he thick skin, and moored Behemoth to a tree. I then took
my rifle, and sent a ball through the center of her head, and she was
numbered with the dead." There is nothing in "Waterton's Wanderings,"
or in the "Adventures of Baron Munchausen" more startling than this
"Waltz with a Hippopotamus!"

In the all-wise disposition of events, it is perhaps ordained that
wild animals should be subdued by man to his use at the expense
of such tortures as those described in the work before us. Mere
amusement, therefore, is too light a motive for dealing such wounds
and death Mr. Cumming owns to; but he had other motives,--besides a
considerable profit he has reaped in trophies, ivory, fur, &c., he has
made in his book some valuable contributions to the natural history of
the animals he wounded and slew.

* * * * *

FROM GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE FOR AUGUST

MANUELA.

A BALLAD OF CALIFORNIA.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

From the doorway, Manuela, in the sheeny April morn,
Southward looks, along the valley, over leagues of gleaming corn;
Where the mountain's misty rampart like the wall of Eden towers,
And the isles of oak are sleeping on a painted sea of flowers.
All the air is full of music, for the winter rains are o'er,
And the noisy magpies chatter from the budding sycamore;
Blithely frisk unnumbered squirrels, over all the grassy slope;
Where the airy summits brighten, nimbly leaps the antelope.
Gentle eyes of Manuela! tell me wherefore do ye rest
On the oaks' enchanted islands and the flowery ocean's breast?
Tell me wherefore down the valley, ye have traced the highway's mark
Far beyond the belts of timber, to the mountain-shadows dark?
Ah, the fragrant bay may blossom, and the sprouting verdure shine
With the tears of amber dropping from the tassels of the pine.
And the morning's breath of balsam lightly brush her sunny cheek--
Little recketh Manuela of the tales of Spring they speak.
When the Summer's burning solstice on the mountain-harvests glowed,
She had watched a gallant horseman riding down the valley road;
Many times she saw him turning, looking back with parting thrills,
Till amid her tears she lost him, in the shadow of the hills.
Ere the cloudless moons were over, he had passed the Desert's sand.
Crossed the rushing Colorada and the dark Apache Land,
And his laden mules were driven, when the time of rains began.
With the traders of Chihuaha, to