strongly is this instinct implanted in them, that if you catch a calf, be it ever so young, and turn it down wind, it will immediately face round and go in the opposite direction. Thus they go forward over hill-tops and unexplored ground in perfect security, for they can smell the taint in the air at an almost incredible distance. On this account they are fond of lying in open corries, where the swells of winds come occasionally from all quarters.

I have said that deer go up wind, but by clever management, and employing men to give them their wind, (these men being concealed from their view,) they may be driven down it; and in certain cases they may easily be sent, by a side wind, towards that part of the forest which they consider as their sanctuary.

It is to be noted that on the hill-side the largest harts lie at the bottom of the parcel, and the smaller ones above; indeed, these fine fellows seem to think themselves privileged to enjoy their ease, and impose the duty of keeping guard upon the hinds, and upon their juniors. In the performance of this task, the hinds are always the most vigilant, and when deer are driven they almost always take the lead. When, however, the herd is strongly beset on all sides, and great boldness and decision are required, you shall see the master hart come forward courageously, like a great leader as he is, and, with his confiding band, force his way through all obstacles. In ordinary cases, however, he is of a most ungallant and selfish disposition; for, when he apprehends danger from the rifle, he will rake away the hinds with his horns, and get in the midst of them, keeping his antlers as low as possible.

There is no animal more shy or solitary by nature than the red deer. He takes the note of alarm from every living thing on the moor-all seem to be his sentinels. The sudden start of any animal, the springing of a moor-fowl, the complaining note of a plover, or of the smallest bird in distress, will set him off in an instant. He is always most timid when he does not see his adversary, for then he suspects an ambush. If, on the contrary, he has him in full view, he is as cool and circumspect as possible; he then watches him most acutely, endeavours to discover his intention, and takes the best possible method to defeat it. In this case, he is never in a hurry or confused, but repeatedly stops and watches his disturber's motions; and when at length he does take his measure, it is a most decisive one : a whole herd will sometimes force their way at the very point where the drivers are the most numerous and where there are no rifles; so that I have seen the hillmen fling their sticks at them, while they have raced away without a shot being fired.

When a stag is closely pursued by dogs, and feels that he cannot escape from them, he flies to the best position he can, and defends himself to the last extremity. This is called going to bay. If he is badly wounded, or very much over-matched in speed, he has little choice of ground; but if he finds himself stout in the chase, and is pursued in his native mountains, he will select the most defensible spot he has it in his power to reach; and woe be unto the dog that approaches him rashly. His instinct always leads him to the rivers, where his long legs give him a great advantage over the deer-hounds. Firmly he holds his position, whilst they swim powerless about him, and would die from cold and fatigue before they could make the least impression on him. Sometimes he will stand upon a rock in the midst of the river, making a most majestic appearance; and in this case it will always be found that the spot on which he stands is not approachable on his rear. In this situation he takes such a sweep with his antlers that he could exterminate a whole pack of the most powerful lurchers that were pressing too closely upon him in front, He is secure from all but man, and the rifle-shot must end him. Superior dogs may pull him down when running, but not when he stands at bay.

The deer, like many other animals, seems to foresee every change of weather: at the approach of a storm they leave the higher hills, and descend to the low grounds; sometimes even two days before the change takes place. Again, at the approach of a thaw, they leave the low grounds and go to the mountains by a similar anticipation of change. They never perish in snow drifts, like sheep, since they do not shelter themselves in hollows, but keep the bare ground, and cat the tops of the heather.

One would imagine that in a severe storm many would perish by avalanches. But, during the long period of sixty years, Mr. John Crerer remembers but two accidents of this nature. These were in Glen Mark: eleven were killed by one fall, and twenty-one by another: the snow in its descent carried the deer along with it into the glen and across the burn, and rolled up a little way on the opposite brae, where the animals were smothered.

Harts are excellent swimmers, and will pass from island to island in quest of hinds or change of food. It is asserted that the rear hart in swimming rests his head on the croup of the one before him; and that all follow in the same manner. When a herd of deer are driven, they follow each other in a line; so that when they cross the stalker it is customary for him to be quiet, and suffer the leaders to pass before he raises his rifle. If he were to fire at the first that appeared, he would probably turn the whole of them; or if he were to run forward injudiciously after a few had passed, the remainder, instead of following the others in a direct line, would not cross him except under particular circumstances and dispositions of ground, but would bear off an end, and join the others afterwards. It must be remarked, however, that when deer are hard pressed by a dog, they run in a compact mass, the tail ones endeavouring to wedge themselves into it. They will also run in this manner when pressed by drivers on the open moor. But they are sensible that they could not pass the narrow oblique paths that are trodden out by them in the precipitous and stony parts of the mountain, or encounter the many obstructions of rock, river, and precipice, that rugged nature is continually opposing to them, in any other manner than in rank and file. If they did, they must separate, and lose the wind, which is not their system.

They do not run well up hill when fat, but they will beat any dog in such oblique paths as I have mentioned. The hardness and sharp edges of their hoofs gives them great tenacity, and prevents them suffering from the stones; whilst a dog, having no fence against injury, is obliged to slacken his pace.

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The bone also of a deer's foot is small and particularly hard; it is this peculiar construction which renders the animal as strong as he is fleet. The support and strength of the joints of the feet of all animaal bodies, according to Sir E. Home, depends less upon their own ligaments than upon the action of the muscles whose tendons pass over them. "This fact," he says, was strongly impressed on my mind in the early part of my medical education, by seeing a deer which leaped over the highest fences, and the joints of whose feet, when examined, were as rigid, in every other direction but that of their motion, as the bone itself; but when the tendon Achilles, which passed over the joint, was divided, with a view to keep the animal from running away, the foot could readily be moved in any direction, the oint no longer having the smallest firmness."

262.-SEA-SONGS.

OUR Sea-Songs have a character of their own, which is identical with the character of a sea girt people. It is not mere fancy to believe that there is something peculiar in that character. The extent and variety of these songs renders a small selection quite inadequate to exhibit their freshness, their heartiness, their thorough knowledge of a sailor's life.

One of the most popular, as well as the most refined of these songs, is the famous ballad of GAY. The air of this ballad has been attributed to Handel; but it was the composition of Leveridge, a bass-singer, who also composed 'The Roast Beef of Old England.'

BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

All in the downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board,
"Oh! where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,

If my sweet William sail among the crew."
William, then high upon the yard,

Rock'd with the billows to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh'd and cast his eyes below;

The cord slides quickly through his glowing hands,
And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
(If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,)
And drops at once into her nest.

The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
"O Susan! Susan! lovely dear!

My vows shall ever true remain!
Let me kiss off that falling tear-

We only part to meet again.

Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubt thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

n every port a mistress find—

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

If to far India's coast we sail,

Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white;

Thus every beauteous object that I view,

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn :

Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return:

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread;

No longer must she stay aboard;

They kiss'd-she sigh'd-he hung his head

The lessening boat unwilling rows to land-
"Adieu!" she cries, and waved her lily hand.

THE STORM.

THIS noble song is generally attributed to George Alexander Stevens, a well-known actor half a century ago. It has, however, been contended that the writer was William Falconer, the author of 'The Shipwreck.' The air was known long before the song was popular.

POOR JACK.

THE greatest writer of Sea-songs was CHARLES DIBDIN. He was a musician as well as a poet. It is not too much to say that his songs were worth more for national defence than a hundred "towers along the steep." His songs are now provided in abundant volumes for

every ship of our navy. We give his 'Poor Jack,'-the very perfection of simplicity and pathos.

Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d’ye see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;

A tight water-boat and good sea-room give me,
And t'aint to a little I'll strike:

Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack smooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight,

And under reef'd foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

Why, I heard our good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why 'twas just all as one as High Dutch :
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye sec,
Without orders that come down below;

And many fine things that proved clearly to me
That providence takes us in tow :

For says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft,'
Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.

I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry,
When last we weigh'd anchor for sea,

What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye,

Why, what a damn'd fool you must be!

Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us sii

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore,

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

Why you will ne'er hear of me more :

What then, all's a hazard, come don't be so soft,

Perhaps I may laughing come back,

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch

All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world without offering to flinch,
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,
Nought's a trouble from duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's

And as for my life, 'tis the king's:

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft

As for grief to be taken aback,

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for Poor Jack.