odd that poets should suppose There is no poetry about a nose, When plain as is the nose upon your face, A noseless face would lack poetic grace. Noses have sympathy; a lover knows Noses are always "touched," when lips are kissing: A CHAPTER ON MEN, BY A CUR. TO THE EDITOR OF THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL. SIR-In the 12th number of your Journal you have given insertion to a paper tending to involve our ancient and honourable race in considerable disrepute I allude to an article entitled "A Chapter on Curs, by a Man." Every story will on investigation be found to have two sides: you have given publication to the one, and surely you will not, in justice, refuse to give your readers an opportunity of judging of the other. I remain, Sir, your faithful servant, AN AGED CUR. By what means I have acquired the facility of expressing my thoughts upon paper, it is not my intention to divulge. It is true that I have made an important discovery-that I have gained possession of a secret which mankind would give worlds to possess; but I owe too little gratitude to any member of the human race to be induced to part with it. I am old: nearly fifteen winters have passed over my head since I first drew breath, and in the course of nature death cannot be far distant. My discovery shall shortly perish with me; and the same ditch or dunghill shall witness the dissolution of both. Of my parentage I can record but little, as I remember nothing whatever of my father, and my unfortunate mother was hanged shortly after having given me birth. Alas! my recollections of her are tinged with any but pleasurable emotions, for to her I owe much of the misery with which my career has been chequered. Had she conducted herself with prudence, and been satisfied to have selected a mate from amongst the many dogs of her own degree who solicited her paw, my existence might have been passed in happy, because unnoticed obscurity. But no: stern destiny decreed that it should be otherwise, and had marked me for misfortune ere even I was born. Let not the reader start to hear me mention destiny: if he object to my opinions on this subject, he has a wide field open to him for reply in the pages of the daily press, which, cUR though I be, I am, by virtue of the disco very already alluded to, in the habit of reading; and he may rely upon it I am prepared to defend every position I advance. Why should I not mention destiny? I am a rigid fatalist, and well for me that I am. What else would enable me to bear up against the scoff and scorn of man? What else would steel my feelings against the blows of stones, thrown by the hands of such cowardly insensible men as he who published the philippic against our race, which has called forth this reply? What else would console me, when the staff of the churlish boor comes across my back, or when the urchin-rout attach the terrible kettle to my trembling tail? What supports me under such heart-rending circumstances, save the feeling that all is fixed-that such is my sad destiny, against which my barking or my struggling would avail me nought? But I digress-it is facts and not feelings that it is my province to record. My ambitious parent, infatuated with the admiration and assiduity of her numerous suitors, despised them all, and falling a victim to her vanity, suffered herself to be seduced from the paths of propriety by a designing young pointer, who threw himself in her way, and employed every artifice, until at length he induced her to elope with him from her master's comfortable farm-yard. For a while the guilty pair contrived to escape detection. My unhappy mother took up her abode under a hay-stack in the neighbourhood, and for a week or two was well and kindly treated by her gay and youthful lover, who regularly saved a portion of his daily meals for her use. After a little, however, meeting with a new and more beautiful object on whom to bestow his worthless affections, he abandoned my mother to her own resources, and from that period she saw him no more. Dreading to return to the home she had left, and being pressed with hunger, she was compelled to steal for her subsistence, and the poultry in the neighbouring homesteads visibly diminished in number; while, to crown all, my parent was brought to the straw, and became the mother of five little ones, including myself. The additional drag which the suckling of so large a family produced, increased my progenitor's rapacity four-fold, and the indulgence of it caused her destruction. One day as she lay beside us, half famished, and ready almost to devour her own offspring, a little pig chanced to pass by. My mother belonged to a fierce breed, that called the bull-terrier, and, accordingly, stimulated by the gnawings of hunger, she sprang upon the little pig, and had well nigh silenced it for ever, when its loud squeals brought one of the farm-servants to the spot. We were discovered, the unlucky pig rescued, my mother hanged to a post in the barn, and we-thrown into the horsepond. My brothers and sisters all perished; but I, who was rather stronger than the rest, contrived to struggle to the bank, and was found there some short time afterwards by a young man belonging to the establishment, who carried me home with the intention of rearing me. Oh, how grateful I felt to that young man, and how I blessed him for his kindness! But, alas! I knew little of the cruel race whose servants we are, or I should have preferred being left to die on the brink of the old pond. As soon as he got me home to his father's, the lad put me into a bag, and having bound me securely with many cords, took a large pair of blunt and rusty scissors, and proceeded to deprive me of my ears. Why should I weary your patience with a description of the excruciating torments I suffered! Indeed, no description could convey an adequate idea of one-tenth part of the pain I endured while my ears, and then nearly the whole of my tail, were slowly and mercilessly hacked away. As to the manner in which my tail was removed, it betrayed sufficient of the savage and bloodthirsty disposition of man, to give me a foretaste of what I might expect at his hands-my tail was actually gnawed asunder by his teeth! When about nine months old, my master came home one day in a great hurry, and summoning me to attend him, left the house as abruptly as he had entered it. He bent his steps to a neighbour's, where we found a crowd of men and dogs assembled, apparently intent upon some exhilarating sport, for on their countenances much glee was depicted. In a corner of the room a long narrow box was placed, with a sliding door at one end. Wondering what it could contain, I stepped up to a young bull-dog, with whom I was acquainted, and inquired of him. "Lord! how green!" exclaimed he; "why, a badger to be sure; and you'll see the fun we'll have drawing him, presently ;" and my friend Boxer licked his lips with the anticipation of a fight. I had not long to wait, when Boxer was called by his owner, who held him opposite to the box by the neck, while another person raised the sliding door. Boxer was then let loose; when, darting with excessive speed into the interior, a growling and struggling was heard, and in about a minute my friend reappeared, dragging forth to view a wild beast called a badger an animal that I until now had conceived to be a very gentle, harmless creature; for I at once recognised in this badger one which I had frequently met in a neighbouring hedgerow when out by myself, and with which I had begun to form a slight acquaintance. What was the cause of this creature and Boxer being thus induced to tear each other, I could not divine. But guess my consternation, when, Boxer having been separated from his antagonist, and the latter restored to his cage, I was dragged forward, and held in front of it, while my master patted and encouraged me, saying, “Hiss, hurroo-good dog, shake him!-hurroo!" The door was raised, and I was thrown forward towards it. As, however, I had no cause of quarrel with its friendly inmate, I did not, as my acquaintance Boxer had done, rush into the box; but, determining to investigate the cause of the recent conflict, I entered it slowly, whimpering as I put in my head, to let my acquaintance of the hedgerow know that I came as a friend. He had, however, been so enraged by the previous encounter, that he would not listen to my remonstrances, but growled forth," Get out, you cur !" "Don't be in a passion," whimpered I; "I come as a friend." "That's a lie," replied he; "you can't be the friend of that tyrant and be mine. You are but seeking to put me off my guard;" and with this snarling answer he flew at me and seized me by the nose. This was treatment too gross to be endured, so I accordingly returned the compliment; and conceiving that I should have more room to fight on the outside, I exerted all my strength, and dragged the irascible inhabitant of the box forth to light. To my utter astonishment, however, no sooner had I re-appeared, pulling old Grey along with me, than I was seized, and my throat compressed so rudely as to give me considerable pain, and indeed almost to strangle me. For this inconvenience, however, I was amply repaid by the caresses of my master, and the plaudits of the company, both men and dogs. Among others, Boxer walked up to me, and growled in his usual cynical tone, "You may come to some good yet, if you'll only be quicker at your work." I did not at this time understand the human language, and I accordingly detail my impressions as they struck me then, not as they appear to me now. After two or three more dogs had had a pull at the badger, many others refusing to face him, or running away when they felt his sharp teeth, on which occasions they were well kicked by their owners, I observed an unusual bustle, and was amazed at hearing my name and Boxer's uttered in a very loud tone. The latter at the same time approached me and said, "Tell you what, young 'un, they're talking of a fight 'twixt you and me; and if so be they're in earnest, take care of yourself that's all." "But, dear Boxer," inquired I, wagging my tail in a conciliatory manner, "why should we fight? surely we have no cause of quarrel ?" "No business of mine," answered he; "pleases my master; likes to see us bite and tear each other; great fun to him; must please him; gr-r-r." So indeed it was, and I, though scarcely more than a puppy, was pitted against the redoubted Boxer. I was very unwilling to fight; for, besides that I had no quarrel with him, I did not think I was his match, and was sure of being beaten. When he seized me, however, my spirit stirred within me, and I put forth all my strength and determination. For nearly an hour we contested. Boxer at first got the better of me, and threw me down; but after a little I discovered that his tender point was his legs; so at them I directed my attack, and, getting hold of one of them, obtained an advantage which I retained to the last; when, neither being likely to prove victorious, and neither disposed to give up, we were separated. I was dreadfully cut, and my wounds smarted me amazingly; but how terrible was my torture when my master, taking me by the neck, proceeded to wash them with a liquid of a fiery burning nature, since known to me as spirit of turpentine. This was I believe designed to stop the bleeding! Such was my initiation into what men call sport. I now found that I must live without a friend, for every strange dog my master compelled me to attack. My course was marked out. My rage was to be directed against every other animal, dog, cat, rat, badger, cow, pig, &c. except such as were the property of my owner. My occupation was henceforth to be slaughter and bloodshed, and my existence was hereafter to be devoted exclusively to violence. In scenes such as I have described passed the first three or four years of my life. My wounds were ever open, ever painful; for no sooner had one set of cuts closed, than I was forced into a new conflict, in which they were re-opened, and I received others into the bargain. At length premature old age, the result of the hardships I had endured, came upon me, and I was no longer deemed serviceable for fighting. I now suffered less from wounds and cruelties; but being regarded as a useless member of the household, I was treated with unfeeling neglect, and receiving hardly any food at the hands of my master, was driven to seek a scanty subsistence among the bones cast out upon the dunghill; and these, with an occasional crust thrown me by a good-natured stranger, were my sole support. My master had an aged father, who lived in the house with him, and whom the neighbours conceived to have laid by a considerable sum of money. I usually slept across the hearth in the kitchen, and was one night awakened by a cry for help in the half-choking, gurgling accents of a man under the effects of strangulation. The sounds proceeded from the old man's room. The door was open, and I darted in. The old farmer was lying half naked upon the floor: in his hand was clutched a bag, and numbers of those round yellow pieces of metal so much coveted by the human race, and called guineas, were scattered near him. A man was leaning over him, his knee upon his breast, one hand upon his throat, and the other endeavouring to drag from him the precious bag. I saw not the face of the spoiler, but perceiving only the danger of my master's old father, whom, harsh as he too had been to me, I instinctively loved, and felt it my duty to defend, I sprang upon the robber, for such I judged him, and pulled him to the ground. The old man fainted away. A gleam of moonlight at this crisis entered the casement, and disclosed to my horrified gaze, in the countenance of the robber whom I was throttling, the features of MY MASTER! In the suddenness of my surprise and consternation I relaxed my gripe; and the villain who had striven to rob his father, and had raised his hand against the person of his aged parent, sprang to his feet and fled. I had by this time learned to understand a little of the human language; and as the ruffian darted through the door, the word "damnation!" struck upon my ear. The old man, as I have stated, had fainted. Happy for him that he had not recognised his assailant before my interference, for further opportunity of recognition he had none. |