It would be strange, he thought, if he were really to get track of himself in such a way—the first of the tracks being made by that tiny shoe in Jack’s chest. And then he reflected how improbable it seemed, when there were so many babies in the world, that he should have been that baby.
“I almost hope the thing will never come to light,” he said to himself. “Perhaps it is better not to know.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
IN A MENAGERIE.
There is a distinct individuality among tigers, as among ourselves, some being gentle and tolerably tractable, while others are fierce, morose, and not to be trusted.
In Mr. G. Sanger’s menagerie, at Margate, England, there are two tigresses which are of exactly opposite characters. Both go by the name of “Bessy,” there being an extraordinary lack of originality in the nomenclature of animals.
The difference may be partly owing to the accident of birth, one having been captured while young, and the other born in a menagerie.
One might naturally imagine that the latter would be the better tempered of the two, she never having known the freedom of savage life. But, in accordance with the invariable rule, the “forest-bred” animal is the tamer, those which have been born in captivity being always uncertain in their ways, and not to be trusted.