being ever ready and eager to kill the royal beast should he make the attempt. The tiger, who had just risen, suddenly finding himself hemmed in on all sides, glared around him for an instant. Several shots were discharged at him, some of which taking effect, so maddened the already infuriated brute that he made a sudden spring upon the back of the elephant, on which sat the musicians, and bit at the principal performer, who was nearest the croup. The poor man naturally shrank back. The tiger, however, caught his foot, and tore off a considerable portion of it; then darting into the jungle, and, despite of a volley fired at him, succeeded in gaining the thick covert; from which for some time we vainly attempted to dislodge him.

Finding all other means fail, we at length sent in the elephant that carried the fireworks, and began to throw them lighted into the reeds and brushwood, in order to frighten the tiger from his hiding-place. Presently, to our great horror, the jungle took fire. The mohut in vain urged the elephant, by goading him, to leave the spot. Alarmed by the flames, he stood perfectly still; nothing could induce him to move. The mohut, therefore, and those on his back, were fain to slip down, and risking even a rencontre with the tiger, make their way out of the now burning cover. This they did in safety.

Never in my life did I look upon a more magnificent sight than the conflagration now before me. Disturbed by the fire, animals of every kind, serpents of every hue, burst from the burning jungle. The cries of lesser creatures, mingled with the roar of the affrighted elephant, struck awe into our hearts. The flames were high; the whole country before us presented one mass of fire. Nothing could exceed the grandeur of the scene. Standing on the plain hard by, secure from the danger, we looked on in silent astonishment and admiration.

Presently a louder roar was heard, and the elephant dashed out of the fire. He had evidently been severely burnt. The pads and trappings on his back were in flames, burning and rankling into his flesh; the iron girths were actually red-hot, eating into his sides. He was roaring with agony, and ran bounding along the open space, his trunk elevated, lashing his back with his disproportioned tail. Screaming, mad with torture, in vain we attempted to pursue him, or close him in. Pain had driven him mad; and as the huge animal galloped forward, the wind, acting on the flames, caused them to devour still quicker his thick flesh. His mingled roars and cries I can never forget. At length, dashing into a nullah, he instantly cooled the iron chains, which phizzed in the water, and in returning once more to their natural colour, added one more pang to the wretched animal. We now attempted to offer him succour; but it was too late. The elephant dived. The fire was extinguished; but as he came up he turned on his side, and with one convulsive roar expired.

We now proceeded to return home. The whole way the cries of the poor musician were occasionally heard. His pain was intolerable. He was but too well aware of his doom. There is a venom in the bite of a tiger almost always fatal. So, alas! it turned out in this man's He died within eight-and-forty hours.

case.

Our breakfast-party again assembled at dinner; but, alas! much of their gaiety was gone. The tiger-hunt was anything but a subject of congratulation. Jameson had lost one of his best and most faithful mohuts; one of the most valuable elephants had been burnt to death; the principal musician in the Resident's service was now dying.

THE INJURED INDIVIDUAL.

If ever a man had a right to be a fatalist, it is the "Injured Individual." "If I had been bred a hatter," said one to us once, "I verily believe people would have been born without heads"-an extravagant hypothesis apparently, but not so irrational when we contemplate the man, and hear him recount his wondrous grievances ! We hear much about the equal distribution of happiness, of the virtual equality supposed to pervade the various conditions of life, of the inward satisfaction attendant upon virtuous action independently of its results, the pride of fortitude, the supports of conscience in adversity, the elasticity of hope, and the mystical pleasures of poverty; and, although we do not profess profundity enough to refute the doctrine that good and evil are fairly apportioned to all men, we confess to some misgivings upon the truth of it, and are inclined to think Justice is after all but an one-sided or an impotent arbitress of our earthly destinies. We insist that it is so in the case of the "Injured Individual." There is no compromise for him,-he casts his bread upon the waters, and "there is an end on 't”—a conspiracy of accidents is clearly demonstrable against him—“ blind chance" is not blind whenever his fate is in the issue,—and, let the philosopher of Massachusetts advance what he may upon the law of universal Compensation, here at least is an exception, if but a solitary one, to the working of his theory. Who has not met the Injured Individual?-the man of many wrongs-the scapegoat of treachery-the victim of the designing, the ungrateful, and the vicious, the friend with legitimate long face and clouded brow, who comes to you ever with a new recital of his trials and a fresh illustration from his own experience of the villany of mankind? Gallantly has he performed his part; exemplary are the aptitude and assiduity he has displayed in all the enterprises in which he has been engaged; and, yet, how the malice of man, and the decrees of unseen powers, have worked against him for evil! Not few, but countless are the proofs his autobiography unfolds of his predestinated martyrdom through this life, and the unconditional postponement of all his little enjoyments to the brighter ages of the life to come. A very target for fortune to "shoot her bolts at "—his ill star ever glimmering upon him, like a dark lantern, to discover him to the malignant eye of his persecutors! This is no exaggeration. And the man is no illusion. There is "the lucky dog,"—and there is the "Injured Individual." The lottery of life has dealt him not only blanks, but forfeitures, pains, and penalties. Men and elements have combined against him. Frauds, and shipwrecks, and the I whips and scorns of time," are among the minor evils that have assailed him-Bankruptcies and hurricanes, prosecutions, revolutions, and even earthquakes, help to swell the catalogue of fell agencies that have wreaked destruction on his guiltless head, and before which, after long and fierce struggling, he now "'gins to pale his ineffectual fire," and seek a refuge under the disconsolate title of "The Injured Individual.”

Reader, extend your sympathies to this man. But be not deceived

"

as to his identity. Be sure he is the veritable character he pretends to be, and not one of the million counterfeits abroad, imposing upon the credulous, and assuming to themselves the title and privileges belonging only to the really Injured Individual. Be careful not to be seduced by the whinings of the Insatiable, who would grasp all, and swear it is theirs not in law only, but in equitythirsty souls, whose quick sensibilities feel the hardship of having to do an act of benevolence "for the sake of appearances," and the unkindness of the needy, who impose on them the necessity of refusing under any circumstances to transgress the limits which the forms of ostentatious charity prescribe-with whom the rights of property are a code of morals, and a claim upon their friendship a depredation, and an "injury!" Listen not, either, to the groans of the dilapidated idler, who never would follow advice, nor receive it, and has lived to verify in his own history the trite predictions of nursery fables and the aphorisms of his writing-master touching the rewards of industry and the fruits of disobedience. Truth is seldom welcome where it condemns, and few men can bear the idea of having "injured" themselves, even by a lapsus or a venial indiscretion. Those notorious for having been "their own enemies" are apt to be imaginative on the subject of their grievances, and can relate, many of them, some heart-rending "injuries which they have sustained through the operation of the common course of nature very desperadoes, when sympathy is denied them. They proclaim themselves Injured Individuals! Nothing requires more patience to bear, or philosophy to profit by, than the process of expiation. Consequences are incurred without a thought; but to bear them often "drives the soul to madness." There is a sort of lunacy which makes people fancy themselves "injured individuals;" like the man with the "turned head," the imagination fled to for consolation befools them into monomania. How many of the self-constituted "Injured Individuals" must have passed through the Gazette! What swarms must have recreated themselves in our prisons and houses of correction! And, in the professions how many startling geniuses, from being too proud to stoop, too vulgar to please, or too indolent to work, become ridiculous for their presumption, or wound themselves with the sword they are not skilled enough to wield against a foe,-and yet condole with themselves as Injured Individuals." An ambitious man rushes into an uncongenial sphere, and is eclipsed by a more competent rival-he is thenceforward an Injured Individual. The flatterer, who entices with his fair words, when discovered to be a "humbug," and treated accordingly, can conscientiously declare himself an Injured Individual! Nay even the very Bully, who chances upon a wrong customer, through defect of that astuteness, in selecting his victim, which seldom does accompany brutality of mind, even he will dub himself an Injured Individual. Then there are those of the dashing school, who are bold enough to run the risk of dreadful retribution for the chance of brilliant gain, and who, if the cast be against them, cannot endure the conditions entailed, and "strike" as soon as they are "put to their purgation." They, too, can call themselves Injured Individuals. The apple-woman in the street, who, scorning the admonitions of the police, invades the sanctity of the pavé, thereby "provoking Justice to break her bas

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ket" and scatter her provisions into the gutter, vows herself an Injured Individual! The husband who neglects his wife, because no man can serve two mistresses," and is brought to atone for the dereliction by ignominy and disgrace, nominates himself an Injured Individual. The fool-hardy combatant, who will fight singlehanded despite the entreaties of friends who know his weakness and the strength of his antagonist, and then gets worsted at a blow, has the poor consolation of fancying himself an Injured Individual. The sensualist, in the agonies of dyspepsia, pities himself into a frenzy and "jumps the life to come out of his bed-room windowwhen his own testimony is not wanting to identify him, in one sense at least, as an Injured Individual. These and many others, such as the usurer who meets with losses, the gambler who "snaps his tether," the "crab" repudiated for his acerbities, the ruffian expatriated to save his life, the spendthrift embarrassed, the aggressor repelled, the cheat exposed, the proser coughed down, the trickster entrapped, the coward degraded-all are in turn arrogators of the merit and immunities contended for in behalf of the Injured Individual. In fine, for the protection of our client, the real Injured Individual, and of his benefactors the public at large, we may assert that most of the fraternity who give themselves out for Injured Individuals are generally such as, directly by word or deed, or indirectly by example, are most open to the charge of doing injury to others. They are damaged but not Injured, Individuals.

CURIO.

THE MONK'S CHOICE.

BY WILLIAM JONES.

"BROTHER JACQUES! Brother Jacques!"

"Who wants Brother Jacques?"

"An old man-feeble and worn is he,

Who waiteth below to be shrived by thee."

"Fool, fool!-didst not tell him refection was spread?
By the rood! I'll not leave it to waken the dead!"

"Brother Jacques! Brother Jacques!"

"Who wants Brother Jacques?”

"A widow, who seems to be sore distress'd,
For her son, who lieth but ill at rest."

"Peace, varlet !-Hand me that flagon, and say,
I'll hie me unto her by break of the day!"

"Brother Jacques! Brother Jacques!"

"Well, Brawler, what now?”

"A maiden is waiting thee; sly seems the jade!
(I marvel how such should want fatherly aid!)
As bold, too, as fair, for she laugh'd in my face,
When I ask'd if she came for confession and grace!"

"Good Ambrose! good Ambrose! I fear for thy fame,
Such converse befits not thine age or thy name!
Bid the maiden come hither! Didst say she was fair?
Then her sins are already dissolv'd into air!''

LIFE IN HANOVER.

CHAPTER I.

THE GARDEN.

"I enter thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haidée.”

BYRON.

THE traveller who has wandered through the north of Germany cannot fail to have been struck with the extreme liberality and good taste displayed by the proprietors of the many beautiful gardens and pleasure-grounds in the neighbourhood of all the large towns, in throwing them open unreservedly to the public.

In no part of the country has more solicitude been manifested to make the most of unpromising materials than in the environs of the city of Hanover. If it were not for the swiftly-flowing Seine, which partly encircles the town, and pours one of its streams through its very centre, the task would have been one of some difficulty; but the facility of irrigation has greatly assisted the efforts of the land-owners, and the result is the number of pleasant walks and gardens that surround the place. The royal domains of Herrenhausen and Montbrillant are the most extensive, and display the greatest pretension; but they are neither so well situated, nor turned to such good account, as some of the smaller gardens belonging to the nobility of Hanover.

It was in one of the latter that the opening scene took place of the occurrences which furnish the substance of the following pages.

In the summer of the year 183-, it chanced that a young Englishman accidentally took up his abode in Hanover, during an excursion which was destined to last some months in that part of Europe. One fine morning, therefore, he betook himself to the environs of the town to enjoy, if not the picturesque, at any rate the smiling, aspect of nature, beneath the clear blue sky and glowing sun of summer. It was yet early, but the occupations of life had already begun in the streets. The peasant-women were sawing timber for fire-wood, while their husbands smoked their pipes, and leisurely looked on; the city-scavenger had gone his rounds with his bell in his hand and his gigantic broom across his shoulder; and the women again the old poor of the town-had nearly finished the labour of sweeping the streets through which he had perambulated. The grocer had begun to roast his coffee in front of his shop, — the market-folks had set out their fruit and vegetables, - the knitters in the sun had taken to their live-long occupation,-in short, the clock of the Neuen-Kirche had just struck seven.

Our traveller-let us call him by his name, Charles Denhamcrossed the wide market-place near his residence, and proceeded in a southerly direction, from whence he had been told he might perchance descry the blue summit of the distant Brocken. He traversed the Waterloo Square, pausing for a moment only to look upon the bust of Leibnitz, and then pursued his course through a