young ones at a birth, which are male and female, and which, after having been tenderly cared for by the parents for the due time, on leaving them, attach themselves to each other, and are never after separated. Such is the account ordinarily given of this species, and, if true, it is a circumstance unparallelled in the mammalia. The analogous instance of many of the Colunbida, or pigeons, will occur to every one; but the turtle-dove has no longer the exclusive claim to be considered as the honoured emblem of the virtue of conjugal | constancy.

The fawn has no horns during the first year; in the second, they spring in the form of mere prickets, or simple snags; the third year sees the addition of the first antler, which stands forwards; in the fourth year a second antler is produced, which stands directly backwards; and in the sixth year the horns have attained their full development.

dangerous wounds with their sharp-pointed horns.

"One day, at a kind of public garden near Brighton," writes Mr. Wood, "I saw a beautiful but small Roebuck in an enclosure, fastened with a chain which seemed strong enough and heavy enough to hold down an elephant. Pitying the poor animal, an exile from his native land, I asked what reason they could have for ill-using him by putting such a weight of iron about his neck. The keeper of the place, however, informed me that, small as the Roebuck was, the chain was quite necessary, as he had attacked and killed a boy of twelve years old a few days before, stabbing the poor fellow in fifty places with his sharp-pointed horns. Of course I had no more to urge in his behalf."

"The Roe, when captured," continues Mr. Tytler, "is never known to turn on its enemy when wounded; but bad wounds are sometimes received from its horns while it lies toss

"They are not frequently met with," says Mr. Tytler, of Edinburgh, "in larger numbers than two or three at a time; but we find their couches among the heather, as if a larger party, perhaps six or seven, had lain together. They scrape off the heather, and make a form like hares, which they also resemble in keeping to the same tracks, and in stopping frequently, if a sudden, not very loud, noise is heard. The Roe seems to be extremely cautious; and they make use of their fine sense of smelling, as well as hearing, to warn them of an enemy. They will scent a man a long way off, and hold their noses in the air like a pointer drawing on his game. A usual way of deceiving them is to hold a lighted peat in the hand while approaching or lying in wait for them, as the animals are accustomed to this smell, and less guarded in coming towards the spot. Their cry is like the ba-a of a sheep, but more concentrated, so as to sound somewhat like a bark at night especially, and in still moonlight, the cry may be heard to a great distance, and they are constantly answering each other through nearly a whole night."

When captured young, the Roebuck can readily be tamed; but it becomes a dangerous pet, for after attaining to his full strength, he is very apt to make use of it in attacking people whose appearance he does not like. They particularly single out women and children as their victims, and inflict severe and

I have seen one bound, without much apparent effort, across a road nearly twenty feet wide. Their usual pace, unless when hard pressed, is, a long, rather awkward canter; but when closely hunted or suddenly startled, their bounds are the most rapid and beautiful that can be conceived. They often come down on the corn-fields and peas in the neighbourhood of their haunts, feeding entirely in the grey of the morning and evening. The usual method of killing them is to drive the wood with hounds and beaters, the shooters being placed so as to command the tracks or passes; and caution is necessary to avoid the windward side, as the Roe will not approach if it smell the enemy. This sport is very tiresome; and a much more exciting mode is to walk quietly through their haunts in the earliest dawn, and endeavour to get within shot of them, which, however, is by no means easily effected."

The venison of the Roe is not esteemed, and there is scarcely any fat on the external parts of the body, even when in high condition.

The colour varies considerably. In some, the general tint is reddish-brown; in others, brownish-grey; and in others, dusky: the under parts and inside of the thighs, greyishwhite; the part around the tail, pure white. The tail is very short, concealed within the hair. The ears are proportionally long, and the inner surface furnished with long whitish hairs; the nose brown; a white spot on each

longitudinally furrowed, having two antlersthe first about one-third from the base, directed forwards; the second higher up, having an

and body averages three feet nine inches; the height about two feet six inches; and the horns about eight inches.

LTHOUGH the name of William Collins can hardly be said to rank with those of Landseer and Turner, he holds a place of high eminence as a modern English artist. Our frontispiece engraving, from one of his most characteristic paintings, bespeaks the remarkable naturalness which distinguishes his delineations of familiar country scenes. His peasant groups are always singularly happy, full of repose, and quiet settled unconsciousness. His execution was extremely careful-no slovenliness ever disfigured his canvas. His colour was quiet but agreeable, with pleasant atmospheric effects, hinted at rather than forcibly insisted on. Altogether, it would be difficult to find more reliable renderings of some of the most interesting features of English life. This of itself, apart from technical qualities, would always maintain the value and popular estimate of the works of William Collins.

He was born in Great Titchfield Street, London, on the 18th September, 1788. His father, a native of Wicklow, was a picture dealer and cleaner, and the author of a work called "Memoirs of a Picture,” and of a life of his friend Morland, the painter.

At an early age, Collins evinced a love of art, received lessons from Morland, and was afterwards formally despatched to the Academy to pursue his studies. "Collins and myself," wrote Mr. Etty, "started as probationers in the same week. He drew the Laocoon, and I the Torso. His drawings were remarkable for their careful finish and good effect."

When twenty-one, Collins commenced to exhibit at the Academy, contributing two small "Views on Millbank;" and for years afterwards he continued to be a constant exhibitor. He rapidly attained success. He was very careful what as well as how he painted. He lived an easy, successful, uneventful life-hard-working, but well paid.

In 1815 he was elected an Associate of the

Royal Academy. He married in 1822 the daughter of Mr. Geddes, A.R.A., and the sister of Mrs. Carpenter, the portrait painter. In 1820 he had been elected an Academician, presenting as his diploma-picture the work called "The Young Anglers."

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For sixteen years he continued to exhibit without losing a year. He then made a mistake. Following Wilkie's advice, he travelled on the Continent for two years, with the view of changing his style. His great successes hitherto had been coast scenes. "The Shrimpers," "Fishermen coming Ashore before Sunrise," "Getting out the Nets," Mussel Gatherers," "Haunts of the Seafowl"-the names of his works indicate their character. He now sought to render Italian scenes and Scriptural subjects. He exhibited for some years the fruits of his Italian travels-mediocre landscapes, and worse than mediocre Scripture illustrations. Happily, he was not blind to his own failure, and he was wise enough to acknowledge his error by retracing his steps. Before long he most judiciously resumed his first line of subjects, and the public welcomed back his "coast scenes"-perfect of their class-with acclama

tions.

Amongst the numerous works which time, well employed, enabled him to produce, we may mention, in addition to those already referred to, "Happy as a King," "The Stray Kitten," "Putting Salt on the Bird's Tail," and "The Newly-found Nest." The highest price he ever received for a painting was five hundred guineas. This was given by Sir Robert Peel for his "Frost Scene."

In 1840, Collins was appointed librarian to the Academy, but he resigned the office not long afterwards, finding it absorbed his attention too much. In 1844, the symptoms of heart disease became apparent, and on the 17th February, 1847, they resulted in his death, at his house in Devonport Street, Hyde Park Gardens.

Perhaps it would be almost impossible to overstate the beneficial influences exercised on the public mind by the works of such an artist as Collins. The moral of a painting, true to nature, instantly seizes upon the spectator, and the impression can never be lost whilst memory is able to recall the subject illustrated. We have a strong conviction that the educational power of the painter might be made available, to a far greater extent than it has hitherto been, in aiding the philanthropic movements of this practical age, especially those directed to the elevation of workingpeople. If, sometimes, instead of the tract, often left unread, the well-executed engraving were fixed to the cottage wall, in addition to

the special lesson which it might teach, it would also prove an object of family interest, prompting a regard for the decorations of Home, the neglect of which often leads the husband to seek more attractive places of resort, instead of being true to his name— -house-band and binding together by his presence the members of his own fireside circle.

Invaluable service, we are aware, has already been rendered in this direction by "The British Workman:" but there is need for further effort. We want a Series of First-class Engravings, designed for the ornamentation of our Cottage Homes, and produced at a popular price. Perhaps some enterprising publisher will act upon this hint.

T happened that a royal personage made his entrance into a town with great pomp and solemnity, and that a friend of Gotthold was heard to say on the occasion, that he wished he were a prince, to enjoy such splendour.

To this Gotthold answered: "You do not know what you wish. What is all this magnificence the costly robes, the long guard in van and rear, the brilliant reception-but a specious disguise of the thousand hardships and cares which burden royalty ?"

A worthy Christian prince may have many servants around him, and yet he must himself be the servant of all his subjects. Others have their several offices and duties, but he is responsible for all. He must have a watchful eye, and wake when others sleep; an acute car, to hear in a moment the complaints of the oppressed; an eloquent mouth, to decide justly in cases of dispute; and an active hand, to punish the guilty and redress the innocent. His head must be a fountain of grave and mighty thoughts for the benefit of his country, and his heart a repository of anxieties of every kind. As the summit of the lofty mountain

is most exposed to floods and tempests, and frequently covered with deep snow, which, when melted, invigorates and fertilizes the valleys around, even so a prince is indeed exalted above others, but is also on that very account peculiarly liable to adversities, and encumbered with burdens, which redound to the advantage and safety of his realm. He is like a taper, which ministers with its light to others, but consumes itself. In wishing to be a prince, therefore, you wish for a prince's burden and a prince's troubles, and, what is worst of all, for a prince's responsibility at the judgmentseat of Christ.

My God! for my part I have no desire to be anything but what Thou hast made me. I grudge not the great and mighty what Thou givest to them. Nay, I know not that I would exchange my poverty for their wealth, my solitude for their attendance, my low degree for their lofty rank. One thing, however, I do implore, Let me reign over the sin that dwells within me! Teach me to govern myself: and grant that I may one day be permitted humbly to enter the celestial city, welcomed by Thy holy angels, and wearing the crown of life.