and child a short time before. It appears, that he knew some one had passed the hospital, and set off habitually, or stimulated by his lofty and exemplary sense of duty, to see who it was. His absence was observed by one of the servants, who followed his trail, and found him posted over the drift where the poor woman and child were about to perish.'

The various species of dogs, say the naturalists, although so numerous, 6 are but varieties of the same animal; their generic characteristics being in all cases the same.' Their differences, however, of dimension and form (putting colour out of the question) are so great, as to warrant our belief in their different races.

All the larger and stronger species of dogs would appear to have proceeded from the colder regions of the earth.

The Alpine mastiffs resemble the dogs of Newfoundland, but are somewhat more bluff-headed. Like these, a considerable quantity of long hair or mane keeps their neck and shoulders warm; and nature has supplied them with semi-web feet, by means of which they readily row themselves along, when in the water.

The first and the second of the dogs of the Saint Bernard breed, which arrived in England, were variegated with fawn or cinnamon colour, and white. The former

had already distinguished himself by rescuing a lady from drowning, after his arrival in England, when he was somewhat less than a year old. His length at the time, including his tail, was six feet four inches, and his height measured to the middle of his back two feet seven: but he afterwards became the property of a lady at Leasowe Castle, near Liverpool, where he grew considerably larger. I never heard of his death; but, as it is fifteen years since he quitted London, he probably exists no longer.

The second which arrived, and which appears in our present graphic exhibition standing and barking, while his feet are actively employed in clearing away the snow, wore his proper costume of a collar lined with black fur, embossed by some Swiss artist with lions and sphinxes, and furnished with bells. The nearer and sitting dog, who is so intently busied on her work of humanity, was a female, was richly brindled, in patches, partially white, and was somewhat older and larger than her companion. She became the property of Thomas Christmas, Esq., but the change from her early habits, and from the ice and snow of her Alpine birth place to the genial warmth of a London summer, she was but ill able to endure, and she proved but short-lived.

She was exceedingly docile, good tempered, and

fond of children, though somewhat clumsy in her caresses and hilarious gambols; and, while meaning to bear herself with the blandishment and gentle breeding of a lap-dog, would knock down your little daughter with licking her face and neck.

In eliciting canine attention, and inculcating the performance of those habitual and humane duties of which we have been discoursing, it appears not improbable, that the example of the elder dogs may have considerable influence on the motions and actions of the younger. Mingling itself with the encouraging smiles and kind expressions of their benevolent masters, there can be no doubt that this would effect much: and whatever may be the other arts of training and discipline resorted to, the instinctive vigilance which is characteristic of the mastiff is not subdued, nor perhaps impaired by it, though the temper and manners are softened and civilised. When Mr Rogers, on his way to exchange honours with the classic poets and artists, and to luxuriate amid the romantic and inspiring scenery of Italy, crossed the Pennine Alps, he stopped, like ordinary travellers, to refresh himself at the monastery of Saint Bernard; and, with his accustomed habit of attention to passing phenomena, he approached one of the great dogs, which was, or appeared to be asleep. It is more than possible that

MY MOTHER.

OH! is it mine, no more thy care to prove,

No more to meet those looks of quenchless love?
Of late I met thee with a fond embrace,

While tears coursed down the smiles upon thy face,

Thou wast so full of tenderness and joy,

To greet again thy well-loved wandering boy:
My mother, oh! my mother, art thou gone?
A pang like this, my heart hath never known.

How little thought I of an hour like this,
When on my lips was pressed thy parting kiss!—
Thy many kindnesses and gentle words
Thrill in my heart among its deepest chords,
And move the fountains of my inmost soul-
I seem to hear thy mournful death-peal toll;
My mother, oh! my mother! What on earth
Can fill the place of her who gave me birth?