way, under a dreadful fire from the batteries, through the merchant ships of the port laden with bullion and precious stuffs. They were run on shore; but finding that they could not be preserved from falling a prey to the resistless valour of the English, the Spanish admiral caused them to be burnt. The conflagration was terrific; and Essex, sailing off, seized upon Puntalis. Then, pursuing the narrow causeway between Leon and Cadiz, in spite of the continued fire of the battery, he stormed the city, sword in hand, with his few veteran volunteers. They gained possession; but the garrison and inhabitants fought for every inch of ground, and from house to house. It was not till nearly five thousand were slain, that resistance ceased, and the place was given to plunder. The two commanders took up their quarters in the town hall, whither the authorities of Cadiz came, as it is emphatically expressed, to kiss their feet. Rapine was put a stop to, but not before many valuable evidences of its ancient power and splendour had perished, and the living beauty, as well as the past, become the prey of military rage and licentiousness. Private houses were rifled, churches sacked and desecrated, and many valuable public edifices and collections, throwing light on the history of the city, destroyed. It is difficult to convey an idea of the execrations of Spanish historians and monks, at that period nearly synonymous, when speaking of this fatal and humiliating event, while Philip still reigned in the plenitude of his power. Ancient Cadiz, in fact, perished with the statue of Alexander and a thousand interesting objects, which united her with the great cities of the past. The Spaniards beheld the horrors which the success of the Invincible Armada would have inflicted upon the towns and cities of England, and the gloomy monk-king must have trembled on his ensanguined throne, as he heard the terrible vengeance inflicted by a few gallant spirits from the land of heroism and freedom.' pp. 244-247. Mr. Caunter's present volume completes the first series of the Oriental Annual. Commencing with Madras, he takes us thence to Tanjore, Madura, and, traversing the Mysore country, to Malabar. We are then transported to Maskat, in the Persian Gulf, and, after returning to Bombay, are treated with an appropriate romance of two chapters, the heroine of which is the daughter of a Parsee Friar Tuck. Elephanta and Salsette occupy the remainder of the volume. All this ground has been so well beaten that novelty is not to be looked for. Mr. Caunter has evidently been a little put to it for materials, some of which he has fetched from Arabia, and others from Caubul. But, viewed as a book of light reading, for the drawing-room table, it is respectably and pleasingly executed; and though, in our estimation, the scattered illustrations of natural history are by far the most interesting portions of the work, there are many readers to whom the story of the Guebre Priest will yield more amusement than all the rest of the volume. The following story will, however, better suit our pages. In the jungles about the neighbourhood of Tillicherry, there is a large species of monkey, frequently tamed by the natives, and at a village a short distance from this celebrated seaport we had an evidence of the remarkable sagacity of this animal. A few yards from the house of the person to whom it belonged, a thick pole, at least thirty feet high, had been fixed into the earth, round which was an iron ring, and to this was attached a strong chain of considerable length, fastened to a collar round the monkey's neck. The ring being loose, it easily slid up the pole when he ascended or descended. He was in the habit of taking his station upon the top of the bamboo, where he seemed perched as if to enjoy the beauties of the prospect around him; this was really striking. The crows, which in India are very abundant and singularly audacious, taking advantage of his elevated position, had been in the daily habit of robbing him of his food, which was placed every morning and evening at the foot of the pole. To this he had vainly expressed his dislike by chattering, and other indications of his displeasure equally ineffectual; nothing that he could do was of any avail to scare away these unwelcome intruders upon his repasts. He tried various modes to banish them, but they continued their periodical depredations. Finding that he was perfectly unheeded, he adopted a plan of retribution as effectual as it was ingenious. 'One morning when his tormentors had been particularly troublesome, he appeared as if seriously indisposed: he closed his eyes, drooped his head, and exbibited various symptoms of severe suffering. No sooner were his ordinary rations placed at the foot of the bamboo, than the crows, watching their opportunity, descended in great numbers, and, according to their usual practice, began to demolish his provisions. The monkey now began to slide down the pole by slow degrees, as if the effort were painful to him, and as if so overcome by indisposition that his remaining strength was scarcely equal to such exertion. When he reached the ground, he rolled about for some time, seeming in great agony, until he found himself close to the vessel employed to contain his food, which the crows had by this time well nigh devoured. There was still, however, some remaining, which a solitary bird, emboldened by the apparent indisposition of the monkey, advanced to seize. The wily creature was at this time lying in a state of apparent insensibility at the foot of the pole. The moment the crow stretched out its head, and ere it could secure a mouthful of the interdicted food, the watchful avenger seized the depredator by the neck with the rapidity of thought, and secured it from doing further mischief. He now began to chatter and grin with every expression of gratified triumph, while the crows flew around, cawing in boisterous chime, as if deprecating the chastisement about to be inflicted upon their captive companion. The monkey continued for a while to chatter and grin in triumphant mockery of their distress; he then deliberately placed the captive crow between his knees, and began to pluck it with the most humourous gravity. When he had completely stripped it, except the large feathers in the pinions and tail, he flung it into the air as high as his strength would permit: and after flapping its wings for a few seconds, it fell to the ground with a stunning shock. The other crows, which had been fortunate enough to escape a similar castigation, now surrounded it, and immediately pecked it to death. The expression of joy on the animal's countenance was altogether indescribable; and he had no sooner seen this ample retribution dealt to the purloiner of his repast, than he ascended the bamboo to enjoy a quiet repose. The next time his food was brought, not a single crow approached it, and I dare say that, thenceforward, he was never again molested by those voracious intruders. The scene was, in truth, well worth witnessing.' pp. 173-175. The Forget-me-not we must pronounce to be not only one of the best of the series that has yet appeared, but it bears away the palm this year from all competitors of the same class. The embellishments are excellent, and appropriate; yet they do not form the chief attraction of this very pleasing volume, which does great credit to both publisher and editor. Our first specimen is from a very entertaining paper by W. L. Stone, Esq., entitled Life in the Woods. It happened that, on one occasion, Castor had been kept out rather later than usual at a winter dance, and was wending his way homewards just in the grey of the morning. While crossing an old "cleaving," near the edge of the woods, bounding which stood a deserted and dilapidated log hut, he was set upon by a large pack of wolves from all directions, like a swarm of Cossacks upon a straggling platoon of Napoleon's grenadiers. He rushed with all possible speed into the hovel, the door of which stood wide open to receive him, but positively refused to be shut to keep out the foe, who now pressed so closely upon him, filling the air with their howlings, that he was obliged to spring upon a beam to prevent being torn to pieces. But the wolves, sorely pressed for a breakfast, were not slow in climbing the logs after him, and he would most assuredly have formed their morning's banquet but for a bright thought. He had somewhere seen the hackneyed rhapsody of the poet, "Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast;" or perhaps he had heard repeated the passage from Prior's Solomon,"Often our seers and poets have confest That music's force can tame the furious breast; Thus beleagued, he determined to try the effect of the concord of sweet sounds upon their unsophisticated ears, whereupon he struck up the brisk tune of Yankee Doodle on his new Holland fiddle. The effect was magical. The party of Chateaubriand were not more success ful in charming the rattle-snake with a flute at Niagara. The wolves were no longer bristling and barking with rage, and ready to devour him, but became as silent and attentive as so many Scotsmen at the ballad of Robin Adair. But, poor Castor! he would much rather have fiddled for forty country-dancers than a single party of wolves, since no sooner did he cease to play than they recommenced hostilities. The weather was cold, and his fingers were too much benumbed to allow him to traverse the strings. But, no matter; his unwelcome visitors were inexorable, and he was obliged either to allow himself to be eaten or to keep on fiddling. I have heard mention of the weariness of the fiddler's elbow, but never did elbow ache like John Castor's on that morning, and what added to his perplexity was, the giving way of his instrument; cat-gut and horse-hair will not last for ever, and string after string had snapped asunder, until the base was the last remaining, and the wolves began to manifest less satisfaction for the one grum note, "so long drawn out", but not in "linked sweetness." Just at this interesting crisis, however, my old friend Seymour, and his yet more athletic brother, appeared, being on their way to the saw-mill, and the wolves thereupon made a retreat→→→ equally precipitate and welcome to their prisoner. It was late in the summer when Bacon entered upon his new premises, so that he had only time to erect a log cabin, and cut down the timber of a few acres, before the commencement of winter. Contrary to the advice of the earlier settlers, he persisted in building his house upon the flats. He was admonished of the hazard he was running, in the event of a heavy freshet in the spring, but to no purpose. The alluvial soil of the interval was so much better adapted to the purposes of a garden than the upland, and the prospect of looking out upon a broad level so inviting, that he was not to be diverted from his design. And, besides, the site he had chosen was upwards of a mile from the river, and was moreover elevated like an island, some three or four feet above the general surface of the alluvial plain; so that he was quite sure so small a river could never rise so high, or spread so wide. Never mind," said his neighbours, "you'll find it out in the spring, if the river don't run off t'other way." But the worthy emigrant had no idea of the quantity of snow which falls in that region, or of the magnitude of the flood which would follow its rapid dissolution in the spring. It so happened, that the snow fell to an extraordinary depth during the ensuing winter, and the month of March was so cold that the sun had but little power upon it. The consequence was, that, instead of gradually disappearing, the whole body of snow was left to melt suddenly beneath a warm April rain, by reason of which the river was swollen to an extent never before witnessed by the settlers. The snow had fallen so deep that but little intercourse was kept up among the scattered inhabitants during the winter, and Mr. Bacon had lived almost as secluded as a bear in a hollow tree,-perhaps his nearest neighbour. During the warm rain just mentioned, which poured like a deluge from the clouds upon the materials for another deluge below, the solitary had observed the rapid dissolution of the snow and the cor responding rise of the river, but he still thought himself secure, and retired to his lonely bed soon after sun-down, with his usual composure and unconcern. Before midnight, however, he was stiled from his slumbers by the cracking of trees and the rush of waters. He sprang from his couch, and found himself leg-deep in water upon his own floor! There was no time for his toilet; it was evident that not a moment should be lost; and, what was still worse, it was too dark to make his escape, even if the flood would admit of it. His only course of safety, therefore, was to climb the tree nearest to his house, and await the dawn of the morning, yet many long and wearisome hours distant. Notwithstanding the depth and force of the water, he succeeded in reaching and ascending the tree, and seated himself with tolerable security among its branches. But it was a dismal night. The unseasonable cold bath he had taken was no addition to his comfort, while, from the roar of waters, and the occasional crash of trees, it was evident that the icy fetters of the river had been broken up, and that the freshet with increasing volume was sweeping onward with tremendous power and velocity. The next cake of ice, moreover, might, in its irresistible course, bear away the tree which was his own supporter! His mind was not very imaginative, otherwise his sufferings might have been a hundred fold greater than they were. Still his situation was sufficiently critical and painful. The longest night, however, must have an end, and day at length dawned upon the sleepless eyes of Roger Bacon. But the darkness disappeared only to show him the most cheerless and fearful prospect upon which his eyes had ever rested. 'One of the first objects discerned upon the approach of light, was the destruction of his house, which rose upon the waters, and was soon dashed to pieces on its furious current, the logs of which it was composed floating promiscuously away. He next saw the whole valley of the river a waste of waters, rushing onwards with a mighty impulse, and bearing upon their surface huge cakes of ice, with broken timber and decayed trunks of trees, now whirling in eddies, and now borne onward upon the maddened torrent, with tremendous force, cutting away and bearing down everything in their course. What was to be his own fate, or whether a rescue were possible, he could not tell. 'Nor was this all that was unpleasant in his situation. For an hour before daylight he heard a distant scream, which seemed approaching nearer at every repetition; and it had now become so distinct as to enable him to recognize the cry of a panther! Should the furious animal scent him in the air, his fate was too certain to be helped by insurance! Nor was he long in doubt upon this point. From its cries, the animal must be rapidly approaching him; and the flood which was sweeping below him afforded no protection in the emergency, since the panther could travel by springing from tree to tree, almost as well as upon the ground. At length he saw the shaking of the limbs of a tree at no great distance, and,-what a situation for a man of sensibility, a mighty chaos of waters beneath, whirling yet more angrily along, from the |