have time, for jist then I heerd a thump in the "I was goin' on to say more, but I didn't bushes, and the she-panther cum in as ef she was flyin'. She won't tree, and she goes in a straight painter cumin' like greased lightnin'." He line to 'tother eend of creation, and now walked slowly into the ring of seated Inshe's goin' back agin." He took another dians, laid before them the cub rolled up in log and ferried back. Then he found where his coat, and sat down as far off as conventhe panther had lain down, but there was no ient. He announced a present to the chief trace of a cub. "It tuck just a minute of and— thinking, and it was all clare." The panther had littered two cubs near where she was seen in the morning. She knew the place was unsafe so she determined to carry her cubs into the swamp beyond the river. She made straight for the swamp with one of them, and hid it, returned on her track, hoping to mislead her pursuer, and at a safe time to carry her other cub into the same swamp. "Soon as I had reasoned this out, I struck for that ere swamp straight." He found the cub and tied it up in his hunting coat. "When I got all this done, I thought of the old painter, and what she would say to me when she come home with her 'tother young'un. The more I calkerlated, the more it seemed onpleasant; for though the varmint was so perlite when she was outwitting me, I reckoned she wouldn't be so much so when the boot got on 'tother leg. Fust I thought I would get out of that air windfall, and wait for the old lady on the bank of the river, whar we could have a clare field, fur I knew it was sartain she would be arter me, and I'd a leetle reether the fight wouldn't be fit out in that swamp. So I put out for the river, and when I got thar, took a clare spot and putttin' the cub down for the stakes, sat down to wait for the other party." 66 The sun had gone down. The dog grew restless and watched the swamp as if he knew what was coming. The frogs were heard, and the owls and cranes, but I couldn't hear any painter, and accordin' to my calculations there would be some howlin' when she cum home, and found her pappoose bagged." It got so dark that Mike could not see the sights on his rifle :— "I thought it all over to myself. I own up I felt kind a mean like. This stealin' young cubs out their nests is onnateral any way. . . . I'd given a bearskin to put that cub back, and then have fit it out with a clare conscience. But it could'nt be done no how. All that's left when the deal is made is to stand up to your hand." Just then he saw beyond the river the light of an Indian camp. It was part of Tiger Tail's band. They were friendly then, but "nasty varmints, worsen painters any day." However, they could help the fight, so Mike paddled over once more, looking round once or twice to see if the panther was not climbing on the log behind him. He got over all right, and yer better believe I didn't let grass grow under me." As he came up to the camp, he looked back, and "where the sandy bank lay against the water, where it was brightened by the sunset, I see the she The lousy devils rolled over like prairie dogs, the pot upsot, the coals flew around, the squaws yelled, the dogs pitched in, and afore any one could get out his knife, that painter did some tall tearin'. They rolled over and over, yellin', bitin,' swearin'. Some got hit fur the painter fur they couldn't see whar to strike, and thar was no room for shootin'. Lord, Colonel, it would hur done you good to have seen that air scrimmage. I got behind a tree, and larfed so it hurt me; and when I see they had well nigh fit out, Yowler and me, thinkin' they might blame us, stepped out, and I hain't seen them Injuns nur that air painter since." There is another and even a better story about a panther and a parson getting shut up together in a pig-pen on a dark winter night, on the coast, when, between the noise of the wind and the surf, " you couldn't a heerd a neighbor askin' you to take a drink, and I reckon that is what a man hears quickest." A hunter is outside the pen preparing to shoot the panther, and listening to the ejaculations of the divine "Just then the doctor broke out afresh, half a screechin', half a prayin'; he seemed to be kind 'o confessin' to the painter, for he was goin' over what a sinner he had been, and talking about Daniel in the lion's den, and the sword of the Lord, and somethin' about Gideon, and Samson and the young lion; and yer never did hear a critter get out so much that was pious in so short a time. I think if I wanted to convart a sinner I'd shut him up with a painter, I would." The parson hoped, as he prayed, that the panther, who was nearly as uncomfortable and as noisy in a different way as himself, would jump out of the pen by a hole in the roof, and leave him among the gentle pigs. But the panther tried the leap, and failed: and then the parson forgot his praying, and hollowed lustily to the hunter to come and help him. "He was like the old woman who said she trusted in Providence, when her horse ran away with her, till the britchen broke, and then she guv up." We rather think that this must have been the same parson of the Southern States of whose spiritual gifts we have somewhere heard a very emphatic commendation. It should be known that in the south the ruder settlers have a single coarse form of speech which supplies every variety of the uses of a superlative. Thus a Texan once went to a theatre especially to witness the last combat and glorious death of a popular naval hero. Unfortunately, the Texan fell asleep, and did not wake until the curtain had fallen on the final tableau. He begged a neighbor to describe to him the spirit-stirring scene. "Wall," was the answer, "he fired off three pistols, wrapped himself in the American flag, and died like a son of a " mother of puppies. Another roving Texan was once prevailed upon to go to meeting, and was asked by a comrad what he thought of the spiritual exercises of the minister. "Wall," said he, "he worn't so great in preachin', but he prayed like a son of a " lady dog. It is a conjecture of our own that this gift may have been developed by the company of a panther in a pig-pen. We shall not describe how the parson blundered into danger, nor how the hunter extricated him. Those who are induced by this notice to read the book will thank us for exciting their curiosity. But in our amusement at particular scenes we had almost forgotten to notice that the book we have been praising contains a story with love-making, and tragic incidents, and a happy ending. Indeed, we should prefer, if possible, to forget this portion of the book altogether. It is something like a personal injury that we feel on seeing Ingun Mike made to fall in love. The Long Rifle did service in many ways to the novelist who created him, but he was never condemned to make so very poor a figure before a lady as does this modern reproduction of the sagacious and dreaded Hawk-eye. The Achilles of Homer does not shock us more in the pages of Racine than would the white comrad of the Mohican chiefs making humble and hopeless suit to a young lady fresh from a genteel school. However, in the days of which Cooper wrote, young ladies did not often go from school in the Old States to homes on the border land of civilization, and therefore the hearts of frontiersmen may have been safer, and their views of existence more philosophical, than they can now be. If an Ingun Mike chances to exist in the nineteenth century, he must accept the conditions of existence, of which liability to the tender passion appears to be one everywhere. The young lady who does the mischief is the daughter of a frontier-settler, named Jackson. The only overt act of courtship committed by Mike is to shoot a tiger-cat, of which animal Miss Jackson wishes to possess a skin. The attempt at explanation which accompanies the gift is severely snubbed. Then Jackson's farm is attacked by Indians, and the family, under Mike's guidance, make for the nearest military post. But Jackson is killed as they descend the river, and Mike conducts the orphan daughter to a place of safety. Thence she goes to dwell with her father's brother, who is lighthouse keeper on a sand-bank on the coast, and there the uncle and niece are besieged by Tiger Tail and a band of eight warriors. The old man is killed, and the girl is blockaded in the light-tower, when, of course, Mike comes to her relief. Need we say that the crack of his single rifle is the knell of fate to the bloodthirsty foe? Need we tell how, in three years, Miss Jackson finds out that she loves her preserver, and how she returns to affluence and civilized society, and then hints to the respectful and devoted Mike that the passion he has striven to subdue is reciprocated, and that she is prepared for the usual consequences? We close the book with a mournful apprehension that, if there be a miserable dog on earth, it must be Injun Mike after six months' experience of civilization and connubial felicity. BEE SUPERSTITION.-A strange mode of alluring bees, when the usual way of dressing cottagers' hives fails, was related to me lately by an old farmer, who says he saw it practised fifty years ago at Churcham, near Gloucester: pint of beans, which they then caused a sow to devour from the hive; and deponent stated that after such a process the swarm at once took to icately fastidious are bees as to strong or unthe hive. Now, when we consider how delseemly odors, the puzzling point is, does this When a swarm was to be hived, the Church-custom, if fact, rest upon any natural or recogam bec-masters, it appears, did not moisten the in- nizable principle, or is it, like many other bee cusside of the hive with honey or sugar and water, toms, the relic of an effete superstitious usage? etc., but threw into the inverted hive about a-Notes and Queries. POETRY.-Departure of the Prince of Wales, 578. Solitary Life, 578. The Future of the Fashions, 628. SHORT ARTICLES.-Coverdale's Bible, 603. Proverbial Sayings, 603. The Maronites and the Druses, 609. Queen Victoria and President Buchanan, 614. Mind and Matter, 614. Poisoned Harpoons, 614, 625. Yankees, 618. Swimming, 618. Original Letter of George Fox, 622.* Hot-Air Bath, 625. Ride or Drive, 628. Dr. Wright of Norwich, 628. Temples: Churches, why so called, 630. Thomas Fuller, M.D., 630. The word "ventilate," 634. Four-bladed Clover, 634. Baptismal Names, 640. Urchin, 640. Henpecked, 640. NEW BOOKS. JACK HOPETON; or The Adventures of a Georgian. By Wm. M. Turner, of Putnam Co., Georgia. Derby and Jackson, New York. THE SUNNY SOUTH; or the Southerner at Home, embracing Five Years Experience of a Northern Governess in the Land of the Sugar and the Cotton. Edited by Professor J. H. Ingraham, of Mississippi. G. G. Evans, Philadelphia. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually for warded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight. are for sale at two dollars a volume. ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. ODE ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES. (If the Laureate wont do his work, Punch must.) AUSPICIOUS blow, ye gales, That waft the Prince of Wales As the son of his mamma, What transports the Canadians will evince How all the bells will ring, the cannons roar ! Oh, wont they feast him and caress him! They'll make, no doubt, a greater fuss, In some of our remoter parts, (May she be destined long to reign!) When by her parliament set free, She travels by a stopping train, Britannia's trump, the queen of hearts. What mobs will his hotel beset, What multitudes demand Hosts of reporters will his footsteps dog, Describe his mouth and nose, Ye free and easy citizens, be not rude, Oh! will that Yankee not be blest She had her griefs,-but why recount them here? To whom the son of England's queen shall say Since every agony left peace behind, "Out of the way?" And healing came on every stormy wind, From The Quarterly Review. to the founder of historical criticism, and men Joseph Justus Scaliger. Von Jacob Ber- have become aware of the gulf which divides nays. Berlin, Herz, 1855. FROM the space which Joseph Scaliger once filled in the world-at least in the world of books-it might have been, thought that he would have found many biographers. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries every writer of any figure had his Boswell. Joseph Scaliger wrote the Life of his father Julius Cæsar. But Joseph himself is an exception. Professor Bernays, at the distance of two hundred and fifty years, is the first person who has undertaken to give any complete account of perhaps the most extraordinary man who has ever devoted his life to letters. the emendatory critics, the "syllabarum aucupes," the herd of grammarians and antiquaries, from the master-mind of Joseph Scaliger. What, when compared with him," cries Niebuhr, "is the book-learned Salmasius? Scaliger stood on the summit of universal solid philological learning, in a degree that none have reached since ; so high in every branch of knowledge, that from the resources of his own mind he could comprehend, apply, and decide on, whatever came in his way.' Professor Bernays, himself a rare union of comprehensive intellect with intimate familiarity with the details of the literary history of the time, has at last restored the younger Scaliger to his rightful throne. The powerful delineation of his philological labors presented by Dr. Bernays, throws quite a new light on the origin of historical science in modern Europe. In laying before our readers some notices of the personal life of the archcritic, we must beg to refer them to the volume of the Breslau professor for a strictly scientific survey of his philological and critical performances. This remarkable silence is itself not without a cause. Scaliger's great works in historical criticism had outstripped any power of appreciation which the succeeding age possessed. It was not that his name was forgotten at his death; on the contrary, his fame maintained itself at least during all the first period of splendor of the Leyden school, by whom reverence for Scaliger was exalted into a culte. But this veneration was inspired by Scaliger's secondary labors-by his Joseph Juste de L'Escale was born at Agen, gift of emendatory criticism, and his skill in then in the province of Guienne, 4-5 August, the Greek language. His merit came to 1540. Joseph was the tenth of fifteen chilconsist, with these worthy commentators, in dren, whom his father had by his marriage, his having given good editions of two or three at the age of 46, with Andiette de Roques Greek authors, and, with the schoolmasters, Lobesac, æt. 16. De L'Escale is only the in his facility in writing verses. But when French form of Della Scala, the title of the it was found that the Variorum Classics were princely house of Verona, who were disvastly better edited, and that his Greek lam- possessed by the Venetians. From a cadetbics contained metrical errors, his credit was branch of this family Jules-Cesar, the fashaken. In the philosophical eighteenth ther of Joseph, believed himself descended. century, when the tables were turned upon When the Jesuits afterwards got the ear of classical learning, when, from having en- literary Europe, they spent a vast amount grossed all the honors of the republic of let- of lying and forgery in disproving this deters, the classics were voted obsolete, or scent, and at last succeeded in persuading the only endurable in a "modern dress," Scali- world of their story. The world was bored ger became a synonyme for a pedant. When enough with Joseph in his capacity of " PrinChurchill, foaming at the mouth, would make ceps literarum:" it could not put up with his teeth meet in Warburton's flesh, he can having to acknowledge him a prince by blood do no worse than compare him to "the Scal- besides. The Jesuit onslaught on Scaliger igers, the learned pedants of the sixteenth for we shall use henceforth the Latinized century." Only a scholar of comprehensive form of the name-is an important feature knowledge, here and there one, such as in his life, and will have to be explained preWesseling or Ruhnken, was capable of meas-sently. uring the stride of Scaliger. Gradually, and At eleven years of age Joseph was sent to recently, the revival of the study of the an- a Latin School at Bordeaux, a school where cient world in Germany has drawn attention his elder brother Sylvius had been before |