"Look out! he is afoot!" shouted Mansfield, as a low growl and a rustling in the bottom of the ravine announced that the tiger was at hand. "Be ready for a start, Ishmail, and see that all the beaters make a dash for the village the moment he shows himself."

Again all was hushed in breathless silence, but no tiger appeared. "Confound the skulking brute," roared old Lorimer, hatching about on the top of his bush in an agony of impatience. "Blaze away, Ishmail, give him more fire, man; blow the cowardly beast to the devil!" Again a shower of rockets swept the ravine from end to end. Again the beaters rent the air with their shouts, but still no tiger. Ishmail actually foamed with rage, and Mansfield, unable longer to restrain his impatience, sprang from the tree. "I see how it is," cried he, snorting like a war-horse. "He has got into a cave again, as these rascally hill tigers always do, when they can. But though it be deep as hell and dark as Erebus, I'll have him out. Here, my hearties, lend a hand to cut away some of these bushes, that we may see what we are about."

The bushes having been partly cleared away, so as to admit sufficient daylight, Mansfield cautiously descended into the ravine, closely followed by the trusty Ishmail. After a short search they discovered a small rocky cave in the bank of the ravine, the entrance to which was about four feet from the ground.

"He must have taken shelter here," remarked Mansfield, " and if so, it strikes me, I shall be able to manage him. The entrance to the cave being so high above the ground, I can peep in without showing anything but my head; and if I can only catch the glare of his eyes, I think I can plant a ball between them before he has time to make up his mind for a charge."

"It is a dangerous experiment," replied Ishmail, shaking his head, "but your fortune is great, sahib; the tigers tremble at your presence; we shall try it."

"Not both of us, Ishmail, you can be of no service to me here; I must attempt it alone. But do you go and withdraw the beaters to a safe distance, and tell the gentlemen to be ready to pour in a volley in case he should charge." Ishmail felt much inclined to grumble at this arrangement, which prevented his sharing in the adventure.

But he well knew that Mansfield's orders were not to be disputed, and accordingly withdrew, muttering prayers, and invoking the aid of the Prophet in his behalf.

Mansfield having removed the caps from his rifle, to ascertain that the powder was well up in the tubes, replaced them with fresh ones, so as to prevent the possibility of his weapon missing fire. He then crept quietly along till he was right under the cave, and raising his head, peeped cautiously into the gloomy recess. At first all was impenetrable darkness, but as his eye became gradually accustomed to the subdued light, he perceived two bright green orbs glaring upon him, from the inmost recess of the cavern. Now then for a steady hand, thought Mansfield, as he slowly raised himself so as to bring his rifle to bear. A low surly growl announced that the tiger was on the alert, and a certain impatient switching of the tail, which invariably precedes a determined charge, did not escape the practised ear of Mansfield.

Full well he knew there was no time to be lost. Quickly but steadily the heavy rifle was raised to his shoulder, his finger was on the trigger

-another instant would have sent a two-ounce ball crashing through the tiger's skull, when a terrific roar burst from the cave-a huge mass of yellow fur shot over his head, as if projected from some powerful engine the rifle exploded in the air, and our hero found himself sprawling on his back in the bottom of the ravine, and, strange to say, unhurt.*

With one bound the tiger gained the top of the opposite bank, and bursting through the tangled brushwood, started across the open ground at racing speed. A shower of balls saluted him as he made his appearance, but not a single shot took effect.

The only chance now remained with old Lorimer, and every eye was fixed upon him as " Kill-devil" was slowly raised, and the sight brought to bear upon the tiger.

"Noo then," exclaimed the Doctor, twisting his features into the most extraordinary contortions, and wriggling about on his perch in a perfect ecstasy of excitement. "Noo then, Maister Lorimer, noo, sir, for the love o'goodness haud straight. Od's my life, if you miss him noo, we'll never see mair of him. O! man, tak a good vizzy; O! sir-hurra! -he's deed-he's deed,"-shouted the doctor, almost screaming with delight, as "Kill-devil" poured forth its deadly contents, and the wounded tiger, uttering a shrill roar, bounded high into the air. But this triumphant shout was changed to a groan of horror as the enraged brute turned from his course, and dashed with terrific bounds towards the bush on which Lorimer was seated.

Again his rifle was raised with the coolness of despair-again the report was answered by a short angry roar, announcing that the ball had taken effect, but the tiger only dashed forward with increased speed. Nothing now can save him-every rifle has been discharged-three bounds more, and poor old Lorimer is a mangled corse. The tiger has gathered himself together for the last spring-Charles can bear it no longer, but burying his face in his hands, groans aloud. Ha! he's down-it's all over-No!-hark to that shot-'tis Mansfield's rifle― the ragged bullet whistles through the air, and the tiger, rearing up to his full height, falls back gasping in the last agonies.†

A simultaneous shout of triumph burst from the assembled multitude as Mansfield stepped from the ravine, and dropping the butt-end of his rifle to the ground, drew a long breath like one who has just had a heavy load of anxiety removed from his mind.

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My blessing on you, for a trusty companion," murmured he, regarding his favourite weapon with a look of affection, as if it had been a living creature" You have stood my friend in many a hard pinch, but never before did you put forth your beauties in so good a cause. There was life and death on that shot-I had but one barrel left, and had I failed-it makes me shudder to think what that poor old man would now have been."

The moment it was ascertained that the tiger was fairly unable to rise,

* This extraordinary escape from a tiger actually occurred about five years ago at Dharwar, and will, no doubt, be remembered by those who were stationed there at the time.

This adventure also happened to a particular friend of the writer, exactly as it is related, with this exception, that the tiger after being twice hit in the charge, fell dead from loss of blood when in the act of making his last spring.

the beaters and villagers rushed down in a body to glut their eyes with the dying struggles of their vanquished foe, and many were the curses and maledictions showered upon the expiring tyrant, as he lay, terrible even in death, still glaring fiercely on his tormentors, and making feeble attempts to growl, whilst the frothy blood bubbled in his throat and choked his dying sobs.

"God bless you, my boy," exclaimed old Lorimer, grasping Mansfield's hand in both of his, and squeezing it hard; whilst the tear of gratitude dimmed his eyes. I have not words to thank you as I could wish, but I feel it-I feel it in the bottom of my heart, and my poor dear motherless child will bless you, and pray for you, whilst she lives, for having saved her old father from a cruel death."

Mansfield blushed like a bashful maiden at hearing the praises which were lavished upon him on all sides, and turned away to hide his confusion, whilst he busied himself, with more than usual care, in reloading his rifle.

"Poo! poo! nonsense," cried he at last, "what a fuss you all make about knocking over a tiger. Why it was not much of a shot, after all, although it happened to be put in at a lucky moment; any one of you might have done the same had your rifles been loaded.”

"I'm no' just so sure o' that," remarked the Doctor, with a pawky leer; "there are some of us no' just that good at the lang ranges, and you was a deevle of a long range. But be the shot good, or be it bad, it saved the life o' the best friend I hae on earth, although he did threaten, no' half an hour ago, to ding me aff the tree like a pyat; and for that same I shall hae a respect for you, and your rifle gun, and your lang ranges, till my deein day-so gie's your hand, my trusty friend, and my blessing go wi' you."

In the mean time Ishmail, who had dispatched the tiger by firing a matchlock into his head, was busily employed, with a lighted match, in singeing off his whiskers.

"How do you like that, you sulky-looking old bantchoat," muttered Ishmail, as he squatted in front of the dead tiger, singeing away with great industry. "You little thought, half an hour ago, that you should have me for a barber; but I've got you by the beard now, and the devil a bristle shall I leave on your ugly snout. No, no, I had trouble enough with you when alive, and have no fancy to be haunted by your ghost now that you are dead.”*

Ishmail having finished the singeing operation to his entire satisfaction, the dead tiger was placed upon a cart drawn by four bullocks, and driven off towards the cantonment, followed by a crowd of natives, blowing horns, beating drums, and shouting forth the praises of the victor.

Mansfield, Charles, and the Doctor mounted their nags, to proceed on their expedition to the jungle, and Lorimer, with the rest of the party, cantered home to announce their victory.

KOONDAH.

*The natives of India have a superstitious belief that unless the whiskers of a tiger are singed off immediately after he is killed, all those who have been accessary to his death will be haunted by his ghost.

CHRISTMAS DAY.

1.

THE Christmas days, the merry days,
The Christmas days of old,
Will ne'er return to you or me,
Though many years unfold.
Remember, sister, that gay time,
When all was careless mirth,
Though other joys we yet may share,
That one has pass'd from earth.

2.

Did not the thought of that bright day
Each childish cloud remove?
Did not each eye upon us beam
With more than wonted love?
And many a gift was then bestow'd,
And many a hope exprest;
Oh, sister, those were happy hours,
And prized beyond the rest.

3.

The sun shone warmer on that day,`
The air seem'd far more light,
The robin's carol was more sweet,
Each blade and twig more bright.
Remember, sister, to our ear

How pleasant were the chimes
That call'd us to the house of prayer
At this most bless'd of times-

4.

All the long-absent ones were home,
Young voices raised the song,
And older friends their age forgot
Our pleasures to prolong.
And gaily look'd the stately hall
Deck'd out with holly bough,
Oh sister, think upon those days,
Not thus we keep them now.

5.

But few short years have pass'd since then Yet childhood now is flown,

Our thoughts and feelings all are changed
And other pleasures known.

A change, too, has come o'er our lot,
And alter'd are our ways,-

Yes, sister, you do well to weep
O'er bygone Christmas days!

THE MOTHER'S REVEnge.

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BY THE AUTHOR OF HIGH-WAYS AND BYE-WAYS."

THE rose of the village, the lily of the valley, or any other epithet of the same beautiful and modest order, means always the prettiest girl of the hamlet. The title, however, implies the possession of more than one attribute; for there is infinite justice in rural distinctions, and rustic eyes consult honest hearts before they give their suffrages. The rose or lily" must be amiable as well as lovely; and then in the sweet triumph of her simple nature the synonyme holds good.

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Agatha Engelmann was the only child of Franz, the richest miller on the banks of the Neckar, and she was in all ways worthy of her pre-eminence over her kind-hearted and unenvious companions. Besides her beauty, she possessed quite as much goodness and far more gracefulness than any of them. Nature is never vulgar. The infant, fresh from her hands, is a model of good taste and elegance. The movements of its little limbs, its delicate fingers, the soft, clear, blue-white of its eyes, their silken lashes, the melting circle of the iris, and the exquisitely fine skin, are all hers. The babe has come into the world upon her credit, and it remains for man to pervert and disfigure it.

Agatha was the most sportive and graceful of village children. Every one admired her, and her parents doated on her. At the age of seven she would climb her native hills, and pass whole days in that mysterious enjoyment of existence known only to children. Who can forget the vague and expansive bliss of childhood? Yet there may be some who have never known it-some whose very entrance into life has had no morning-whose delicate and injured spirits have never risen to a sense of pleasure. Injustice and privations have been the tutelar giants of their nurseries and many a deep-drawn sigh in after years has told how every fairy tale was spoiled! An unhappy child is, beyond comparison, the most unwholesome of all anomalies; a harsh parent the most odious of moral malformations. Happiness is the main point of education, and indulgence is the chief element of happiness. Yet a certain degree of restraint is absolutely necessary. It sweetens liberty, and is essential in bringing about the very contrivance of new enjoyment.

Perhaps it had been better if our little Agatha had gone earlier to school; for when at length the task of teaching her to read began, it was hard to say whether the village pedagogue or the light-hearted child was most to be pitied. She was little better than a harnessed butterfly ; he badly suited to guide her winged movements; and as a matter of course she made little or no progress in either reading or writing so the grave and somewhat surly-looking master shook his overloaded head, and prophesied that the little maiden would be a dunce.

:

Many a wiser man than Herr Hormüth of Siegelhausen has been deceived in these matters; for many a precious infant suddenly stands still, and many a dull one as suddenly pushes forward. Adaptation is the secret. Speak at once to the taste and inclination of the child, and you will have an answer. Agatha saw nothing in her alphabet half so pretty as flowers, birds, and sunshine; and she therefore endured the monotonous sledge hammer of instruction, without once having her attention roused so far as to make her ask what it might mean. In the school-room she was half asleep, and, at all events, dreaming.