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In general he is averse from any minute examina- tion, and is commonly occupied in the sports of children, to which he is devoted in a remarkable

degree. His voice is shrill, and less articulate · than common at his age; his mental attain

ments appear to fall rather below the ordinary standard.

His father having a superficial knowledge of the English language, I was led to inquire whether a like diminutive size might not have been in any other of his family. He says he does not know an instance of such. He asserts that he is his third child, the other two of which are, in every respect, the common size; he likewise states, that the child was so small at birth, as to be supposed scarcely to weigh two pounds, his thigh not exceeding the thickness of a man's thumb; that, notwithstanding his diminutiveness, he showed all the marks of a healthy and lively child, particularly that of a good appetite ; that he was exempt from all the diseases of early infancy, and has enjoyed good health ever since; that he was weaned at seven months, began to creep at nine months, and to run about at eighteen months; that he got his first teeth at ten months without pain or difficulty, and has since had the common number, two of which are already shed; that from the birth till two years old, he grew very slowly; afterwards more perceptibly, till five; and has, since that period, for the last two years, altogether ceased to grow ; which is ascertained by weight, and by the size of his clothes, worn two

years ago. That on his ceasing to grow, the change, with respect to the hardness of the palms of his hands and soles of his feet, soon took place ; that he was upwards of four years old when he began to speak, and he rapidly improved in this respect within the last year; that since weaning he has been always fed on fish and rice; he eats moderately but sufficiently, and is particularly fond of fruits.' That he sleeps in an easy and natural manner; that he never suffers any injury by blows, falls, or any other accidents; and that, finally, he is unacquainted with any cause to which his diminutive size may be attributed.-A. C. (Newry Telegraph.)

The Micoo, or four fingered Monkey.--Captain Stedman has mentioned his killing one of the black monkies of Surinam, called by the natives Micoo. The account is very interesting. Being among the woods, and in want of fresh provisions, he shot at two of these animals, with the intention of making broth of them, “ but the destruction of one of them was,” he says, “ attended with such circumstances as almost ever afterwards deterred him from going a monkey hunting.” “ Seeing me nearly on the brink of the river in the canoe, the creature made a halt from skipping after his companions, and being perched on a branch that · hung over the water, examined me with attention,

and the strongest marks of curiosity, no doubt taking me for a giant of his own species; while he chattered

prodigiously, and kept dancing and shaking the bough on which he rested with incredible strength and agility. At this time I laid my piece to my shoulder, and brought him down from the tree into the stream ;—but, may I never again be witness to such a scene ! The miserable animal was not dead, but mortally wounded. I seized him by the tail, and, taking him in both hands, to end his torment, swung him round, and hit his head against the side of the canoe : but the poor crea-: ture still continued alive, and looking at me in the most affecting manner that can be conceived, I knew no other means of ending his murder, than to hold him under water till he was drowned, while my heart sickened on his account : for his dying little eyes still continued to follow me with seeming reproach, till their light gradually forsook them, and the wretched animal expired. I felt so much on this occasion, that I could neither taste of him or his companion, when they were dressed, though I saw that they afforded to some others a delicious repast.”

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Extract of a Letter from Grenoble, a large and populous town of France in Dauphiny.“ A gentleman in the neighbourhood of this city lately received a large portmanteau-trunk as if from one of his acquaintance, who was soon to visit him, and to spend a few days at his house. While the servants were bringing it in, he observed the house-dog to set himself against it, and to

bark violently, which put him in mind of a trick that had formerly been played at Lyons, and he communicated his suspicions to some intimate friends, who advised him to carry the portman- . teau to some distance upon the waste, and they would shoot at it; which they had no sooner done than they heard the groans of a dying man. On opening the trunk they found the villain just expiring, with a brace of pistols, a dagger, and a whistle by him. They apprized the proper officer with what had happened, who came immediately, and having prepared proper assistance, in the middle of the night they blowed the whistle, when six men approached, two of whom they killed, two they took, and two made their escape.”

The following epitaph is translated verbatim, from a tomb-stone in the aisle of a church in Burgundy: “ Here lies John Verolet, a farmer and labourer in this parish: he never asked a favour of any man: he never was in a city; he loved his King, but never saw him. He never knew what it was to fear himself, nor make others afraid : he never was acquainted with want, pain, or prison, during a life of 94 years: he never saw in his house accident, dispute, or disease.”

The following elegant and interesting Verses are attributed to the Hon. William Spencer.'

The Emigrant's Grave.

FOUNDED ON A TRUE STORY. Why mourn ye, why strew ye those flow'rets around,

In yon new-sodded grave, as your slow steps advance; In yon new-sodded grave (ever dear be the ground!)

Lies the stranger we lov'd, the poor exile from France.

And is the poor exile at rest from his woe,

No longer the sport of misfortune and chance! Mourn on, village mourners, my tears too shall flow

For the stranger ye lov’d, the poor exile of France.

Oh! kind was bis nature, though bitter his fate,

And gay was his converse, though broken his heart; No comfort, no hope, his own heart could relate,

Though comfort and hope he to all could impart.

Ever joyless himself, in the joys of the plain

Still foremost was he, mirth and pleasure to raise, And sad was his soul, yet how blithe was his strain,

When he sung the glad song of more fortunate days!

One pleasure he knew; in his straw cover'd shed

For the snow-beaten beggar bis faggot to trim, One tear of delight he could drop on the bread Which he shar'd with the poor, though still poorer than


And when round his death-bed profusely we cast

Ev'ry gift, ev'ry solace our hamlet could bring, He blest us with sighs, which we thought were his last;

But he still had a pray'r for his country and king.

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