1829.9 
The aim of the society, in this particular 
department, or rather that of the very intel- 
ligent and skilful compiler, is not to give a 
systematic work upon Zoology, comprising 
every specimen of the animal kingdom, but 
to supply information as to the peculiarities, 
talents, qualities, and capabilities of such 
animals as fall more or less under closer 
inspection, and not—what is the common, 
but very unworthy object of naturalists—to 
make these matters subordinate to classifi- 
cation. The Menagerie of Regent’s Park,— 
the King’s collection at Windsor—that of 
the Tower—and animals in the possession 
of private individuals in different parts of 
the country, but chiefly in the neighbour- 
hood of London, have furnished him with 
the specimens, which he has described and 
drawn ; and he professes distinctly to ven- 
ture nothing which does not rest upon his 
‘own knowledge, or upon the testimony of 
unexceptionable authorities. 3 
A well-ordered menagerie is the only 
means, at home, of observing accurately, 
the natural habits of undomesticated ani- 
mals. A kangaroo in a cage, is scarcely 
worth looking at; but see him in a pad- 
dock, as in Windsor Park, and his spring 
_ and bound at once fixes attention, and 
_shews a new variety in the exhaustless con- 
trivances of nature. 
private gentleman at Limehouse, there are 
three monkeys, in a state of remarkable 
freedom. “‘ We went,”’ says the author, “to 
see them, with but few anticipations of 
pleasure ; for a monkey, as monkeys are 
ordinarily seen, confined in a box, shews 
‘little but the cunning and rapacity of his 
race. The monkeys at Limehouse were let 
loose into an orchard, in which were some 
high and spreading elms: their gambols 
_ were the most diverting that could be ima- 
_‘gined. They pursued each other to the top 
“of the highest branch, where they sat fear- 
lessly chattering, and in an instant they 
would throw themselves down, with uner- 
xing aim, some twenty feet, and resting 
- upon the bough which they had selected to 
leap at, would swing to and fro with mani- 
* fest delight. We shall not be satisfied,” he 
adds, ‘‘again with a menagerie which has 
; not trees for its monkeys to sport on.” 
7 e sloth, again, is usually described as 
slow in his movements, and as in a perpe- 
_ tual state of pain ; and from his supposed 
; inaction his name is derived. ‘‘ And why is 
this ?”’ asks the author. ‘‘ He has not been 
- seen in his native woods by those who de- 
__ scribed him ; he was resting on the floor of 
some place of confinement. His feet are 
‘not formed for walking on the ground ; 
cannot act in a perpendicular direc- 
tion; and his sharp and long claws are 
curved. He can only moye on the ground 
by pulling himself along by some inequali- 
ties on the surface; and, therefore, on a 
smooth floor, he is. perfectly wretched. He 
is intended to pass ‘his life in trees; he 
does not move or rest wpon the branches, 
Domestic and Foreign. ; 
At the residence of a _ 
“655 
but under them ; he is constantly suspend- 
ed by his four legs: and he thus travels 
from branch to branch, eating his way, and 
sleeping when he is satisfied. To put such 
a creature in aden is to torture him, and 
to give false notions of his habits. If the 
sloth be placed in a menagerie, he should 
have a tree for his abode; and then we 
should find that he is neither habitually ins 
dolent, nor constantly suffering.” - ; 
This is good common sense, and “ enter 
taining,” and “ useful” knowledge. The 
writer keeps, we observe, a sharp look out— 
for we find him quoting the journal of a 
naturalist, and other recent. publications. 
The second publication of the same class, 
we have but just glanced at, but it is of 
the same practical character, and_-filled with 
the latest information—we find extracts ~ 
from the Quarterly on the subject’ of the 
Oak, and from Walter Scott, on Firs, &c. 5 
but the subject, Trees used inthe Arts, is 
more exclusively “‘wseful.’’ The “ enter- 
taining” can scarcely belong to-any thing 
unconnected with life and mobility. 
Schiller’s William Tell; 1829.—Be the 
celebrity of this play what it may in Ger- 
many, it never can win any admiration, 
and scar¢ely any distinction, in an English 
dress. It is too thoroughly German—too 
minute, particularizing—too lecal, topogra- 
phical—too full of national allusions, feelings, 
and associations—too homely and unadorn- 
ed, also—to bear transfusion into an uncon- 
genial element. It is a Flemish picture, 
moreoyer—faithful.exact, but too unselect and 
unideal, except occasionally in the senti- 
ments of the more elevated parts. The chief 
agents and the subordinate ones are brought 
forward too much in equal relief; the cha- 
racters crowd upon us in numbers.that defy 
individualizing ; and, the fact is, there is 
very little character, strictly speaking, dis- 
tinctly and extensively developed — few 
shades, and little discrimination. Baum- 
garten, and Walter Fiirst, and Stauffacher, 
are none of them distinguishable from each 
other, but by their names and personal acts 
—the tone and calibre of all is the same— 
they are all of the same family, animated by 
one soul and one spirit—a sort of modern 
Geryon. The cutting out of about one half 
of the characters, and a third of the scenes, 
would greatly concentrate the interest of the 
piece. The grand scene—the apple-shoot- 
ing—is fitted only for a melo-drame; and, 
being of questionable historical authority, 
might have been judiciously superseded by 
some invention of the poet. 
The play, it appears, has never been trans- 
lated—in verse, this must mean—for in 
prose we feel pretty certain we must haye 
read one some twenty years ago; and the 
translator's sole motive for publishing (bless 
his benevolence!) is a wish to make the 
English reader acquainted with one of Schil- 
ler’s best producticns. But, though the 
motive be of the most laudable kind, and the 
