Sultanpoor, and who was said to have been
caught when trotting down on all fours with the
wolf foster-mother, and his three cubs of
foster-brothers, to the river to drink. When first
caught, he had to be tied, that he might not run
off into holes and dens. He ran away from
adults, but ran at children, snarling like a dog,
to bite them. He ate his meat raw, dog fashion,
using his hands as forepaws; would let a dog
share with him, but snarled if a man came near.
The boy was sent to Captain Nicholetts,
commanding the First Oude Local Infantry, with
whom he became tamer; but he growled when
teased, ran to his food on all fours, and ate
whatever was thrown to him, preferring raw
meat and bones to gnaw. He could eat half a
lamb at a time, drink a pitcher of buttermilk
without drawing breath, and would pick up and
eat earth and small stones. He delighted in
food, but he detested clothing. In cold weather
they gave him a quilt, but he tore it up and ate
it bit by bit with his bread. This boy was of
repulsive aspect; he shunned human society,
preferring that of dogs, but when his favourite,
a pariah dog that came and helped him off with
his dinners, was shot because he was depriving
the young foundling of his food, the boy showed
no concern whatever at his loss. This "beast
child," who was supposed to have been taken
from the she-wolf at nine or ten years old, lived
three years among men, signifying wants by a
few signs—when hungry he pointed to his
mouth—and was never known to speak till a
few minutes before his death, when he put his
hand to his head and said it ached, asked for
some water, drank it, and then died. These few
words spoken before death might have been the
return of an old childish impression.

Another of Sir William's stories is of a boy
said to have been carried off by a wolf when
three years old, and while his parents were
working in the fields at Chupra. Six years
afterwards he was caught when going down to
the river with three wolf cubs, and recognised
by a birth-mark, as well as by the scar of a scald
and the marks of the wolf's teeth in his loins;
for she had been seen to take him and carry him
off by his loins. This boy was alive at the time
of Sir W. Sleeman's visit. He could not
articulate words, his knees and elbows were
hardened with going on all fours. He followed his
mother about for what he could get, but at
night, he would make off to the jungle. He also
liked his meat uncooked. The village boys
threw frogs to him, and he ate them. When a
bullock died and its skin was taken off, he would
go and eat it like a village dog.

The unproved fact in the case of both these
idiot boys, who had been outcasts in the woods,
is the wolf-nursing. The notion of wolf-rearing
is commonly attached in India to the outcast
idiot children, who are sometimes found living,
like the beasts, upon what garbage they can find.

ln Poland the same belief once gave to such
unhappy children credit or discredit for having
been reared among the bears. Of one such boy,
caught two centuries ago in a bear hunt, it is
said that he appeared to be eight or nine years old,
went on all fours, and ate greedily such things as
bears love—raw flesh, apples, and honey. He was
taken to the king at Warsaw and baptised Joseph.
With difficulty he was taught to walk upright.
He never could learn Polish, but expressed his
views of life with an ursine growl. The king
gave him to a vice-chamberlain, who employed
him to carry wood for his kitchen. He never lost
his wildness, and sometimes escaped into the
woods, where the bears never molested him.

Such stories are not more credible, though
more honestly set forth, than that of the Irish
boy exhibited at Amsterdam, as having been
reared by a sheep, so that he ran upon all fours,
cropped grass, and bleated.

MARVELLOUS LIGHTNING.

THUNDER-CLOUDS have been described as
fermenting; having really an appearance recalling
that of fermentation. A learned observer has
likened these clouds to a cheese full of mites,
agitated in every part, and yet never changing
place. Although everybody knows thunder-clouds
when they see them, very few persons
have watched their formation. The thunder-cloud
is composed of different kinds of clouds.
At some of the points of the horizon clouds arise
like heaped up masses of cotton or dome-shaped
mountains covered with snow; and these clouds
are seen swelling and stretching until they unite,
and make one vast cloud: then another very
thick or black cloud appears as if resting on the
earth, which is seen spreading until it reaches
the other cloud, and sends its darkness through it
or over it; the whole mass may be observed
shooting forth branches, and overspreading the
sky, and blending with the little scattered cloudlets
like tufts of wool floating hurriedly towards
it, until the louring whole blackens with a purple
or inky black the heavens from the welkin to the
horizon, and the commotions or fermentations, or
rather the million-fold rubbings and collisions
going on within it, announce the gathering
together of the elements of thunder and lightning.
The storm is brewing. Franklin long ago
remarked that a single cloud could not become
a thunder-cloud. Thunder-storms are battles of
the clouds. Saussure said he had never seen a
thunder-storm except from a conflict of clouds.
But storms may come from the battles of clouds
lying in layers above each other, and coming
into collision not horizontally, but perpendicularly,
from the clouds of the plains and valleys
going up to fight the clouds hanging upon the
mountains—their collisions announcing
themselves by gusts of wind, by lightning and
thunder, hail and rain.

Yet, Arago has exhumed records to the
contrary purport. If these recorded observations
have been made by careful and competent
witnesses, lightning and thunder have, contrary
to what all the theories would lead us to
expect, issued from solitary and isolated clouds.
On the 12th of September, 1747, a small and
perfectly round cloud, about a foot and a half