strength to walk to St. Ouen, his wretched home. She still coaxed him. "How do you think we can get along this way, Pierrot? To be sure, I could drag the cart. But I can't put you in it, and you would be ashamed to be

move.

6. I was going to speak to her, when she ran into the nearest wine-shop. The donkey followed her with anxious eyes; he seemed fearful that he would die without his mis

tress. He was so little you would have taken him at a distance for a Pyrenean dog. He had grown gray in the harness. A few tufts of gray hair remained here and there on his emaciated body. He looked like a mountain burned bare in many places. His resigned air showed a mind free from worldly vanities. He was far past the age when one strikes attitudes. He was almost transparent in his leanness. But his face was all the more expressive. It had something almost human in its intelligence and goodness. Why had he been condemned to such suffering? Was it the expiation of a former life passed in luxurious orgies?

7. The rag-picker soon returned, bringing a piece of bread and a lump of sugar. The donkey turned and showed his teeth, like old piano-keys. But, although it was his breakfast-time, he had no more strength in his mouth than in his legs. She gave him the sugar. He took it as if to oblige her, but dropped it again, and the same with the bread.

8. "Ah! what shall I do ?" said the rag-picker. She thought no more of her cart. She was full of anxiety for her friend Pierrot. "Pierrot!" she cried again. Two great tears came to her eyes. She took his head in her arms and kissed him like a child. The caress did what nothing else could do. The donkey roused himself, and brayed as in his best days. I feared it was only his swansong. I approached, and said to the woman: "You seem to be in trouble."

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9. "Oh!" she said, crying, "if you knew how I love this beast. I saved him from the butchers four years ago. In those days I had only a hod. I have raised seven children with my hook. The father is gone and one other, and my eldest daughter was taken a fortnight ago.. My worst grief was that I had to take one to the Foundlings. I had eleven in all; four of them died. It's no use; you can't take good care of them when you work in the streets

He

all night. This little donkey has been my only consolation. He was better company than my husband. never got drunk, and never beat me; and I never beat him. Did I, Pierrot ?"

10. The poor little beast seemed to share in the conversation. He half raised his ears and assented. One of my friends passed by, and asked me what I was doing. "I am making a new friend.". "He may be witty, but he is not handsome."-"I find him admirable, and I would like to see you in his place. He has been out since midnight. Here, you want to help me in a work of charity ?”—“ With all my heart."—"Very well; let us buy this donkey and put him on the retired list. This good woman will take care of him."

11. The rag-picker were laughing at her. louis-d'or she smiled.

looked at us severely, fearing we But when she saw the shine of the "How much did Pierrot cost?"

"Ten francs."-"Well, you go back to the abattoir and buy another donkey, and take care of this one." I gave my card to the woman, and said good-by to her and the donkey. The miracle was complete. The donkey started off in high spirits, the woman pushing the cart from behind.

12. That evening the woman came to me in tears. I understood at once. "Oh! sir, he is gone."—" Poor Pierrot!"-"Yes, sir, we got to St. Ouen one way or another; but when he came in sight of our hut he fell on his knees. I tried to raise him, but this time it was all over. My children came running and crying. They talked to him and kissed him. He looked at them so sadly as to break our hearts. I tell you there are lots of people in the world not worth half so much as poor Pierrot. Think of it: he wanted to die at home after finishing his day's work." Like a soldier who dies after firing his last cartridge.

13. The rag-picker opened her hand, and I saw the money I had given her in the morning. "Here is your

hundred francs, sir." I do not know whether I most admired her or the donkey-the donkey who did his duty to death, or the woman more delicate than our charity.

Arsene Houssaye.

EMOTIONAL EXPRESSION.

1. THE first principle upon which the emotional expression of animals depends is, that the muscular movement which gives the expression is serviceable to the animal at the time it is made. Among the carnivora, some crouch to remain concealed until the game is within reach of their spring; others crouch to get out of sight altogether; some boldly advance to the attack, every muscle and nerve connected with their organs of attack in extreme tension; and others await the attack, the nerves and muscles connected with the organs of defense in equal tension. The various attitudes assumed are necessary for the best performance of the act which is to succeed, and the attitude becomes the expression of the mood of the animal at the time.

2. The second principle of expression is that of antithesis. Certain states of mind lead to certain movements which are of service. When a directly opposite state of mind is induced, there is a strong and involuntary tendency to make movements of a directly opposite nature, though these have never been of any service. We can best illustrate these principles by referring to the actions of the dog and cat, which can be observed by all.

3. When a dog approaches a strange dog or man in a hostile frame of mind, he walks upright and very stiffly; his head is slightly raised, or not much lowered; the tail is held erect and quite rigid; the hairs bristle, especially along the neck and back; the pricked ears are directed forward, and the eyes have a fixed stare. These actions fol

low from the dog's intention to attack his enemy, and are thus intelligible. As he prepares to spring upon his enemy he utters a savage growl, the canine teeth are uncovered, and the ears are pressed close backward on the head. 4. Let us now suppose that the dog suddenly discovers that the man whom he is approaching is not a stranger, but his master; and let it be observed how completely and instantaneously his whole bearing is reversed. In

stead of walking upright, the body sinks downward, or even crouches, and is thrown into flexuous movements; his tail, instead of being held stiff and upright, is lowered and wagged from side to side; his hair instantly becomes smooth; his ears are depressed and drawn backward, but not closely to the head: and his lips hang loosely. From the drawing back of the ears, the eyelids become elongated, and the eyes no longer appear round and staring. It should be added that the animal is at such times