22 



KIDD'S LONDON JOURNAL. 



" ' W ah ! wall ! —hooray ! hooray ! ! ' shouts 

 the surrounding crowd, intensely excited, when 

 Mr. Peacock, after being aroused into full activity, 

 (as his fierce, flashing little eyes and uneasy 

 movements denote,) by a succession of vigorous 

 pokes and pushes with a bamboo pole, conde- 

 scends to snap at and swallow the hind quarter 

 of a young goat — temptingly held within an inch 

 of his nose. 



" Now there will be something to laugh at. Out 

 of the neighboring tent sallies a small but 

 select body of subalterns, in strange hats and 

 stranger coats. They are surrounded by a pack 

 of rakish-looking bull terriers, yelping and danc- 

 ing their joy at escaping from the thraldom of 

 the kuttewala. There is a gun, too, in the party. 

 They seem just now at a loss what to do. They 

 wander listlessly among the date trees, wink at 

 the ladies, ' chaff ' the old fakir a little, offer up 

 the usual goat, and playfully endeavor to ram 

 the bamboo pole down Mr. Peacock's throat. 

 The showman remonstrates, and they inform him, 

 in a corrupt dialect of 'the Moors/ that he is an 

 ' old muff.' A barking and a hoarse roaring from 

 below attract their attention; they hurry down 

 towards the swamp, and find their dogs occu- 

 pied in disturbing the repose of its possessors. 

 'At him, Tim! go it, Pincher! five to one in 

 gold mohurs that Snap doesn't funk the fellow, 

 hist 'st 'st , Snap S ' 



" Snap's owner is right; but the wretched little 

 quadruped happens to come within the sweep 

 of a juvenile alligator's tail, which with one lash 

 sends him flying through the air into the ' middle 

 of next week.' Bang ! bang ! And two ounces 

 of shot salute Snap's murderer's eyes and ears. 

 Tickled by the salutation, the little monster, 

 with a curious attempt at agility, plunges into 

 his native bog, grunting as if he had a grievance. 



" Again the old fakir, issuing from his sanc- 

 tum, — that white dome on the rock which towers 

 above the straggling grove, — finds fault with 

 the nature of the proceedings. This time, how- 

 ever, he receives a rupee and a bottle of cognac, 

 — the respectable senior would throttle his father, 

 or sell his mother for a little more. So he 

 retires in high glee, warning his generous friends 

 that the beasts are very furious and addicted to 

 biting. 



" When ' larking ' does commence, somehow 

 or other it is very difficult to cut its career short. 

 No sooner does the keeper of the lines disappear, 

 than the truth of his caution is canvassed and 

 generally doubted. The chief of the sceptics, a 

 beardless boy about seventeen, short, thin, and 

 cock -nosed, — infact, the very model of a guards- 

 man, — proposes to demonstrate by experiment 

 'what confounded nonsense the chap was talk- 

 ing.' A ' draw it mild old fellow,' fixes his 

 intentions. 



" The ensign turns round to take a run at the 

 bog, looks to see that his shoes are tightly tied, 

 and charges the right place gallantly; now plant- 

 ing his foot upon one of the little tufts of rank 

 grass which protrude from the muddy water, 

 now lighting on an alligator's back, now sticking 

 for a moment in the black mire, now hopping 

 dexterously off a sesquipedalian snout. He 

 reaches the other side with a whole skin, although 

 his pantaloons have suffered a little from a 



vicious bite: narrow escapes, as one may imagine, 

 he has had ; but pale ale and plentiful pluck are 

 powerful preservers. 



"A crowd assembles about the spot; the ex- 

 ultation of success seems to turn the young 

 gentleman's head . He proposes an alligator ride, 

 is again laughed to scorn, and again runs off, 

 with mind made up, to the tent. A moment 

 afterwards he reappears, carrying a huge steel 

 fork and a sharp hook, strong and sharp, with the 

 body of a fowl quivering on one end, and a stout 

 cord attached to the other. He lashes his line 

 carefully round one end of the palm trees, and 

 commences plying the water for a mugur. A 

 brute nearly twenty feet long, a real Saurian 

 every inch of him, takes the bait, and finds him- 

 self in a predicament ; he must either disgorge a 

 savory morsel, or remain a prisoner ; and for a 

 moment or two he makes the ignoble choice. 

 He pulls, however, like a thorough-bred bull- dog, 

 shakes his head as if he wished to shed it, and 

 lashes his tail with the energy of a shark who is 

 being beaten to death with capstan bars. 



"In a moment, the rider is seated, like an 

 elephant driver, upon the thick neck of the reptile, 

 who not being accustomed to carry such weight, 

 at once sacrifices his fowl; and running off with 

 his rider, makes for the morass. On the way, 

 at times, he slackens his zigzag, wriggling course, 

 and attempts a bite, but the prongs of the steel 

 fork, Avell rammed into the soft part of his neck, 

 muzzle him effectually enough. And just as the 

 steed is plunging into his own element, the 

 jockey springs actively up, leaps on one side, 

 avoids a terrific lash from the serrated tail, and 

 again escapes better than he deserves." 



These little anecdotes certainly are amus- 

 ing ; but as records of " facts " in Natural 

 History they should be assigned " a separate 

 ward." Our duty compels us to notice all 

 works brought under our eye ; hence the 

 above illustration of one of the gallant Lieu- 

 tenant's Flights of Fancy. 



Something New from the Story Garden. 

 18mo. Groombridge & Sons. 



We imagine there is scarcely a respectable 

 family in the kingdom, in which that lovely 

 little work, the Story without an End, is not 

 to be found. Its pure diction, extreme 

 simplicity, and witching garb, have pro- 

 cured it entrance wherever there are children 

 to be taught and to be pleased. Side by 

 side with that little book should be placed — 

 this Story Garden. It is no servile copy, 

 but an elegant offering of friendship from 

 one member of a family to her two sisters. 

 In style and object it resembles the story of 

 Miss Austen, and is equally attractive in 

 every respect. Nor are the illustrations one 

 whit less beautiful. They are perfect bijoux 

 of art, • and reflect honor on the designer, the 

 engraver, and the proprietor, — all of whom 

 seem to have vied with each other to pro- 

 duce a literary gem. In what a beautiful 



