ing a new face is your certain welcome. A kindliness of heart pervades the Indian community, which is nowhere else known; a drawing together of its members-a free-masonry, which dissipates that natural iciness which the English are elsewhere so fond of. This is not the case only with the younger members of society, whose feelings are warmed by the sympathies of comradeship, and whose hearts glow with the warmth of friendship and fellowship, it is equally the case with those of the longest standing; those who, from their position in the service and their official rank, might perhaps be expected to exercise a little exclusiveness. This spirit of liberality and of generous action, which gains an influence over the British mind in India, is not lost on quitting the shores of that country, but continues its influence in the Western hemisphere.

THE PEKING GAZETTE.

THERE exists throughout China but a single newspaper, which is published at Peking, and bears the title of King-paou, or Messenger of the Imperial Residence.' Neither in its form (which is that of a pamphlet) nor its contents does it bear a resemblance to the political journals of Europe or America. The supreme council of the empire, in which the ministers have seats, assemble in the imperial palace at Peking. Every day, at an early hour, copious extracts on the subjects decided or examined on the previous evening by the emperor are stuck upon a board in one of the courts of the palace. A collection of these extracts composes the annals of the government, in which are to be found the materials for the history of the Chinese empire; hence all the government boards and public establishments are required to have copies made daily of all proceedings which have been under consideration, that they may be preserved in the archives. The provincial boards receive these records through their post servants, whom they maintain in the capital for this sole object; but, in order that all the people of the empire may obtain a certain degree of acquaintance with the state and progress of public affairs, the extracts placarded are, with the permission of the government, printed at Peking entire, without changing a single word, or omitting a single article.

This is the Peking Gazette, or newspaper of China, which comprises all the orders that have been submitted to the approbation or examination of the emperor by his ministers at Peking, and by the different provincial authorities, as well as by the commanders of military corps. Appointments to posts, promotions, sentences, punishments, reports from the different departments of the public service, are consequently the principal matters contained in this publication. The reports made by the imperial officers upon particular occurrences are brought by means of this paper to the knowledge of the world. Occasionally, the provincial reports contain very interesting notices of physical phenomena.

This gazette may be subscribed for by the year, or for an indefinite period, and it ceases to be forwarded as soon as notice is given that it is no longer desired. The amount of the subscription is a leang (or tael) and a-quarter (8s. 4d.) per annum. Those who reside in the capital have only the advantage of receiving the gazette every day at a certain hour: as there is no regularly established post in China, the paper does not reach distant parts of the empire till very long after publication.

THE STEPPES OF SOUTHERN RUSSIA.

No. II.

THE animal is not more varied than the vegetable kingdom; and both, to the naturalist, seem poor, though to the less scientific observer the steppe appears to be teeming with life. Uniformity, in fact, is more or less the distinguishing characteristic of the country, and the same want of variety that marks its outward features prevails throughout every class of its animate and inanimate productions; but though few the species, the masses in which each presents itself are surprising. Eagles, vultures, hawks, and other birds, that are elsewhere rarely seen except singly, make their appearance on the steppe in large flights. The reed-grounds fairly teem with ducks, geese, and pelicans; the grass is alive with swarms of little earth-hares; larks, pigeons, thrushes, rooks, and plovers, are met with everywhere; and even butterflies, and other insects, appear in formidable masses. Among the latter, the locust, of which we shall have more to say by-and-by, plays a very important part. Few of these animals can be said to be peculiar to the steppe, but though found in other lands, they are not found there under similar circumstances, and the peculiar character of the country exercises a powerful influence in modifying the habits and instinct of animals.

The traveller has no sooner crossed the Dnieper, at Krementshug, than he sees a little animal gliding about everywhere through the grass, and even along the high road. This little animal is called by the Russians sooslik; by the German colonists, earth-hare; and by the learned, cytillus vulgaris. It is a graceful little creature, and quite peculiar to the steppe, never found in woody regions, and rarely even in the vicinity of a bush. It is particularly fond of the bulbous plants that abound in the steppe, and multiplies astonishingly. In manner and appearance it is something between a marmot and a squirrel, smaller than the former, and differing from the latter in the colour of the fur and the shortness of its tail. The soosliks burrow under the ground, and hoard up a stock of food for the winter. Their holes have always two entrances, and it is easy to drive them from their cover by pouring water in at one end, for to water they have so great an aversion, that they are always observed to decrease in numbers in wet seasons, and to multiply astonishingly in dry ones. The lively and frolicsome character of the sooslik is a constant source of amusement to a stranger. The little creatures are seen in every direction; sometimes gamboling together in the grass, at others sitting timidly at the doors of their houses, to watch the approach of an enemy. If a man or other strange object draw near, they rise upon their hind legs, like miniature kangaroos, and stretch their little heads up so high, that one might almost fancy they had the power of drawing themselves out like a telescope. Their little furs are used by the women as edgings for their dresses, and entire cloaks and dressing-gowns are often made of them, and sold at the Leipzig fair, where they are known by the name of susselchen. Of all the quadrupeds of the steppe, the sooslik is by far the most abundant; it affords the chief article of food to the wild dogs, and is a constant object of chace to wolves, foxes, eagles, hawks, and other animals of prey.

The next in importance among the quadrupeds of the steppe is the mouse, which frequents the granaries in immense numbers; so much so, that the farmers will sometimes set fire to a whole rick of corn, for the mere purpose of

destroying the mice. They multiply more particularly in moist seasons, and in this respect offer a contrast to the habits of the sooslik.

The wolf of the steppe is a smaller animal than the forest wolf, and distinguishes himself from the wolves of other countries by his subterranean propensities. Natural caverns become elsewhere the refuge of the wolf, but on the steppe he burrows like a rabbit, and it is there by no means an uncommon thing to find a nest of young wolves several fathoms deep in the ground. In the neighbourhood of Odessa, and the other large towns, these four-footed sheepstealers are but seldom met with; but in no part of the world do they abound more than in the woodland districts by which the steppe is skirted, and from these haunts they sally forth in countless numbers, to prowl around the flocks and herds of the open country. Every farm-house in the steppe is surrounded by fences twelve or fourteen feet high to protect them against the inroads of the wolves, yet these banditti of the plain are incessant in their attacks, and cases are by no means uncommon of their carrying off even infants from the cradle.

The dogs of the steppe are the most vulgar and worthless of all the curs in the world. They are long-haired, long-legged, long-headed, and long-tailed, and have evidently more wolfish than doggish blood in their veins. Their prevailing colour is a dirty greyish brown, and, though little cared for by the Southern Russian, their number is incredible, and fully equal to what it can be in any part of the Ottoman empire. Yet the Southern Russian never tolerates a dog in his house, nor ever admits him to that familiarity which the race enjoys with us, and to which the cat and the cock are constantly courted by the tenants of the steppe. Still, whether as a protection against the wolf, or whether in consequence of that carelessness which allows the breed to multiply unchecked, every habitation on the steppe is certain to be surrounded by a herd of dogs, that receive neither food nor caresses from the hands of their owners, but must cater for themselves as well as they can. In spring, the season of abundance, when all the cattle and horses of the steppe run wild, the dog likewise wanders forth from the habitation of his master, and the puppies born at that period of the year are not a bit tamer than the wolves themselves, until the viugas of winter drive them back to the farm-yards and villages. In summer, the dogs hunt the mice, rats, and soosliks, suck the eggs of birds, and learn even to catch a bird upon the wing, if it venture too near the ground; but in winter they are certain to congregate about the towns and villages, where swarms of shy, hungry, unowned dogs, are seen lurking about, in search of any kind of garbage that may be thrown away. Dozens of them may often then be seen gathered about the body of a dead animal, and gnawing eagerly away at its frozen sinews.

In the country, the dogs are a subject of complaint with every one, and with none more than with those who devote some care to the cultivation of their gardens. The dog of the steppe is passionately fond of fruit, and will not only devour the grapes in the vineyards, but will even climb into the trees in search of pears and plums. The better the dog is fed, the more eager he will be after fruit, which is supposed to cool his blood, after too free an indulgence in animal food.

Like the wolves, the dogs of the steppe burrow in the ground, where they dig, not merely small holes, but roomy habitations, with narrow doors and spacious apartments, in which they find shelter against the heat of summer and the cold of winter.

The half-savage state in which the dogs live, leads them often to pair with

the wolves, and a kind of cross-breed ensues. The people in the Ukraine, however, deny that the dog is ever permitted to acquire the rights of citizenship among the wolves; indeed, so jealous are the latter of the purity of their blood, that a she-wolf always destroys her brood if, on being taken to the water, they are found to lap up their liquor, instead of snapping at it in the approved wolfish fashion. In this way the wolves preserve their aristocratic blood from any mixture with that of the plebeian hounds, who are much less scrupulous. A straggling she-wolf will sometimes make up a match with a solitary cur, but after keeping house with him for a few n:onths, she almost always grows ashamed of the connection, runs away from her husband, and leaves him to provide for his young family the best way he can. The deserted father, on the return of winter, usually brings his hopeful progeny to his accustomed haunts, where the spurious race may always be known by their wolfish fur, their pointed ears, and the peculiar sharpness of their bite. They are much less apt to bite, indeed, than the genuine dog, but when they do bite, there's "no mistake" about the matter, and, in their partiality for mutton, they seldom fail to shew themselves worthy of their maternal ancestors; for this reason, when allowed to live, they are usually chained up. They are useful in hunting wolves, whom they attack with greater animosity than any other dogs will do; and when old, they are usually destroyed, their skins being nearly of the same value as those of genuine wolves.

Among birds, none abounds more on the steppe than the bustard, or drakhva, as the Russians call it, which may be seen grazing in every direction. It migrates from Northern Russia on the approach of winter; but about Odessa, and about the mouths of the Dniester and Dnieper, it generally remains all the year round. Bustards are usually seen in parties of from twelve to twenty, but their gregarious habits increase in proportion as the winter advances, when from eighty to a hundred will often be found together. This, however, arises not so much from the sociable propensities of the bird, as from the more limited extent of pasture to which it is then obliged to confine itself. If, terrified by the approach of a real or supposed enemy, one of these large flocks rises, the birds do not remain together, but fly away in different directions to their several nests. In June or July, they may be observed feeding with their young, and on those occasions the male bird is usually seen anxiously watching over the security of his wife and little ones, whom he never fails to apprize of any danger that may seem to be drawing near. The vigilance of the cock is so great, that it is extremely difficult to get a shot at them. The Russians maintain that the bustard knows exactly how far a gun will carry, and never gives the alarm a moment sooner or later than is really necessary. Nevertheless, the Cossacks, who are the chief sportsmen on the steppe, contrive to outmatch the bustard in cunning. Sometimes they creep like snakes through the long grass, and come unobserved upon their prey; sometimes they lure the male birds by means of a little instrument made out of the windpipe of an ox, on which the treacherous hunter contrives to imitate with astonishing accuracy the cry of the female. The most remarkable kind of bustard hunting, however, takes place in winter. The birds at that season creep under the thistles and other high weeds in search of some shelter against the severity of the cold. While in this position, if a hoar frost comes on, their wings become so incrusted with ice, that they lose the power of flying, and they then become an easy prey to foxes, wolves, and above all, to man. The Cossacks, on horseback, run them down with ease, and kill them with the blow of a whip. If the hunter has chosen his time well, and is nimble in the chace, he may expect good sport. Indeed,

there are men among the peasantry of the steppe who have become comparatively rich by a few successful bustard hunts. One man, we are told, killed 150 bustards in one morning with his whip, and sold them at Odessa for 450 rubles. In the north, ten or fifteen rubles are often given for one of these birds. Eagles, vultures, and other birds of prey, are sufficiently abundant, and have probably always been so; but of late years, since a portion of the steppe has been brought under the plough, a number of granivorous birds have made their appearance that were formerly altogether unknown there, and others that were formerly rare have multiplied in a striking manner. Of singing birds, the lark is the only one known on the steppe; but in the gardens about Odessa, the nightingale is occasionally heard.

Of reptiles there is no lack, frogs, toads, and snakes abounding in every part of the country, notwithstanding the dryness of the soil. Toads, particularly, display their ugly forms in every direction, and after a shower of rain they sometimes shew themselves in such numbers, that it is difficult to walk a dozen paces without becoming the involuntary instrument of destruction to several of them. Sometimes a remarkable phenomenon occurs in the summer months, and though Mr. Kohl never witnessed the fact himself, yet he had heard its appearance so often described, not merely by ignorant peasants, but by many of the most intelligent among the German colonists, that he felt it impossible to refuse credence to their accounts. This phenomenon is known among them as the "toad-shower," but we will allow our author to describe it in his own words.

They all agreed that, frequently in June or July, and sometimes even in August, after a short but heavy shower of rain, the ground would suddenly be covered with myriads of small toads, and no one could say whence they came or whither after a little while they went. The rain, they said, must fall in thick heavy drops, and was generally accompanied by sunshine. Long-continued rain, they added, never bred toads, and for that reason, I suppose, the phenomenon never manifested itself during the moist summer of 1838, which I spent in the steppe. Of the numbers of these toads, they recount strange stories. Millions and millions are seen covering the ground, like an army of locusts. It is quite disgusting to walk among them, for in stepping on the ground, a man may crush forty or fifty of them at once. One man told me his stomach had fairly turned on beholding a Russian run barefooted through the unsightly mass, with the crushed bodies and the mangled limbs of the dying reptiles adhering to his feet. The wheels of a cart, I was told, would be saturated with the juices of the dead toads, and incrusted with their loathsome bodies. In size they are stated to be all extremely diminutive, about as large as the young toads that appear early in spring, but much more lively and active. Immediately after the shower, they are seen in the greatest numbers, but they soon disappear, and on the following day not a trace is to be found of them, nor is it observed that, after one of these showers, the number of toads by which the rivers and ponds are peopled is ever materially increased. If you ask the people what they think to be the cause of these phenomena, the Russian will shrug his shoulders and say Bog snayet (God knows); while a Greek will perhaps refer you to the devil for the required information. An intelligent German, to whom I appealed, owned his inability to account for the thing. It appears very marvellous,' he said, but I cannot for a i noment believe that the creatures which we see after one of these toad-showers can be the young of our common toads; for, in the first place, we know that the young have their fixed season-namely, in spring