would not admit. He frisked and gambolled about him, barked at him, would now scrape and tear at his head with his claws, and again seize him by the ear, and bite and pull away; while the noble beast appeared affected by no other sentiment, save that of pleasure and complacence.

But let us proceed to the tragic catastrophe of this extraordinary story: a story still known to many, as delivered down by tradition from father

to son.

In about twelve months the little spaniel sickened and died, and left his loving patron the most desolate of creatures. For a time, the lion did not appear to conceive otherwise than that his favourite was asleep. He would continue to smell to him, and then would stir him with his nose, and turn him over with his paw; but finding that all his efforts to wake him were vain, he would traverse his cage from end to end, at a swift and uneasy pace, then stop, and look down upon him with a fixed and drooping regard; and again lift his head on high, and open his horrible throat, and prolong a roar, as of distant thunder, for several minutes together.

They attempted, but in vain, to convey the carcase from him; he watched it perpetually, and would suffer nothing to touch it. The keeper then endeavoured to tempt him with variety of victuals, but he turned from all that was offered, with loathing. They then put several living dogs into his cage, and these he instantly tore piecemeal, but left their members on the floor. His passion being thus inflamed, he would dart his fangs into the boards, and pluck away large splinters, and again grapple at the bars of his cage, and seemed enraged at his restraint from tearing the world to pieces. Again, as quite spent, he would stretch himself by the remains of his beloved associate, and gather him in

with his paws, and put him to his bosom; and then utter under-roars of such terrible melancholy, as seemed to threaten all around, for the loss of his playfellow, the only friend, the only companion that he had on earth.

For five days he thus languished, and gradually declined, without taking any sustenance, or admitting any comfort; till, one morning, he was found dead, with his head lovingly reclined on the carcase of his little friend. They were both interred together, and their grave plentifully watered by the tears of his keeper, and his loudly lamenting family. H. Brooke (1706—1783).

Vol-taire', a noted French infidel trap-pings, ornaments

pen'-i-tent, truly sorry

san'-dal, a loose shoe

es-teem' (v.), to value highly

en-dow'-ment, wealth left for cha

cour-ti-er, one who attends king's
palaces

can'-dour, openness of mind
| be-girt', surrounded
suf-fice' (v.), to be sufficient

What were they? you ask: you shall presently see; These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea; Oh no-for such properties wond'rous had they, That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could weigh;

Together with articles, small or immense,

From mountains and planets, to atoms of sense;
Nought was there so bulky but there it could lay,
And nought so ethereal but there it would stay;
And nought so reluctant but in it must go-
All which some examples more clearly will show.

The first thing he tried was the head of Voltaire,
Which retained all the wit that had ever been there;
As a weight he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf,
Containing the prayer of the penitent thief;
When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell,
As to bound like a ball on the roof of his cell.

Next time he put in Alexander the Great,
With a garment that Dorcas had made-for a weight;
And though clad in armour from sandals to crown,
The hero rose up, and the garments went down.

A long row of alms-houses, amply endow'd
By a well-esteem'd Pharisee, busy and proud,
Now loaded one scale, while the other was pressed
By those mites the poor widow dropp'd into the chest ;
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,
And down, down, the farthing's worth came with a
bounce.

By further experiments,-no matter how-

He found that ten chariots weigh'd less than one plough.

A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the scale, Though balanced by only a tenpenny nail.

A lord and a lady went up at full sail,

When a bee chanced to 'light on the opposite scale.
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl,
Ten counsellors' wigs full of powder and curl,
All heap'd in one balance, and swinging from thence,
Weigh'd less than some atoms of candour and sense;
A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt,
Than one good potato just wash'd from the dirt;
Yet not mountains of silver and gold would suffice,
One pearl to outweight was the pearl of great
price.'

At last the whole world was bowl'd in at the gate,
With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight;
When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff,
That it made a vast rent and escaped at the roof-
While the scale with the soul in 't so mightily fell,
That it jerk'd the philosopher out of his cell.
Jane Taylor.

COMPOUND ADDITION-CUBIC OR SOLID MEASURE.

Towards night an old woman came tottering up the garden as speedily as she could, and, meeting the schoolmaster at the door, said he was to go to Dame West's directly, and had best run on before her. He and the child were on the point of going out together for a walk; and, without relinquishing her hand, the schoolmaster hurried away, leaving the messenger to follow as she might.

They stopped at a cottage-door, and the schoolmaster knocked softly at it with his hand. It was opened without loss of time. They entered a room, where a little group of women were gathered about one, older than the rest, who was crying very bitterly, and sat wringing her hands, and rocking herself to and fro.

'Oh, dame!' said the schoolmaster, drawing near the chair, is it so bad as this?'

'He's going fast!' cried the old woman; my grandson's dying. It's all along of you. You shouldn't see him now, but for his being so earnest on it. This is what his learning has brought him Oh dear, dear, dear, what can I do!'

to.

'Do not say that I am in fault,' urged the gentle schoolmaster. I am not hurt, dame. No, no. You are in great distress of mind, and don't mean what you say. I am sure you don't.'

'I do,' returned the old woman. 'I mean it all.