Corner," seeking out the monument to "glorious Will," where he stands pointing to the lines on a scroll "The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces." Little did we care or think of what the world of London was about. What was the world of London to us? We were interested only with its romance. "Which way lies the Tower ?" "Where is Fleet Street ?" "How funny looks that poor devil of a beggar; bestow twopence, and let us pass on. Ah! here is the hall of William Rufus." Away now to the Boar's Head, in Eastcheap; then to the "Mitre." "This, sir ? This is Wopping Stairs." St. Paul's! Not very long ago we visited London for the fifteenth time. The first entry into the great metropolis was made as a voyaging student on the way to Paris, in company with a dear friend and fellow - student, now, alas! no more. Our trio was completed by the addition of George P. Putnam, afterward our most esteemed friend and publisher, whose exquisite taste in preparing works for the press gave him, in later years, a reputation which should equal that of Aldus. We were boys, I may say, ardent and romantic enough. Our first thought was to make our way to Westminster Abbey, searching for the "Poets' The solemn temple presents to-day the same venerable aspect. Still towers aloft the Hall of William Rufus. Always fresh crowds are tracing, with curious interest, the places made famous by history and the drama. Things are as we regard them. We engage ourselves in the world's business. Humanity begins to interest us. The time comes when we exclaim, "Let the dead bury their dead. What of the living?" Thus looking back to the first visit to London, made under the circumstances we have described. we step over a lapse of many years, to the last visit -years which worked their or worn-out traditions. changes more distinctly on our own country than on any | is engaged, than about ancestral piles or ancient domes, other, elevating the United States to the rank of a first power among the nations. This period finds us more inquisitive about the great struggle in which human nature It will be our purpose, then, in some future article, to speak of the LONDON OF THE PRESENT. DUMAS'S RUSTY KNIFE. A CURIOUS story is told of the good luck which is supposed to follow Alexandre Dumas fils through all his enterprises in life. This luck has been attributed by his family and friends to the possession of a rusty knife-blade, which a fisherman of Marseilles drew up in his net at the Chateau d'If, and which the good fellow sent to Dumas père, with the full conviction that it must have been the knife with which young Edmond Dantes (the Comte de Monte Christo) had ripped open the sack in which he had been sewn by the jailer as the corpse of Abbé Faria. Old Alexandre, after laughing heartily at the incident, sent a handsome present to the fisherman and flung the knife into the drawer of his bureau, where it remained until his death, when it came into the possession of his son. Young Alexandre was led by its quaint shape to look upon it as something strange and weird, and had it set in a silver handle and placed in a sheath to carry in his pocket. Ever since he thus appropriated it he feels that he is doomed to good fortune. His pieces all succeed. His speculations never fail. The superstition has taken such root that he is frequently called upon to help in the recovery of lost articles and the restoration of lost affections. A curious example of this credulity was exhibited the other day at Beauville, where a Polish princess of great influence in the world of fashion had dropped on the sand a bracelet of great value, containing a portrait of the late Empress of Russia, set in diamonds. The tide had washed up twice since the accident, and all efforts to recover the jewel hal been in vain. The princess, who, like most of her country women, has the greatest faith in talismans, immediately wrote to Alexandre, with the conviction that, aided by the rusty knife, he could find the bracelet. Of course the appeal excited great merriment among his friends, but his chivalrous gallantry induced him to answer the appeal, and he started for Beauville at once. On his arrival he immediately rushed for the plage, and after having saluted the fair princess and expressed his conviction that no power could restore a heavy gold bracelet washed out to sea by the tide, he strolled down the sands out of sight to have a dip before dinner. No sooner had he plunged his foot into the water than he drew it back with an exclamation of pain. He had trodden on sɔmething hard and sharp, which had caused a deep wound in the sole of his foot, making the blood flow. He stooped to ascertain the cause, and to his utter amazement drew forth the golden bracelet, which had become wedged between two stones, and thus prevented from drifting out to sen. The delight of the princess may easily be conceived, and her faith in the rusty knife-blade has increased from faith almost to worship. THE FATE OF PETS. It is a doleful history, comprising more misery in a small way than is to be found in any of the other minor accidents of life; as most people can tell for themselves, or may see in the "heart-broken utterances" which appear in papers like "The Animal World." "Indeed, if we do sit upon the ground we shall find that though, like poor Richard II.'s kings, they were not "all murdered," their fates aro scarcely less tragic. Here are a few of the dolorous ends which have come within my own knowledge, and any one conversant with beasts could add to the list by scores. A gentleman high in office in the East had an infant tiger brought to him after a royal hunt, in which the mother had been slain. It was about the size of a large kitten, but more bulky-more solidly and heavily framed. It was still in the sucking stage of existence, was brought up by hand, and grew extremely playful and amusing. There is something particularly piquant in the innocent infancy of beasts of prey, in the unconscious possessors of such enormous powers of mischief in the future, in nursing tiger cubs or playing with a baby Czarovitch or an infant Sultan; and the ambassador loved the beautiful, lithe, graceful young-terrible well, with the deep brown stripes on its tawny back, and broad black and white streaked whiskered muzzle. It became very fond of its master, and followed him all about the house, mewing much like a cat, and lying on its back, with its four paws in the air, to be caressed. By-and-by, as the beast grew larger and stronger day by day, the play became fiercer, the tap with his great paw, even with sheathed claws and amiable intentions, was no joke. When he opened his lips at the roots and showed his ranges of beautiful white teeth, the horrible grin struck terror into the attendant dark men. Tho "Sahib tiger" was treated with great respect, but his temper became uncertain. Once in his wrath he killed a dog, and there was no knowing with whom his majesty might next be angry. His extraordinary muscular strength was developing fast, and one day, lying on his back with his four paws raised, he suddenly sprung up after a dog that had offended him, without turning or touching the ground. The dark men in his service entreated that my lord might at least be shut up; this was done, but the beast grew so enraged at his captivity that his master once more let him out, saying, "He was still but a child tiger, and harmless if he was let alone; it was the fault of those who teased him if he behaved ill." As he himself only came across the palle-de-relours sido of the tiger's character, he would not believe the stories told against his pet. His own bedroom opened on to a veranda looking into a court, round which the house was built, after the fashion of the East. At the beginning of the night the tiger lay on a carpet spread for him in the veranda itself. As the night grew cooler he crept quietly in and made himself comfortable within the room, and when it became almost cold (the time was Winter), he mounted upon his master's bed and cuddled close up behind him. Who could resist the charm of such amiable, gentle manners from the owner of such fangs and claws? Still, however, he grew more and more fierce to the outside world; fitfully his enormous strength came out in his rough play; his roar shook the souls of the black men ; the glare of his eyeballs turnel them green with fear; more than once he had knocked down a man, without as yet intending malice. At length it came to pass that the great Sahib himself went out for an unusual number of hours or days; when he returned he found his savage pet writhing in tortures of pain. No one would account for what had happened, or give the smallest explanation of the creature's state. It was evident, however, that poison had been used. He was near his end; the groans grew weaker and weaker, and the beast d ed licking the hands of his master, helpless to give him any relief. It went ill with the Persian suite that evening. Number two of the pets of my friends was a squirrel, At last, one day, he missed his friend, and hunted up and down vainly for her for some time. He had just finished his work, and had given warning that he should leave the next day, and demanded his bill. He ate his last dinner, where there figured a curious little round morsel of game, "bien accommolé," with sauce, but which struck him as having no legs. which had fallen in its infancy out of a nest in a pine, It hopped about after him in its own fashion, and was wood. It, too, was brought up by hand, at first a little most affable and companionable, and a great resource in hairless thing, with a bare tail like a rat's, but gradually the limited amusements of the place. putting on its furry coat with white waistcoat and bushy train. A bright-eyed, graceful, quick-tempered, agile little companion. Its favorite haunt in Winter was up the wide sleeve of its mistress's gown, where it would lie comfortably perdu in the warmth for hours. One cold day she was going to church, and did not like to disturb ; but when once safely within her pew and the service had begun, it became evident, to her horror, that the squirrel had taken a particular dislike to the sound of the preacher's voice and the noise of the singing. He kept up à low suppressed hiss whenever a passage struck him as not to his taste, and scolded sometimes so loud that she was afraid her neighbors would think her possessed, and that she would have to walk out in the middle of the service. The squirrel never went to church again. He always appeared at dessert, and was allowed to run about the table, when he never overthrew or disturbed anything, but deftly careered in and out among the glass and the dishes, or sat up on his little hind-legs, and took what was given him with delicate precision, handling in his forepaws a nut, cracking it with his sharp teeth, his merry little head on one side, and an occasional sweep of his beautiful brush of a tail. His great delight was to mount on to the highest cornice or curtain-rod he could find, and sit chattering in triumph, or to run up the shoulders of his friends and sit upon their heads. His mistress was so afraid of his coming in harm's way that she took him out with her visiting, and one day in a strange house she put the squirrel in his cage on the top of a chest of drawers, and locked the door of her bedroom. When she returned, she found that the dog of the house, who must treacherously have secreted himself under the bed for the fell purpose, had pulled down the cage, broken it open, and was hard at work worrying the poor little inmate, which was at the point of death when its mistress came in, only in time to rescue the body, and have the melancholy satisfaction of burying the remains in a decent manner. Case number three regards a pair of small ring-tailed monkeys, which were sent as a present from their native home to a lad at college. They were of that charming little kind described as "consisting of four legs and a tail, ted in a knot in the middle, the tail the most important member of the concern." They wore landed in London, and sent to the town house of the family, who happened to be from home. The butler, not much pleased at their sight, shut the new arrivals up in the pantry alone for the night. It was late Autumn, there was no fire, no comfort, no care, and the next morning the little monkeys were discovered locked in each other's arms, and quite dead. To tell of the parrot whose unused wings did not save him from dying by a fall out of window; the lap-dogs which have been overrun by carriages, suffocated, bitten, drowned; how the poodle-dog belonging to the wife of a governor-general fell overboard, and was swallowed by a shark-would all be too "long to tell and sad to trace"; and as a relief to my own and my readers' feelings, here is a story of a less harrowing description. A busy man, who once wanted to finish some literary work, took refuge for the purpose in a quiet, out-of-theway French town, where he set up his quarter sat a comfortable auberge, with a pleasant garden. Therein he fraternized with a small pet owl, which had lost its leg. "What bird is this ?" he said to the servant, but she was suddenly called away. When the landlord brought up his account that night: "By-the-bye," said the guest, "what is become of that nice little owl I was so fond of ?” Monsieur," said the host, going on with the bill, “h.s been content of the service?" "Quite satisfied," replied the Englishman; "but I am very sorry about the owl. What is become of her ?" "Monsieur has had his potage, his rôti, his doux, and his gibier each day he has been here ?" "Yes, yes," said the othor, impatiently; "but about the owl ?" A horrible suspicion crossed his mind. "Monsieur, on this the last day, behold, with all my possible efforts, I could get no game, alas! for monsieur's dinner!" "What !" cried the horrified guest, "you did not kill the little owl for me?" "Oh, non, monsieur ! il est mort tout seul !" The stealing of pet dogs has become a regular trade, or, rather, an art, according as it is now pursued, the stalking of the master or mistress, so as to know all their haunts, and time the exact instant most propitious for the capture of the well-watched beast. While the calculations, upon the most refined psychological principles, of the precise moment when the agony of the bereaved will bring about the highest amount of reward-how not to offer hopes too soon, and not to delay too long-all this has reached the dignity of an exact science. "How do you settle the amount to be asked-is it according to the breed of the dog?" said the fleeced but happy recoverer of a beloved pug to the trader. "Oh, no, sir, we doos it by the feelinx of the party." Perhaps the only really happy and satisfactory peis are wild animals, which lead their own natural lives, obtaining food by their own exertions, but adding a friendship for man and an occasional luxury at his hands to their usual course of woodland existence. A squirrel in this way has been known to enter the open window every morning where a family were breakfasting, run up the back of the master, and nestle in his coat-collar, when it received a nut. Besides these are such creatures as are kept for use, not for play, who, even though their food be found for them, are quite unspoiled by luxury, and lead a life of independent usefulness as the helpmates and companions of man. A coily dog, on whom the most important part of his shepherd-master's work depends, the retriever, who can do anything but speak," these are friends, scarcely to be degraded into pets. The faculty of taming wild animals, which some mer possess in so remarkable a degree, would be worth studying more accurately-with some it seems to depend on the strength of the instinctive part which we share with the animal creation. A deaf and dumb man has been known to possess it to a great degree. With others it seems to depend upon patience, quiet tenderness, and a determined will. An old man who led a secluded life in an ancient house, in the midst of trees and fields, might be seen with the robins, tomtits, etc., perched on his shoulders and taking crumbs out of his mouth. A more extraordinary proof of confidence in birds was to be witnessed one year in the crowded Tuileries gardens. An old man in very shabby dress might be seen any day summoning birds from the trees and houses round: pigeons, sparrows, thrushes, etc., came flying up, fluttered over his head, alighted on his hat, his shoulders and arms, and sat there caressing him. He did not feed them, at least ostensibly, and when, after a time, ho had had apparently enough of their company, with a wave of his hand he dismissed his court, which all flew quietly away at the signal. They wanted, apparently, nothing but friendliness from him, and on his part it was not done for money, but simply for his own pastime, and when the reception was over he walked away among the crowd, which seemed too well used to the sight to heed it much. In general, however, we are too stupid in our intercourse with animals to attempt to understand the language they use, or to try to perfect the signs by which they are to interpret our wishes; although the occasional instances, often accidental, show how much might be done in this way. A cat in a Swiss cottage had taken poison, and came in a pitiful state of pain to seek its mistress's help. The fever and heat were so great, that it dipped its own paws into a pan of water, an almost unheard of proceeding in water-hating cat. She wrapped it in wet linen, fed it with gruel, nursed it and doctored it all the day and night after. It recovered, and could not find ways enough to show its gratitude. One evening she had gone up-stairs to bed, when a mew at the window roused her; she got up and opened it, and found the cat, which had climbed a pear-tree nailed against the house, with a mouse in its mouth. This it laid as an offering at its mistress's feet, and went away. For above a year it continued to bring these tributes to her. Even when it had kittens, they were not allowed to touch this reserved share, and if they attempted to eat it, the mother gave them a little tap, "That is not for thee." After awhile, however, the mistress accepted the gift, thanked the giver with a pleased look and |