The common tortoise, often kept in gardens, is found in the south of Europe, and is generally not more than nine inches long. Its upper shield is exceedingly strong. My brothers and sisters and I used often to stand upon the back of a pet tortoise which lived in our garden; it did not seem to feel our weight, but I remember finding it no easy matter to keep my feet together upon its smooth back, and none of us could perform this feat unless the tortoise was pleased to stand still while we balanced ourselves upon him. I can, in imagination, see this little tortoise of ours now, not larger than a crab such as you see at the fishmonger's, with its short legs and feet, and its little tail, all covered with scales, sticking out between its upper and under shells. How we used to laugh, when we saw him draw in his head and feet under the shelter of the shell: the only sign he gave of being annoyed at all our pranks! We were told that our tortoise might not die for a hundred years, and I have heard that some have been known to live twice that time; it is a slow sort of life, but we must not forget that, in the poem about the Hare and the Tortoise, it was "slow and steady" that won the race. I cannot remember that we ever gave our tortoise anything to eat; it must have catered for itself in the garden where it was so fond of burrowing and hiding away, that we had many a hunt for it when it was supposed to be lost. Mr. Wood speaks of a small one which he used to feed with bread and milk. He kept it, not in a garden, but in his own room, where its favourite place was the rug: for it enjoyed the heat so much, that it made many attempts, with its short legs and heavy shell, to climb over the fender in order to get nearer to the fire. I don't remember that our tortoise ever made any noise; but this one, shortly before it died, went about mewing like a young kitten. Far from living to be a hundred, Mr. Wood's pet died so soon that he had no opportunity of seeing whether it would in time get to know him; but a story is told of a tortoise who did take a fancy to one person, and, though he would attend to no one else, would come creeping along at her call, and tap the boot of his favourite with his beak, in token, we may suppose, of his regard. One lady, who had a long-standing acquaintance with a tortoise, having fed him for thirty years, said he would come to her, and to no one else; which looked rather like "cupboard love," you will say.