Anecdote of a Tiger.—One day a singular circumstance took place in a menagerie near London, which shows the retentive memory of the tiger. A sailor, who had been strolling round the exhibition, loitering here and there to admire the animals, was attracted by a strange noise, made by a tiger, who seemed irritated beyond endurance. Jack, somewhat alarmed, sought the keeper to inquire the cause of so singular a display of feeling, which, he remarked, became more boisterous, the nearer he approached the animal. The keeper replied, that the behavior of the tiger indicated that he was either vastly pleased, or very much annoyed. Upon this, the sailor again approached the den, and gazed at the tiger a few minutes, during which time the animal became frantic with seeming rage, lashing his tail against his sides, and giving utterance to the most frightful bellowings. He soon discovered the tiger to be one that he had, not long before, brought to England, and which had been his especial care.
It now was Jack’s turn to be delighted, as it appears the tiger was, in thus recognizing his old friend; and, after making repeated applications to be permitted to enter the den, for the purpose, he said, of “shaking a fist” with the beautiful animal, he was suffered to do so. The iron door was opened, and in jumped Jack, to the delight of himself and his striped friend, and the astonishment of the lookers-on. The affection of the animal was now shown by caressing and licking the pleased sailor, whom he seemed to welcome with the heartiest satisfaction; and when the honest tar left the den, the anguish of the poor animal seemed almost insupportable.
Miss Pappoo.
Here she is—Miss Pappoo—all the way from New Guinea—a specimen of humanity which shows the lovely, fascinating, bewitching effect of an exuberant quantity of hair. It is all her own, too! not purchased at Gilbert’s, nor forced by beef marrow, antique oil, bear’s grease, or Macassar ointment! No; it is pure, genuine nature.
It may be that there are some persons who cannot appreciate the loveliness of Miss Pappoo’s locks; but every day, we see in our streets, certain young and middle-aged men, who strike us as kindred spirits. They possess long, tangled locks, and an immense quantity of beard, covering each side of the face, the throat, and the chin. Sometimes it is permitted also to cover the upper lip. This bushy beard gives to a man the somewhat simpering aspect of an old goat; but still, it would seem that many of our beaux are delighted at making such a figure. Their great desire seems to be to run to hair.
It is to be remarked that in general these excessively whiskered gentry have low crowns, and of course a small quantity of brains, and probably the little they have is of rather an inferior quality. Still, they seem satisfied, nay, delighted—conceited even—if they can make up this deficiency with an enormous quantity of bristles growing out of their chins.
To all such persons, we present Miss Pappoo, not doubting that there will be a sympathy—a fellow-feeling between her and them. They truly can appreciate a character so eminently distinguished for hair. She is a native of the great island of Papua, or New Guinea, lying in the Pacific Ocean, near New Holland. She is dressed in the highest fashion of her country, and doubtless would pass for a belle of the first order there.