he gave them a hearty blow, which these poltroons never returned, but scampered away as fast as they could. It appeared to me extremely singular, and I could not account for it, that next to the Serpent, the animal which he most dreaded was one of his own species; whether it was that he was sensible that his being tamed had deprived him of great part of his faculties, and that fear had got possession of his senses, or that he was jealous and dreaded a rivalry in my friendship. Sometimes he heard others of the same species making a noise in the mountains; and notwithstanding his terror, he thought proper, I know not for what reason, to reply to them. When they heard his voice they approached; but as soon as he perceived any of them he fled with horrible cries; and running between our legs, implored the protection of everybody, while his limbs quivered through fear. We found it no easy matter to calm him; but he gradually resumed after some time his natural tranquillity. He was very much addicted to thieving, a fault common to almost all domestic animals; but in Kees it became a talent, the ingenious efforts of which I admired, and notwithstanding all the correction bestowed on him by my people who took the matter seriously, he was never amended. He knew perfectly well how to untie the ropes of a basket to take provisions from it; and, above all, milk, of which he was remarkably fond; more than once he has made me go without any. I often beat him pretty severely myself; but when he escaped from me, he did not appear at my tent till towards night.” “Milk in baskets!” why truly the term “basket,” as applied to a vessel for holding milk, appears to require some explanation; but it was really carried in baskets woven by the Yonaquas, of reeds so delicate and so close in texture that they might be employed in carrying water or any liquid. The abstraction of the milk may be considered as a kind of set-off against the appropriation of Kees’s favourite root by his master. The pertinacious way in which Kees bestrode Le Vaillant’s Dogs will recall to the remembrance of some a Monkey that was, and perhaps still is, riding about London in hat and feather, with garments to match, upon a great Dog, with the usual accompaniment of hand-organ and Pan’s pipe. Upon these occasions the Monkey evidently feels proud of his commanding position; but ever and anon we have seen him suffer from one of those sad reverses of fortune to which the greatest among us are subject. In the midst of the performance, while the organ and pipe are playing, and the Monkey has it all his own way, and, elevated with the grandeur that surrounds him, is looking in a supercilious manner at the admiring crowd, some good-natured but unlucky boy throws the Dog a bit of cake, in his zeal to pick up which the latter lowers his head and shoulders so suddenly as infallibly to pitch his rider over his head. We have thought more than once that there was a sly look about the Dog as he