the smarting pain they suffered, and the horrid effluvia that affected them. In another instant Brian and I were almost as much annoyed as the dogs, for the air was not breathable on account of the disagreeable smell with which it was tainted. We were right glad to get a way from the place; and the dogs kept shaking their heads in such a manner, while they made a wide circuit round the spot, as clearly convinced us that if we had any intention to pursue the strange animal we must do it by ourselves. Nothing, I believe, could have prevailed on them to approach the spot.

On inquiry afterwards, we learnt that the animal which had so annoyed us was the Skunk. The power it possesses of spreading around so horrid an effluvia, is sufficient to protect it in almost all cases; for neither man nor brute, after being once subject to the effect of its displeasure, feels at all disposed to renew the acquaintance.

There was this difference between me and Brian, in perilous enterprises, which I have already in part described; he rushed headlong into them, as though to ponder a single moment about the dan

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tion frequently devise the better way of acting in a case of difficulty, but it also enabled me to extricate him from the extreme peril into which his recklessness had plunged him. A case of this sort occurred in one of the woods in Kentucky.

I believe there is no animal of the cat kind, in North America larger than the Cougar. This creature has no shaggy mane, nor tuft at the tip of the tail, like the African lion; and yet there is no small resemblance between the two animals. The cougar is often called the lion of America.

Brian was running a thorn into one of the touch-holes of his rifle, which had got rather foul, when a bird that chattered like a jay flew from an adjoining tree. On raising my eyes in the direction, to my no small dismay, I saw a cougar in the fork of a large but low tree, not a dozen paces from us. Whether the savage animal was waiting to fall down upon any creature which might pass under the tree, or whether he was reclining in slumber, it was difficult to say.

As no time was to be lost, Brian primed his piece, which had like mine a double barrel; and making as little noise as possible, we agreed that he should give a signal when we were both to fire. We divided from one another, each getting behind a tree, and taking a steady aim. Brian's shrill whistle was no sooner heard than off went our two pieces at the same moment, so that only one report was heard. The cougar fell to the

ground, but only to spring into the lower branches of another tree, where it crouched down, whether wounded or not we could not tell.

My knowledge of Brian's ardent and reckless disposition led me to fear he would fire again at the cougar; and as I knew that if we both did so, unsuccessfully, we should be left almost without defence, I reserved my fire.

It was well for us both that I was cool enough to reason and act in this manner, for in another minute the report of Brian's rifle resounded through the woods. Once more the cougar came to the ground apparently wounded in his

foot, but his eyes flashed furiously as he sprang towards Brian, who threw himself into an attitude to use the buttend of his piece.

At this critical juncture, and just when another bound would have brought the savage monster to the spot where Brian stood, the contents of my piece broke the cougar's fore-legs, at once disabling him from pursuing us.

We were soon together, and Brian was for knocking the fearful animal on the head, but I prevailed on him to load his rifle, while I performed the same operation. We then advanced, and after firing together, attacked the enraged creature

with the butts of our rifles, finding it, even then, no easy matter to overcome him. He was almost four feet from the tip of the nose to the root of the tail, and at least two feet and a half high. Brian was the first to blame himself for his rashness; for had it not been for reserving my fire, it is very uncertain what might have happened.

The cougar is a very fierce and destructive animal, and will, after seizing his prey by the throat, whether it be a calf, a sheep, or a deer, fling it over his back, and dash off with it into the recesses of the forest, where, in the twilight of his secluded den, he enjoys his banquet unmolested. Many a time, when encamped in the woods, have I heard the heart-thrilling cry of this fearful creature at the midnight hour; and more

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than once have I started to my feet scared by the sound of the monster's tread, stealing over the dry crackling leaves, not half a dozen yards from the place of my temporary repose.

There is perhaps no part of North America more infested with lizards, snakes, and scorpions, than the great valley of the Mississippi; through this valley we wandered. Brian once began to keep an account of the different kinds of reptiles we met with, but he soon gave it up, they were so numerous.

These creatures naturally disappear whenever population increases; for it then becomes necessary in self-defence to destroy them. In this destruction swine are very active, for they prey upon them and soon render them scarce.

CHAPTER XV.

The Wounded Finger.

Mr W. WHO has broken this pane of glass? There is blood too upon the pieces of glass. Where is the wounded

man ?

Kenneth. I broke it, father, and cut my finger.

Mr W. Who has been the doctor?

Tom. We allowed it to bleed, and when the blood was dry upon it, we bound it up with linen cloth.

Mr W. Is it quite easy?
Kenneth. Quite so.

Mr W. And do you expect it will heal without plaster and dressing? Kenneth. It is quite easy, and I think it will heal.

Mr W. And I hope so. Do you think there is any glass in it?

Kenneth. O, we never thought of that! Mr W. The whole process of healing a wound, or repairing an injury, is so very beautiful, that we will seize the present opportunity of talking about it. We have often seen beautiful clock-work and other machinery, and we have wondered how it could be made to work;

but who ever saw a machine that, when wounded, can heal itself, or when shot can extract its own bullet-all its own inward machinery going on at the same time ?

Tom. O, do tell us about it! Mr W. If Kenneth prick his finger with a pin, what happens?

Tom. It bleeds.

Mr W. It bleeds, but hurts him first; first pain, and then blood. What does the pin touch, to give him pain?

Tom. A nerve.

Mr W. Right. The body is all over nerves, and all the nerves go to the brain. If there were parts of the body without nerves, or without feeling, a man might have his nose cut off, or his ears notched, in his sleep, and know nothing about it till he awaked. One use of the nerves is to give intelligence to the brain when a part is wounded.

Tom. And what is the blood for?

Mr W. The first use of the blood is to wash out the wound-the second, to glue it up; and the glue of the blood is the most wonderful matter in the world. Just let us look at Kenneth's finger.

Ella. Let me untie it.

Mr W. Do not displace the blood.
Ella. Why not?

Mr W. Because it binds the two edges together, and forms a covering to keep out the air and dirt. Suppose the glass had cut a piece out-what then?

Tom. It would have been painful, and

bled.

Mr W. In a case like this, some doctors

would wash the blood off, and put a poultice or plaster on-for which they would be great simpletons. Two or three hundred years since, wounds were managed better than they are now.

Tom. I thought I had often heard you say the treatment was more rational.

Mr W. Ay, so I did. Fifty years since every wound was filled with lint; and the old women now love to put a piece of tobacco, or a little salt, or a cobweb, or what they call fuz-ball. Now, every wound is closed with plaster; but Sir Kenelm Digby's mode was the most rational. He would have bound Kenneth's finger up in the blood, and applied several very nice dressings to the pieces of glass. This he would have done daily, until a week had elapsed—and then the finger would have been cured.

Amelia. And would it not, if he had left the glass alone?

Mr W. That is a matter requiring consideration. My own private opinion is that it would.

CHAPTER XVI.

Hard and Soft Water.

Amelia. No rain again! What are we to do for soft water?

Tom. You must make it soft with soda or potash.

Ella. What is soda or potash ?

Mr W. Burn sticks, and the ashes will be potash. Soda is found almost all over the world in the greatest abundance. But the real potash and soda are bright

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Mr W. Not as metals, unless they are shut up in the naptha we burn in lamps. The moment they are exposed to the air, or water, or ice, they burn with a bright light, and turn to potash or soda.

Tom. How very extraordinary! Mr W. If I should say that these metals (potassium and sodium) are the probable causes of the soil being productive -if they are not the chief causes of the soil itself—and that they are the great agents in placing the iron and the gold, the silver and the copper, in places where man can reach them-you would not believe me.

Tom. O yes! we would believe you, because you understand these things, and have already told us things quite as astonishing.

Mr W. What do you think is the first thing required to make a country fruitful? Ella. Rain.

Amelia. A good soil.

Mr W. Both are requisite, and both are, in a great measure probably, dependent upon the action of these metals.

Tom. How can metals, buried in the depths of the earth, produce rain and soil? Mr W. You have seen me put gunpowder in a gun-barrel; the moment the spark touches the grains of powder they

must fly out with deadly force, or the gun-barrel must burst.

Mr W. Now, if water finds its way into these masses of potassium or sodium, what takes place ?

Tom. The water acts as the spark did to the gunpowder-causes them to take fire.

Mr W. What becomes of the water? The metal seizes hold of the oxygen, or good air, of the water, leaving the hydrogen, or fiery gas, ready to explode,which it instantly does; the sulphur and the bitumen continue to burn with a smouldering heat; this constitutes the grumbling and agitation of the ground, which is in fact the earthquake. By this rocks are rent asunder, more water is poured in, until at last the potash and soda, the brimstone and the granite, with bitumen and sulphur, are driven, like the discharge of cannon, through some vast rent, and fall in the vicinity; this is the volcano. More and more water is supplied, fresh earthquakes are felt, fresh showers of burning matter are thrown out, the crater or mouth becomes more and more enlar ged, and the surrounding flat country is elevated. In a few ages this volcano be comes a mountain, like Vesuvius or Ætna, and the sodium, the potassium, the barium, the calcium-all being exhausted,