of the battle the kingdom was lost."

How much the death of King William retarded progress in Great Britain
can never be judged or determined. His appointed hour had come. It was
no bullet with its billet on the banks of the Boyne that laid the
Dutchman low, but the cast-up earth of a specimen of a little
insectivorous quadruped called the mole, which laid him on that bed from
which he never arose.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] Jeremy Taylor, if I remember aright.

[29] Vol. V., pp. 305-310.

BEARS.

A most comfortably clad set of plantigrade creatures, as fond, most of
them, of fruits as they are of flesh. No creatures are more amusing in
zoological gardens to children, who wonder at their climbing powers. Who
is so heartless as not to have pitied the roving polar bear, caged, on a
sultry July day, in a small paddock with a puddle, and wandering about
restlessly in his few feet of ground, as the well-dressed mob lounged to
hear the military band performing in the Regent's Park Zoological
Gardens? Even young bears have an _adult_ kind of look about them. The
writer remembers the manner of one, disappointed at its bread sap, most
of the milk of which had been absorbed. A little girl standing by, not
two years old, perfectly understood what the little creature was
searching for, and, looking up, said "milka," or something closely
resembling it. We recently saw a little brown bear, on board a Russian
ship at Leith. He acted as a capital guard. The little creature had a
grown-up face, more easily observed than described.

Bear hams, we speak from rare experience, are truly excellent. Bears, in
our early London days, were kept by many hairdressers and perfumers. The
anecdote or passage from Dickens's "Humphrey's Clock" is very
characteristic.

In one of Wilkie's pictures the brown bear is figured on its way with
its owners to the parish beadle's "house of detention." We remember the
very bear and its owners. A fine chapter might be written on the animals
that used to be led about the country by wandering foreigners. Our first
sight of guinea-pigs, our first view of the black-bellied hamster, our
first sight of the camel and dromedary, with a monkey on his neck, and
our first bear, were seen in this way. Boys and girls in those days
seldom saw menageries. A muzzled bear on its hind legs in Nicolson
Street, or at the Sciennes, was an exotic sight seldom witnessed, and
not easily forgotten. The last we saw was in Bernard