F 9489 F 9489 SCHRUENBOEK-BV SITTARD A NEW ENGLISH READER FOR BEGINNERS BY J. F. DE WILDE English Teacher at Amsterdam. HAARLEM H. D. TJEENK WILLINK & ZOON. I*rU» f 1.26- A NEW ENGLISH READER A NEW ENGLISH READER FOR BEGINNERS BY J. F. DE WILDE English Teacher at Amsterdam. f* I c fLi >ve f HAARLEM H. D. TJEENK WILLINK & SON. 1905 TYP. FIRMA RULJ8R0K EN CO. VOORBERICHT- Dit boekje is bestemd voor het eerste jaar en het tweede, gedeeltelijk of, zoo men wil, geheel. Nu het onderwijs in vreemde talen er meer en meer op ingericht wordt, den leerlingen de spreektaal in de eerste plaats te leeren, meende ik dat een werkje noodig was, dat veel eenvoudige omgangstaal bevatte. Ik heb dan ook gezorgd voor veel dialoog en zoo weinig mogelijk minder gebruikelijke, litterarische wendingen. Ook heb ik, vooral in het begin, veel eenvoudige gedichtjes en „daaronder verscheidene nursery rhymes geplaatst, omdat deze/ zoo gemakkelijk van buiten te leeren zijn en den mond gewennen aan het voortbrengen der, voor beginners zoo moeilijke, Engelsche klankcombinaties'. Bovendien zijn deze rijmpjes aan ieder in Engeland bekend zoodat men er zeer vaak aangehaald vindt; het heelt daaróm m.i. zijn nut als de leerlingen er van op de hoogte gebracht worden. Met het oog op de moderne methode volgens welke men den leerlingen in de eerste drie of vier maanden geen leesboek in handen geeft, meende ik, dat het niet noodig was de eerste stukjes al te gemakkelijk te kiezen. Wat te laag bij den grond is, wordt zoo gauw vervelend gevonden door de ionge lezers en lezeressen. Ik hoop, dat dit werkje in een bestaande behoefte zal voorzien. Amsterdam, Juli 1905. J- F- DE WILDE. C ON T E N T s. Blz. Kate makes tea ^ o The two Angels A clear proof ° The dearest thing she had ® Nursery rhymes ® Freckles ® A Thackeray's love of children The Irish cook ' Politeness Kitty's tail ® J a Baby brother No proof ® The wooden spoon A sad tale ^ 12 Our baby boy Work before ^ Little thinga lo 14 The young rat Flo's letter 16 A valiant Valentine 18 Nursery rhymes How the elephants got their trunks 18 What does little birdie say ^1 Lullaby Nursery rhyme ^ 99 The little dancer oq Sing a song for sixpence The city child Blz. From the "story of a donkey" told by himself 30 The poodle 37 A lie 38 The pied piper of Hamelin 39 Mr. 41 The little gleaner 43 Little raindrops 43 A tale of 44 The naughty ducklings 44 The house that Jack built 45 Little Boy Blue 45 The miller and his son The horse-shoe 46 The purse 47 We are seven 48 The cock and the fox What news from the ®3 The doctor's rebuke The red sea The gate that wanted a latch 54 Hunting and fishing The fisherman and the porter 57 Christmas 6® Christmas presents Trotty's first day at school The babes in the wood ®8 The 7® Twilight ^ The open window 72 The old, old song 73 The blind men and the elephant 73 Gerty's stepmother 7® The Englishman in China Oft in the stilly night 81 Nina and Totty 82 Song from the princess 86 The throstle 8^ Killed at the ford 87 Blz. 89 The summer is ended The fowl with one leg A tiger story 91 The little matchseller ^ Launcelot and Elaine .... "o Ice-creams Trying to get odd jobs Q9 Casabianca A farewell ^ The minstrel boy A story of a buried treasure ^ Lament of the Irish emigrant ^ The fate of Hyacinthus llo "We are seven Home for the holidays The White Ship 125 The frog that went a-travelling ^ The May-Queen New Year's eve The nightingale ^ Breaking-up day 147 Gulliver among the giants , 149 The rainy day The lute-player Lucyu :::::::: 151 Lullaby Master John Buil The story of a mother The philosophic cat The 163 The boat-maker 166 In the days of long ago It is sometimes difficult to make up one's mind The Frenchman and the busconductor Death's messengers The murder of William the Silent ^ The relief of Leyden TT ATT! MAKES TEA. "I must go to see poor Miss Miller to-night," said Mrs. Travers to her husband. "I am sorry, you will have nobody to pour out tea for you, but it cannot be helped, I must go; I heard this afternoon that she is very ill indeed and so lonely with only her maid to nurse her; I must see what I can do for her." "Of course you must go, dear, and don't bother about that tea. Why, Kate is such a big girl now, I suppose she can pour out tea for Jack and me, can 't you Kate?" Kate flushed with pleasure at the mere thought of it. "That would be jolly, father. I have watched you so often, mother, that I am sure I can do it quite well. When tea-time came, Mary, the servant, brought in the kettle of boiling water and put it on the spirit-stove. "I am afraid the handle is a little hot, Miss Kate," she said; don't burn your fingers." -'"No, I shall manage all right Mary, if you will move the tea-table a little this way." There she sat like a real house-wife. She made the tea and poured it out and then she called her brother Jack who was doing his home-lessons in his own room. 1 "What's this?'' cried Jack when he came in, "are you pouring out tea, Kate? Where's mother.'' "Mother has gone to see a sick friend," said Kate. "Well, I wonder what kind of stuff you are going to give us. Do you think it will be fit to drink, father?" "I don't know what yours is like, Jack , said Mr. Travers, «but mine is very good indeed." "Ugh, this is bitter; I declare you have not given me any augar, Kate!" "Yes, I have, I put in two lumps, but I suppose you haven't stirred it. "Well, how am I to stir it, if you don't give me a spoon?" "Oh, 1 am sorry, did I not put a spoon in your saucer? I ir jant to; I gave father one. Here you are." Jnck stirred and stirred and then he tasted it again. ~ <"T is a little better, but I think I should like another lump." "I'm sure, mother never gives you more than two lumps; father, am I to give him another?" "Yes, give him as much sugar as he likes to-day, you are a sweet-tooth, master Jack!" "You hear, Kate, as much as I like, so give me two more; 't is good for my delicate throat you know. When Mrs. Travers came home that evening she asked her husband: "Did Kate give you a nice cup ot tea.' "Yes, she did, she managed quite nicely, she is sure to become a good house-wife," said Mr. Travers. "Still, it is a good thing you don't go out every evening, my dear, else you would want some extra pounds ot sugar a week. \our son Jack has emptied the whole sugar pot I am afraid. THE TWO ANGELS. The foliowing beautiful allegory is told among the Turks: Every man has two angels, one on the right shoulder, and the other on his left. When he does anything good, the angel on his right shoulder notes it down and sets a seal on it, because what is done is done for ever. When evil is done, the angel on the left shoulder writes it down. But he waits till midnight before he seals it. If by that time the man bows his head and exclaims : "Gracious Allah I have sinned, forgive me!" the angel blots out the fault; but if not, at midnight he seals it and the angel upon the right shoulder weeps. A CLEAR PROOF. "Well John, did you take the note I gave you to Mr. Smith?" a gentleman asked his new errand-boy. "Yes sir" replied John, "I took the note; but I don't think he can read it." "Cannot read it!" exclaimed the gentleman, "Why so, John?" "Because he is so blind sir. While I was in the room he asked me where my hat was; and it was on my head all the time!" THE DEABEST THING SHE HAD. There was once a king who had married a peasant's daughter. She was a very good, noble woman and they were very happy. The king had many treasures but there was one thing he valued more than anything else in the world; it was a very beautiful vase which had been sent him by the emperor of China. He liked it so much that he had made it known to every one in the palace that whoever should break this vase should be executed. Now it happened one day that one of the old servants knocked down the vase, so that it broke into a hundred pieces. The poor man wept bitterly and knowing that the Queen had a kind tender heart, he went to teil her what had happened. The Queen feit great pity for the man, but at first she did not know how to comfort him. But after a few moments reflection she said to him: "Do not be afraid, all will be well. Go back to your work; I think the king will pardon you. But do not speak to anybody about this." The man kissed the hem of her dress and retired, blessing the good Queen for her kind and compassionate heart. When the kiug entered her apartment the Queen went up to him, feil down on her knees and said: "My Lord, I most humbly beg your pardon." "Why, what have you done, my Queen?" said the king raising her; "nothing bad enough to make you kneel to me, I am sure." "Oh, my Lord," she said, "I broke the vase you value so much." Anxiously she waited for him to speak; she had not the courage to look up at his face; with her head bent down she stood before him, so she did not see that an expression of great anger came into his eyes. When he spoke at last his voice shook with passion. "I will no longer have you about me," he said "go away to the place wlience you came—to your peasant's hut. You can take with you what is dearest to you, but let me never see you here again ." The Queen said: "Yes, my Lord, I will do as you bid me", and she took his hand and kissed it, and said she would take her leave. But first she made a strong sleeping-draught and begged the king to drink to her healtli for the last time, and she would drink to his. The king drank some of the wine, but she only just touched the cup with her Ups. Soon he feil into a deep sleep, and when she saw that he was quite unconscious, she called a servant, and caused the king to be laid in a carriage, and driven to the cottage where she had once lived. There she laid him in a bed, where he slept till the next morning, and when he awoke he looked round him with great astonishment and called for a servant, but none answered the call. Al last his wife came to him and said: "My dear Lord and King, you commanded me to take with me what was dearest to me, and because I had nothing dearer and better than you, I have brought you with me here. At these words tears came into the King's eyes and he said: "Dear wife, you shall be mine and I shall be thine till we die"; and he took her back again to the palace and they lived happily ever after. NURSEHY RHYMES. Simple Simon met a pie-man, Going to the fair; Said simple Simon to the pie-man, "Let me taste your ware." Says the pie-man to Simple Simon "Show me first your penny"; Said simple Simon to the pie-man "Indeed, I have not any." Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humptv Dumpty had a great fall: All the king's horses and all the king's men Could not put Humpty Dumpty together again. Little Jack Horner sat in a corner Eating a Christmas-pie, He put in his thumb and pulled out a plum And said: "What a good boy am I." Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown, Rapping at the windows, erving through the lock, «All the children in their beds? Past eight o'clock." FRECKLES. A teacher in a kindergarten had taught the children the names of the parts of the human face. "Now Jimmy", she said, "look at me and teil me what you see between my eyes." Jimmy stared at her with great attention for a while and then cried gleefully: "Freckles". THACKERAY's LOVE OF CHILDREN. The following anecdote is told of Thackeray: One day he was the guest of a friend of his in Paris. After dinner his host's little daughter came in and before long she was on Thackeray's knees listening to a story. When her nurse came to carry her off to bed, both the child and her friend begged for another ten minutes. When the nurse came again, the story was not yet finished; indeed they had reached a verv interesting part. The little hero had just been put into prison, though he was quite innocent. The child went off to bed, shedding hot tears for the boy's sad fate. She was still crying when she lay in bed. Suddenly she heard a kind voice saying: "Well, little one, I have come to teil you the end of the story", and looking up she saw Mr. Thackeray, who sat down by her side and told her how the boy's innocence had soon been found out, how a kind lady had adopted him, and that he was now being driven to school in a fine coach every morning. "Oh I am so glad", cried the little girl, clapping her hands; "I was afraid that he would die in prison" and with a happy smile she laid her head on the pillow. Mr. Thackeray feit quite rewarded for having come to teil her the end of the story. the irish cook. «Oh! Cook," cried Katy, «how hot that water is! I have burnt my finger." «Well, you stupid girl," said cook, "why did not you feel if the water was hot before putting your finger m.' politeness. Two very hungry gentlemen entered a restaurant, and ordered some dinner. One of the courses was fish and the waiter brought two soles, one of which was a good deal bigger than the other. The friends were both very fond of fish. "Help yourself" said the one to the other, handing him the dish. "No, certainly not, after you" replied the latter, return- ing the dish. ( "No, I must insist on your taking some first, ' said the -ormer again. "Very well, then" said the other man, and he took the largest fish. His friend's face got about an inch longer, but he did not say a word. When the dessert was on the°table, he could not contain himself any longer, however, and said: "Excuse me for saying so, but it was not very polite of you to take the largest fish." "Why, which would you ha\e taken in my place?' "Of course the smaller one." "Well, then I don't understand why you grumble, for itis the smaller one you got." a choice of evils. Tommy, dreseed to go to an evening-party: "Mother shall I wash my hands or put on gloves?" kitty's tail. When little Kittie saw her tail, She tried in vain to snatch it, She twisted round with many a bound, But still she could not catch it. She seemed to look around for help; "What's this I'm running after?" But when the childrfen saw the sight, They could not keep from laughter. "You '11 never catch that pretty tail, You foolish little kittie, But soon you'11 be a wise old cat, Oh dear, it is such a pity. And then with solemn step and slow, Discretion self we'11 find you; Your nonsense gone and — what do you think — The same tail still behind you." baby brother. I've got a baby brother come, It is so sweet of him; I shan't be lonely any more, Now I have little Jim. We:ll play together every day, And have such lots of fun; I've never had a brother yet, But alWays wanted one. He has a round and rosy face And pretty dark brown eyes; He looks at me as though I cause Him very great surprise. He holds my fingers tiglitly in His darling little fist, And gives a pretty little smile Whenever he is kissed. I'll always love him oh! so much And be so good to him. I am so very glad he's come Dear darling little Jim. NO PEOOF. An Irish boy who was trying hard to get a place, was foolish enough to deny that he was Irish. "I don't know what you mean by not being Irish", said the gentleman who was about to engage him, "and it does not matter if you are. I know this, you were born in Ireland." "Oh, your honour, is that all?" said the boy; "sure, that is no proof. Suppose I had been born in a stable, should I have been a horse?" THE WOODEN SPOON. There was once a wooden spoon, who had a very proud and vain heart. He was always imagining that the silver spoons, with whom he lay in the same drawer, were looking down upon him. It was true, they never spoke to him, but that was because they did not think of him, I believe. He knew that he was beautifully carved and he feit their equal at the least. At last he could bear it no longer and when his mistress opened the drawer one day, he complamed to her that he feit so lonely and unhappy. "Nobody takes any notice of me", he said; "when the servant lays the cloth for dinner, she always leaves me in the drawer. Please could you not mare me look like the silver spoons?" The mistress was a good-natured woman; she pitied the spoon and took him to the silversmith's, who covered him all over with silver. When he came home he looked much meer than the silver spoons; he shone and glittered so brightly that he thought evervbody must notice and admire him. The next afternoon when the servant opened the drawer he was lying on the top of all the other spoons, but what was his astonis ment and disappointment when she laid him aside and took only the spoons of real silver. As soon as ever he saw his mistress, he complained to her again, and asked her how the servant knew that he was not of silv^f. "Well", said his mistress, "I suppo^e she can teil that by your weight. You are so much lighter than the others." "Oh, please make me heavier then," begged the spoon; "I dof want to be taken for a silver spoon." Again his mistress took him to the silversmith's, who now bored a deep hole into the very middle of his heart and poured in some lead. It hurt terribly, but he bore his sufferings manfully and when he came home again he was so exactly like a silver spoon in every way that all who saw him mistook him for one. It gave him much satisfaction to hear his beauty praised; the silver spoons quite thought he was one of theirs and spoke in a friendly fashion to him, although they did not like him on account of the airs he gave himself. " But yet he was not happy. His old cheerfulness and lightheartedness had gone; he always feit the lump of lead in his heart; it oppressed him dretjdfully, but he would not complam. One day the mistress of the house died and all her possessions were sold. The silver spoons were bought by a silversmith, and as they were rather oldfashioned, he resolved to melt 'them. When the wooden spoon heard him speakofthe crucible, he grew very much frightened, and cried: "Oh, do not put me in, I am only a wooden spoon with a thin layer of silver covering me." "But how can that be," said the sil- versmith, "you. are so heavy ? "Open my heart and you will see," said the spoon. T'nen the silversmith opened the spoon's heart and the lump of lead feil out. With a sigh of relief the spoon cried: "Oh, how delightful. Wh at a fooi I have been to bear this so long! There is nothing like a light heart after all. Will you now also take this silver coat off, please. I shall feel so free and happy to be just an ordinary wooden spoon again. I have suffered for my vanity and I shall never need another lesson." A SAD TALE. "Who's afraid of a cat?" said he, 'Tm not afraid of a cat." He was a bird and he sat on a rail With five other birds, and this was his t-ale: 'Tm not afraid of a cat." "I might be afraid if I were a mouse, Or even if I were a rat, But as I'm a bird, I give you my word I'm not afraid of a cat. A cat and her kits came down on the scene, Five birds flew over the rail, Our hero was catglit, as quick as a thought, And didn't he alter his tale! "You 've made a mistake, Mrs. Cat," said he "You must please let me go, Mrs. Cat. "I'm not at all nice, I don't taste like mice, You 'd much better have a young rat." Said the cat, "It's no use ; you may be a goose I'll not let you go for that." OTJB BABY BOY. Who can that little boy be on the floor? I think I have seen him somewhere before, Ten little fingers and ten little toes, Two round eyes and a little snub nose; Two dimpled cheeks so fat and so red, And a big paper cap on the top of his head. Two pretty ears like shells on each side, A little round chin and a mouth open wide; Four little teeth just able to bite, Two rosy lips, one could kiss day and night. Two sturdy legs, just beginning to walk, A sweet little tongue just beginning to talk. Oh! who can he be, I wish I could teil — He looks as though he knew me very well. Why, it 's our little baby, I really declare! No naughtier rogue you'11 find anywhere. Come kiss me, my baby, and let me kiss you That 's the be3t thing for a baby to do. WOBK BBPOBE PTJN. The boys were waiting in the road For Joe to come and play: "We'd like to know what keeps you so," Impatiently cried they. "We've waited nearly half an hour, Do hurry Joe," they cried; "I'll be there when my work is done, Not till then" he replied. "Come on, come on, the work can wait,' They urged, "till by and by." "It might, of course, but I don't think It will," was his reply. "When I've a task to do, I like To do it before I play; Work first, my father says, then fun; And what he says, I'll say." LITTLE THINGS. Little words of kindness, Little deeds of love, Make our earth an Eden Like the heavens above. Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean, And the beauteous land. And the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. the young- rat. There was once a young rat, who would not take the trouble to make up his mind. When the other rats asked him if he would like to come out with them at night, hesaid: Tdon t know, and when they asked: «Would you like to stop at home9" he still said: "I don't know." He would not take the trouble to make a choice or settle which he liked best. One day an old grey rat said to him: "Now look here, 110 one will ever care for you if you go on like this. \ou have no more mind than a blade of grass. It rnay be good to give up your own way sometimes, but it is not good to have no way of your own at all." The young rat sat up and loolced wise, but said nothmg. «Don't you think so?" said the old grey rat and he gave a stamp with his foot; for he could not bear to see the young rat so coldblooded. _ _ "I don't know," was all the young rat said, and then he walked otf with slow steps, to think for an hour whether he should stay at home in his hole or go out in the loft. One day there was a great noise in the loft. It was a very old loft and the roof let in the rain, and the beams were ad rotten, so the place was not safe to live in. At last one of the joists gave way, and the beam feil with one end on the floor. The walls shook, and all the rats hair stood on en< with fright. . «This won't do," said the old rats and they shook their grey heads as they spoke, «we must leave this place." Sothey sent out scouts to look for a new home. In the night the scouts came back and said they had found an old barn, where there would be room and food for them all. «Then we had better go at once," said the old jat, who was chief. Then he gave the order: "Form in line." The rats came out of their holes and stood on the floor in a long line. "Are you all here?" said the old rat, and he looked round. "Have you all decided to go? make up your minds at once". «Yes, ves," said all the rats in the line. Just then the old rat caught sight of young Grip, — that was the young rat's name; — he was not in the line and he was not exactly outmde it; he stood just by it. «You did not speak, Grip" said the old rat; "of course you are coming.'' "I don't know," said Grip. "Don't know! why you don't think it is safe do you? «I don't know," said Grip; "the roof may not come down yet." . , , "Well, stay then" said another rat, "and serve you ngi if you are killed." _ . , "I don't know that I will stay," said Grip; "the roof might come down soon." "Well," said the old rat, "we can 't wait for you to make up vour mind. Right about face! marcli! And the long line marched out of the loft. Down the steps tliev went, one by one, while the young rat looked on «I think I will go", he said to himself, "but yet I don t know; it's nice and snug here." The tail of the last rat was lost to sight as he spoke. He went to the steps and looked down. «I'll_ go back to my hole for a bit," he said, "to make up my mind." That night there was a great crash. Down came beams, joists, tiles, the whole roof. Next day some men came to look at the loft. They thought it odd they did not see any rats; but at last one of them happened to move a big tile and ne saw a young rat, quite dead, half in, and half out of his hole. FLO's LETTER. A sweet little Baby brother Had come to live with Flo, And sbe wanted it brought to the table, That it might eat and grow. "It must wait for a while," said grandma, In answer to her plan, "For a little thing that has no teeth, Can't eat like you and me." "Why has not it got teeth, grandma?" Asked Flo in great surprise, "Oh me, but is not it funny No teeth, but nose and eyes!'' That afternoon to a corner, With paper and pen and ink Went Flo, saying:" Don't talk to me If you do, you'11 'sturb me; think I'm writing a letter, grandma To send away to-night, And 'cause it's very important, I want to get it right." At last the letter was fmished, A wonderful thing to see, And directed to God in Heaven; "Please read it over to me,-' Said little Flo to her grandma To see if 'tis right you know;" And here is the letter written To God by little Flo: "Dear God the baby you brought us Is awfully nice and sweet But because you forgot its toofies The poor little thing can't eat. That's whv I'm writing this letter On purpose to let you know, Please come and finish the Baby That's all, from little Flo." A VALIANT VAIiENTINE. The governess sat in a school-room chair Reading a school-room book; Her brow was lined with studious care, She wore a classical look; And she frowned at a sound she had heard before, Someone fidgeting at the door. "Come in !" she exclaimed in tones severe Don't fidget there outside, "Now, dear me, Jamea, what brings you here? Your shoe-lace is untied; Head up! Feet first position pray Hands down! Now what have you to say?" The baby eyes were blue and sweet, He lifted them to her face, First he attended to his feet, And put his hands in place, Then said with stiff and frigid spine: "Please, will you be my Valentine?" Small Jimmie conquered in a fray Where stalwart man would flee, The governess pushed her book away And took him on her knee, The end of the affair was this, A wistful sigh, a tender kiss. 2 NURSERY RHYMES. Jack and Jill went up a hill To fetch a pail of water, Jack feil down and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after. Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep, And doesn't know where to find them; Let them alone and they'11 come home, And bring their tails behind them. HOW THE ELEPHANTS GOT THEIR TRTJNKS. In olden times, when animals still could speak, elephants had no trunks; they had noses just like other animals. At this time there lived in South-Africa a young elephant, who was very inquisitive. He was always asking his relations questions and when they could not answer them, they beat him and said: "be quiet, hold your tongue, don't ask questions." One day the young elephant said to his father: "Please father, can you teil me what crocodiles get for dmner? The father did not know, so he said: "Be quiet" and beat him. Then he asked all his uncles and other relations, but none of them knew, so they all beat him and said: "be quiet.' But the young elephant was not satisfied. At last he went to a wise, old bird and asked very politelv: "I beg your pardon, can you teil me what crocodiles get for dinner ?' The bird said: "I don't know, but if you go to the river Nile, you will see a great many crocodiles and you can ask them yourself." But the elephant said: "I don't know the way to the river Nile." "Oh," said the bird, "that is easy to find. Come here tomorrow and I will show you the way. So the next day the elephant took some provisions with him and set out on his journey. The wise old bird told him that he was to go straight on for three days and that then he had better ask again. So he walked on cheerfully and towards the end of the third day he saw a serpent, which was coiled round a tree. He said to the serpent: «Excuse me, can you teil me where the river Nile is. "Yes," said the serpent; "if you walk a little further and turn off to the left you will get to it." So the elephant went on and after a while he saw some water and in it an animal he had never seen before. It was a crocodile but he did not know this. Bowing very politely he said: "Excuse me, can you teil me what crocodiles get for dinner?" The crocodile looked him up and down and then replied: "I suppose you are very young, are not you?" "Yes," answered the young elephant, "I am . "Sit down, won't you", said the crocodile. And when the elephant had sat down he said: "Come a little nearer, my dear, I am rather deaf you know". When the young elephant had sat down quite close to the water the crocodile said: "Sometimes crocodiles get" . . . and here he suddenly made a snap at the elephant's nose and when he had it between his teeth, he added: "young en^phants for ginger". Now the crocodile began to tug one way and the elephant the other, and they tugged and tugged and the nose got longer and longer. The crocodile was the stronger of the two and he had very nearly drawn the elephant into the river when the serpent, who had watched them from her tree and who did not like the crocodile, slid down and slung one part of her body round the elephant's hind-legs, while she clung to the tree with the other. Now they tugged together till the crocodile was quite tired and worn out and had to let go the nose. With a big splash he plunged back into the river and was so sorry to lose his dinner that he wept real crocodile-tears. The young elephant was very glad to have got rid of the crocodile, hut when he looked down on his nose he saw that it had got very long. He picked some banana-leaves, and when the serpent asked him what he did that for, he said: "To put on my nose, to make the swelling go down". The serpent began to laugh aloud and said: "That is no good at all, that swelling will never go down. But you need not worry about it, you will soon find it very useful. You will be able to piek up things from the ground with it, to scare away fiies, and when it has got strong, to beat your enemies. Now the elephant thought he had better go home, so he thanked the serpent very heartily for her help and departed. When he got close to his home he met some of his brothers and sisters. They were very much surprised to see him; thev had all been wondering what had become of him and when they saw his long nose, they opened their eyes wide with astonishment. "Where have you been," they asked; "you will catch it, father is very angry", and to give him a taste of what was to follow they began to beat him. But he was not going to bear this treatment any longer, now that he had got his fine strong nose, so he turned upon them and gave them such a thrashing that they began to feel much respect for him. They grew particularly envious of his long nose and asked him where he got it. "The crocodile in the river Nile gave it me", he said. Then they all wanted to go to the river Nile, and the young elephant showed them the way. They went, every one of them, but they never came back again. The young elephant became the father of a large family of elephants who had all got fine long trunks; and that is how the elephants got their long noses. Question: Why is an elephant always ready to set out on a journey? _ Answer: Because he has always got his trunk with him. WHAT DOES LITTLE BIBDIE SAY. What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day? "Let me fly," says little birdie, "Mother, let me fly away;" "Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger;" So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say, In her bed at peep of day? Baby says, like little birdie: "Let me rise and fly away." Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little limbs are stronger, If she sleeps a little longer Baby too shall fly away. LULLABY. Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea! Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon. Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. NTJRSERY EHTME. "Where are you going to, my pretty maid ? "I am going a-milking, Sir," she said. "May I go with you, my pretty maid ? "You're kindly welcome, Sir," she said. "What is your father, my pretty maid?" "My father 's a farmer, Sir," she said "What is your fortune, my pretty maid!" "My face is my fortune, Sir," she said, "Then I won'tmarry you, my pretty maid. "Nobody asked you, Sir," she said. THE LITTLE DANCER. I "Mother let me thread it!" "I thought you were asleep, Peep-Bo," said the poor woman, who had been trying to thread her needie at the little attic window in the failing light. With a little sigh of reliëf she gave the needie to the girl, who lay propped up with a cushion on an old mattress. The room was very bare of furniture, only a rickety table, two chairsand an oldwashstand with a chipped basin and jug upon it. -What sharp eyes you have!" said the woman as the child threaded the needie swiftly. "I've been tryrng five minutes quite, I believe." «You should have waited," answered the girl. Then after a pause she went on, with a sigh, "I wisb my back was as good as my eyes, Mother. Then I could go and dance agam and be real Peep-Bo, and earn some money!" "Ah!" said poor Mrs. Holmes, with a deep sigh," I wish you could, dearie, for your own sake. It's just starvation work, this sewing. But perhaps your back will get better this summer. We're through the worst of the winter now, that s one mercy. I don 't care so much about the dancing,^ if you could run about in the fields and piek daisies again." "But you wouldn't have to work so dreadfully hard ïf I could dance," sighed little Nellie from her mattress. She had gained her name of Peep-Bo from acting in the pantomime, and the money she had earned for her singing and dancing had been a great help! What happy times they were! Mother would go with her to the theatre, Peep-Bo would put on that pretty dress of white with its trimming of red, and the funny tall hat which looked so much like a clown's. Just before she went on the stage, Mother would kiss her and bid her do her best, and then away she would whirl, and in a minute that huge sea of people in front of her were cheering and applauding little Peep-Bo for her clever dancing. Then one day she had a fall and though it had not seemed to hurt her at first, she had afterwards begun to suffer great pain and now she was almost helpless. Her mother, a widow, had left London for the country town where she had lived as a girl, thinking the fresh air would do Nellie good, but so far she was not benefited and the poor woman found it very hard to earn enough to pay for rent and food and coals, by doing needlework for one of the shops. She was making buttonholes in men's waistcoats now. "There," she said, as she finished the last, "there, those are done and I'll take them round, for the shop won't be shut yet, and then I'll get a loaf and a bit of butter and we'11 have some tea. I won't be long, dearie," she added tying on her bonnet. As she opened the door, Nellie heard a whine, and a little half-starved dog ran in. "Oh, there's Lulu," she cried; „he'11 stay and keep me company, while you're gone, Mother. Here, Lulu, Lulu!" Lulu gave a little bark of pleasure as she ran forward and nestled up against Nellie, and tried to lick her face. Mrs. Holmes went down the rickety wooden stairs with her bundie, and left the half-starved child and the half-starved dog to comfort each other with their mutual love. Sometimes the poor woman half grudged the crusts which Nellie bestowed upon Lulu, who belonged to the people living in the lower rooms, but picked up his food about the street. But Nellie was so fond of the little creature, Lulu was so fond of her, and the poor child had so few pleasures, or rather none at all, lying there on her mattress, (for Mrs. Holmes could not spare time to take her out, and she was not strong enough to go alone), that she had not the heart to deny Nellie her one playmate. II "Oh! Bertie, look at that poor little doggie!" "Where?" said Bertie, who was busy planting a crimson daisv-root he had bought with hia last week's penny. He put down the trowel and came to the gate, where his little sister stood. "There", she said, pointing at a poor little thin doggie with wistful brown eves, whieh, seeing some svmpathy in the children's pitiful gaze, promptly sat up and begged. «He's dreadfully hungrv, Lily," said Bertie. "Look how thin he is. "Mummy here's a little dog, and he s starving. Mayn't we give him something to eat?" Mummy, who was busy making a pudding in the kitchen, came out with hands covered with flour. She too went to the door and looked at the dog. "Poor little creature!" she said compassionately, and then she disappeared into the kitchen, to appear again with a plate of scraps, bread and meat, and a jug with some milk. "Give him this," she said "and then a little milk. I must go and finish my pudding, but I'll be back in a minute. Bertie opened the gate and then put the plate on the doorstep, while Lily stood clasping the jug of milk. Lulu — for it was Lulu — looked at the children and then at the plate and hesitated. It seemed to her doggish mind too good to be true — surely it must be a trick. "Come in, poor little doggie," said Bertie, and Lily repeated: "Come in, poor little doggie!" and then the poor dog summed up courage to come to the doorstep and began to snap up the food with the most intense joy, which was crowned by a drink of milk. She tried her utmost to prove her gratitude by attempting to lick everybody's face and hands. Then, with a sort of farewell bark, she trotted off. The children were immensely excited about the poor little doggie, and told their Father when he came home. "I should like that doggie!" said Bertie. "And so should I!" echoed Lily. "Well, if it is astray creature", said Father, "youmightkeepit." "I am not so sure about its being a stray", said Mother, „it trotted off as if it were going home." "We shall see if it comes back", said Father. The next morning Lulu did come back and had another breakfast and trotted away.The third day she returned again, and this time Mother, who was not so busy, and was going to take Bertie and Lily for a walk, proposed that they should try and follow the dog and see where she went, So when Lulu trotted away they went after her, calling to her now and then, and suddenly the creature seemed to understand and waited for them at the corners of the roads. But when they came to one street, Mrs. Franklin hesitated, for it was not a place where she cared to take the children. Fortunately, however, their baker's shop was close by, and there she left Bertie and Lily, after supplying them each with a bun, and she went after Lulu, who had stopped outside No. 29. Paradise Place. The door stood open, and the dog ran along the passage and upstairs, till she came to a door where she sat down and whined, thumping her bit of tail on the floor. Presently Mrs. Franklin, who had followed her, heard a shuffling sound coming across the room, and a sad voice said: "Lulu, is that you?" as the door opened, and there stood a poor little crippled girl with white thin face and large wistful eyes, who gave a cry of astonishment as she saw a lady standing outside. "May I come in?" said Mrs. Franklin, and then, as she stepped into the room, and saw its bareness and read the suffering in the pale face of the crippled child, the tears rose to her eyes. "I'm sorry mother is out," said Nellie, drawing the best chair forward. "She's gone to the shop with some work. Did you want to see her, please ?" "I — I followed the dog," said Mrs. Franklin, scarcely knowing how to explain. "Is it your dog, dear?" "No," said Nellie, "not exactly, but she's mostly here because the Potters downstairs beat her. though she belongs to them.^ "She has come once or twice to our house to be fed,' explained Mrs. Franklin, "and my little children havegrown fond of her, and if she had no master, we thought we might keep her, but —" _ Mrs. Franklin paused, for Nellie's face feil so piteously at the idea of losing Lulu, that she had not the heart to go on. But the child struggled with her tears. "It would be awfully nice for Lulu," she gasped after a moment. "But you would miss her, — she is your pet," said Mr>. Franklin. "Teil me, dear, have you been ill long?" Then all the story came out. How Father died and Mother had to work so hard, and how Nellie had been Peep-Bo at the pantomime, and how her back got bad and she couldn't dance any longer, and so they had come awav to Filsham to do her good. But how the friends that mother knew as a girl were all dead or gone away, and how difficult she found it to get them food, and how she had had to sell their furnitureto pay the rent even of that one room. And when Mrs. Holmes came toiling in from the shop with a fresh bundie of work, to her infinite surprise she found Nellie lying on her mattress, with a lady sitting on a stool beside her, holding her hand and Lulu, with her nose m Nellie's lap, giving every now and then funny little sniffs to stow her sympathy. "Oh! Mother, Mother!" cried Nellie, as Mrs. Holmesstopped, quite astonished, "the lady is going to help me to get well and it's all Lulu's doing, for she went and fetched her. Oh! Lulu, Lulu! you darling Lulu, it's all you, every bit! Whereupon Lulu stood up and executed quite a volley of |ittle barks to show her delight at the praise. III Mrs. Franklin was as good as her word. In a week's time Nellie was transferred to a little white bed in the Children s Hospital, and after a time, the doctors said, she would be quite strong again and able to dance at any number of pantomimes. And better work and a nicer room were found for Mrs. Holmes, near the hospital, so that she could go and see Nellie as often as was allowed. And Lulu? Well one evening after the children had gone to bed, Father walked down to No. 29. Paradise Place and offered Mr. Potter five shillings in exchange for Lulu, with which bargain Mr. Potter quickly closed. So Lulu was conducted to Daisie Cottage, and there taken into the back kitchen, and submitted to such a scrubbing as she had never had in her life before. Next morning Bertie was waked up by a funny noise, a sort of scratching and whining. "Lily, Lily," he called across to the other little white bed, "do you hear that noise?" Lily's ruffled yellow curls appeared from under the bedclothes. "Is it a — a wild bear?" she said sleepily. "No!" said Bertie, somewhat scornfully. "Father wouldn't let bears into the house. I think — yes" — he shrieked, as something furry came rushing in, jumping and barking and trying to lick him — "it's Lulu! ' But the crowning delight was a little later, when a small puppy arrived, of which Lulu was immensely proud, and when one of the children took it up to nurse, the puppy's mother seemed quite anxious until it was put safely on the floor again. In fact she made as much fuss as if such a creature had never been seen before. And Lily and Bertie were certain that their puppy was the most beautiful puppy that ever had been born. Peep-bo grew quite strong and well after she had been in the hospital some time, and then at a convalescent home at the sea. When the Ghristmas-holidays came round again, the manager of the theatre where she had been employed before, wrote and asked her to come and dance for him again. At first her mother said she had better not, but at last it was settled that she should try if it did not tire her too much. Bertie and Lily also went to the pantomime when she danced, and for weeks after, they were never tired of talkmg of their clever little friend who was Bo-Peep in the pantomime. Their only disappointment was that they could not take Lulu to see her. SING A SONG FOB SIXPENCE. Sing a song for sixpence, a pocket full of rye, Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie; When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing; Wasn't that a pretty dish, to set before the kmg? The king was in his counting-house, counting out his money. The queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey. The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes. Down flew a blackbird and snapped off her nose. THE CITY CHILD. "Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander, Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?" "Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden, "All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones, Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells." "Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander? Wither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?" "Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden, "All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis. Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers. FH.OM THE «STORY OF A DONKEY" TOLD BY HIMSELF. All the next winter I had no one to take care of me. I h ad to live in the forest, where I found scarcely enough to keep me from dying of hunger and thirst. When the spring came, I went one day to a village on the edge of the forest, and was surprised to find quite a commotion there. The people were walking in processions; everybody had on their Sunday clothes; and, what was strangest of all, every donkey in the neighbourhood seemed to be there. They were sleek and fat; their heads were decorated with flowers and leaves, and not one of them was in harness or had a rider. I went trotting up to see if 1 could find out what all this was about, when, all of a sudden, one of the boys who where standing there, saw me, and shouted: "Oh, I say, look liere! here's a fine donkey!" "My word!" said another, "how well groomed he is! and how fat and well-fed!" and they roared with laughter. "I suppose he's come to run in the donkey-race," said a third, "but he won't win a prize! No fear!" I was very much annoyed at these rude jokes and personal remarks about myself; but I thought I should very much like to take part in the race, so I listened again. "Where are they going to run?" asked an old dame, who had just come hobbling up. "In the meadow by the mill," said a man named Andrew. "How many donkeys are there," asked the old woman. "Sixteen, Mother Evans, and the one that comes in first will win a silver watch and a bag of money. "Oh, dear me!" said Mother Evans, "I do wish I had a donkey. I should like to have a watch. I've never had the money to buy one." _ I liked the look of this old woman; I was justly proud oi my running; I had been so long in the forest thatI was not too fat as some of these prize donkeys were; so I would take part in the race. I trotted up to the others, and took my place among them, and then, to attract attention, I opened my mouth and brayed vigorously. "Oh, you stop that!" cried out a man named Will. Hi. you there, donkey, you just stop that music, will you? and get out there! You can't run, you shabby brute! and, besides, vou don't belong to anybody." I held my tongue, but I didn't budge an inch. Some laughed, and others were getting angry, when old Mother Evans said: — "Well, he can have me for his mistress. I take him into my service from this minute. So now he can run for me. "Well," said Will, "do as you like, mother. Only if you want him to run, you've got to put sixpence into the bag the Squire has yonder." "All right, my dear, said Mother Evans, and she hobbled ofï to where the Squire was sitting and paid her subscription into the bag. "Very good," said the Squire; "put Mrs. Evans' name down, Richard." So the clerk put down my new mistress's name. We were all drawn up in a line in the meadow; the Squire said: "One, two, three, and away!" the boys who held the donkeys let them go with a parting whack, and away we galloped as hard as we could tear, while the crowd ran cheering by the side. The other sixteen donkeys had not gone a hundred yards before I was in front of them all, and easy first. I even had time to turn round now and then, and see how savage they looked. They were so angry at a shabby donkey like me, leaving them all behind, that some of them didn't look where they were going, and tumbled over one another, head over heels. Twice Will's donkey came up with me, but I always got in front again. I flew along as if I'd had wings and passed proudly before the winning post, not only first, but quite a long way in front of all the rest, amid loud cheers from all those who had not got donkeys running themselves. The Squire sat at the table to give away the prizes, and Mother Evans, who was almost beside hereelf with delight, stroked and patted me, and took me up to the table with her to receive the first prize. «Here, my good woman," said the Squire; and he was just going to hand the watch and the bag of money to the old woman. "Please, your worship, it isn 't fair!" cried Will and Andrew, "It isn't fair. That donkey does not really belong to Mother Evans any more than it does to us. It was our donkey that really got in first not counting this one. The watch and the money ought to be ours. It isn't fair! ' "Did Mrs. Evans pay her sixpence into the bag?" said the Squire. "Well, your worship, she did, but" "Did any of you object to' her doing so at the time?" asked the Squire. "Well, no, your worship, but" — "Did you raise any objection when the donkeys were just going to start?" "Well, no, Sir, but" — "Very well, then. It's all perfectly fair, and Mrs. Evans gets the watch and the bag of money. ' "Please, Sir, it isn't fair, it isn't fair, you" — When I heard this, I at once put my head down on the table, and took up the watch and bag in my teeth, and put them into Mother Evans' hands. This intelligent action on my part made the people roar with laughter, and drew me thunders of applause. "There!" said the Squire, "the donkey has decided in favour of Mother Evans; and," he added, with a smile, looking at Will and Andrew, "I don't think he is the biggest ass present!" "Bravo, your worship!" "Good for you!" resounded on all sides. And every one began to laugh at Andrew and Will, who went away looking very cross and ill-tempered. And was I pleased? No, not at all. My pride was hurt. The Squire had been very rude to me; he had actually put men, these stupid men, on the same level as an intelligent and right-minded ass like myself! It was too much! I declined to stay in a place wliere I was so insulted, and so I turned tail and trotted away from such a disgusting set of people. FROM THE: "STORY OF A DONKTSY" TOLD BY HIMSELF. Continuation. Presently I stopped. I was in a meadow. I feit tired and sad aml my head ached. I was just asking myself whether donkeys were not a great deal better than human beings, when a soft little hand touched me* and a soft little voice said ^ "Oh, poor donkey! How jthin you are. Perhaps you ye been badly treated. Come home and see my grandma, she 11 taieioTed0rounÏ It was a nice little boy of five years old; his little sister, who was only three, was running by the side you're saying, Mastel Jack?" said the anr». «Oh, nursie, Pm telling him to come home with us and see grandma." «Yes, yes!" cried the little girl, whose name was Jame, «and let me ride on his back." The nurse put the little girl on my back, and Jack wanted to lead me, but of course I had no bridle on, so he came up and stroked me softly and whispered in my ear: Gee up, Neddy! come along dear Neddy!" I was so pleased with this little boy's trusting me that I at once followed him all the way, occasionally touchmg his hand with my nose. _ . , «Oh nurse, nurse, look! He's.kissmg me! cried Jack. -Nonsense, my dear!" said the nurse. «He does that because he smells the piece of bread you've got m your pocket. I was so hurt at this unkind remark from the nurse, that tuxned my head away all the rest of the time we were going to the house of Jack and his grandmamma. When we got there, they left me at the door and ranin, and in a few minutes they returned, pulling alonS a ^ , poking and pretty old lady, and she came down and patted me, and feit my ears, and put her band into ^ mouth. I stood perfectly still, and was most careful not to bite her, ^«Well Tfdoes look very gentle, my dears," said the old lady. "Êmily," she added to the nurse, "teil the coachman to make inquiries to see to whom he belongs, and if he is not reclaimed, we will kee'p him, at any rate fo? the present. Pour creature, how thin and neglected he looks! Jack, go and call Robert; I will have him put into the stable, with something to eat and drink." The stableman came and led me away, and Jack and Janie followed. I had two horses and another donkey for companions in the stable. Robert made me a nice litter of straw to sleep on, and then went and fetched me a measure of oats. "Oh Robert, give him more than that!" cried Jack, "it's such a little and he must be so tired and hungrv." "But, Master Jack," said Robert, "if you give him too many oats he will get too lively, and then you won't be able to ride him, nor Miss Janie either." "Oh, he is such a kind donkey, I'm sure he will go quietly for us. Do, Robert, do please give him some more!" So Robert gave me another measure of oats, and a large pail of water, and some hay, and I made an enormous supper, and then lay down on my straw, and slept like a king. The next day I had nothing to do but to take the children for an hour's ride. Jack brought me my oats himself, and, paying no heed to Robert, who told him not to, he gave me enough for three donkeys. I ate it all up, and feit delighted at having so many good things. But on the third day I feit very unwell. My head ached. I had indigestion. I was feverish. I couldn't eat anything at all, either oats or hay. I couldn't even get up, and was still lying stretched on my straw, when Jack came to see me. "Why, Neddy is still in bed!" cried Jack. "Get up, Neddy it is breakfast-time. Pil give you your oats." I tried to lift up my head, but it feil heavily back on the straw. "Oh, he's ill, Neddy's ill!" cried Jack, in a great fright. "Robert, quick, quick, Neddy's very ill!" "What's the matter?" said Robert, coming in atthestabledoor. "I filled his manger early this morning. Ah," he added, looking at the hay in the manger, which was quite untouch- ed, "there must be something wrong." He feit my ears; they were very hot, and my sides were throbbing. He looked serious. "Oh, what is it? Whatisit?" criedpoor Jack almost in tears. "He's got fever, Master Jack, from over-eating. I told you how it would be if you would give him all those oats. And now we shall have to have the vet. "What's the vet?" said Jack, looking still more scared. "The veterinary surgeon, the animal's doctor," replied Robert. "You see, Master Jack, I told you not to do it. This poor donkey has lived very poorly all the winter, as any one can see from his thinness and the state of his coat. He ought to haye had cool grass to eat, and a very few^ oats, but you went and gave him as much as he could eat. "Oh, poor Neddy, poor Neddy! He'11 die, and ït's all my fault I" and poor little Jack burst out crying. "Come, Master Jack, he won't die this time, but we shall have to bleed him, and then turn him out to grass." Robert sent for the veterinary surgeon, and told Jack to go away. Then he took a lancet and made a little hole with it in a vein in my neck. It bied, and I began to feel better. Mv head wasn't so heavy, and I fetched my breath more easily; I was able to get up. Robert then stopped the bleedmg, and in about an hour took me out, and left me in the fresh cool meadow. I was better, but not yet well, and it was a whole week before I could do anything except rest in the meadow and erop the grass. Jack and Janie took the greatest care of me. They came to see me several times a day. They picked grass for me so that I shouldn't have to stoop my head down to get it for myself. They brought me cool juicy lettuces from the kitchen-garden, and cabbage-leaves, and carrots; and every evening they came to see me home to my stable, and there filled my manger for my supper with what I liked best of all, potato-peel and salt. Jack wanted to give me his pillow one night, because he thought that my head was too low when I was asleep; and Janie wanted to fetch the counterpane off her bed to cover me up with, and keep me warm. Another day they came and put little bits of cotton-wool round my feet, for fear they should get cold. Iwasquiteunhappv at not knowing how to show them my gratitude; but, unfortunately, I could understand all they said without being able to say anything myself. At last I was well agam, and with Janie and Jack andsome cousins of theirs, who also came to stay with their grandmamma, I passed a very happy summer. the poodle. Once there lived a little poodle with a coat as white as snow, And his master loved him dearly, and his mistress loved him so, That whenever she was eating she gave him the nicest bit, Till the poodle, one fine morning, had an apoplectic fit. «Oh my poodle! darling poodle!" his mistress then did cry, "Oh mv sweetest little Bow-wow-wow, forgoodness' sake, [don't die!" But the poodle gave a little yelp, and then he softly sighed, Then wagged his fluffy little tail, and quietly he died. Then she fretted, and she fretted, but all alas in vain; So she made a vow she never would keep poodledogs again; But how weak is human nature — ere three months had [gone past, She had bought another poodle exactly like the last. Riddle: Which vowels did not exist when Noah went into [the Ark? Answer: A, V and I. 't Was in the days of No-ah before [you and I were born. A IiEE. The mother looked pale, and her face was sad. She seemed to have nothing to make her glad. Silent she sat with a tear in her eye, For her dear little boy had told a lie. He was a loving and gentle child, His way was winning, his temper mild; There were love and joy in his soft blue eye, But the dear little boy had told a lie. He stood alone by the window and cried, For he feit how bad it was he had lied; And his mother could hear him sob and moan, As he stood by the window all alone. Then he turned and came to his motlier's side, And asked for a kiss, which she denied Till he had promised, with many a sigh, That he never again would teil a lie. the pied piper op hamelin. Many years ago there was a plagne of rats ia Hamelin, a town in Brunswick. There were numhers and numbers of rats; they walked on the tables when people were atdinner, and snatcbe the food from their plates; when the babies wkere sleepingm their cradles, they came and gnawed the.r fingers they b t holes in shoes and stockings, and when the men wanted to po „n their Snnday-hats, they fonnd that the ratshad made their „psts in them Every day there seemed to be more rats than there had been the day before. At laat the people grew They sent a deputation to the Mayor and the council to teil thes gentlemen Jt they were to hnd a means o des ^ng h ~ rrïLrr: poTble; if yen eannot do this, we shall have tohndanother M*Z Cr^d «hëtuneil were sitting at the Townball; they did not know what to do. They disoussed the matter for hours, bnt nobody eonld find a means to get rid of the rats. Suddenlv there was a knock at the door. «Some L» cried the Mayor, and in came a very cunous •i + v.1p and said- "I have heard that there is a p ague council-table and. saia. T v;n thpm all of rats in this city. What will you give me if I kdl them all beried the C0UnCil' "if y°U °0Uld d° ' cried the Mayor, «if you could do that, we would give 5 o ... H°«I guilders," said the piper. "Is that all? one thousand? Why you can have fifty thousand," they all cried. — Then the piper stepped into the street; he put his pipe to his lips, and began to blow, and before he had played many notes, there was a pitter-patter of a great many little feet, and all the rats came rushing and tumbling and scurrying after the piper. He walked on steadilv, playing all the time, and thousands of rats followed him. He went out of the town and straight down to the river Weser, into which they all plunged, and in a few minutes they were drowned; all, except one very big and strong rat, who swam to the other bank and told the friends he met there, how the others had gone to a delightful country, which the piper had described to them. "There they will always get the most delicious things to eat and 110 rat need ever go to bed hungry," he said. "I am sorry I did not go with them." In the meantime the piper had walked back to the council-chamber. "The rats are dead, Mr. Mayor," he said, "nowgive me mv thousand guilders." "Are they really all dead?" said the Mayor; "well, you have done that very cleverly. But my friend, we have been talking the matter over, and I don't think we can give you a thousand guilders. It is rather much, isn't it? It took you about three quarters of an hour to kill them, you cannot expect us to give you such a large sum for so little work. Besides, thistownis very poor at present; we can really not give you more than fifty guilders." When the piper heard this, he got quite red in the face with anger. "What," he cried, "would you now beat me down to fiftv guilders, you who first promised me fifty thousand! If you do not give me my thousand guilders at once, it will be the worse for you." " What, do vou threaten us, fellow! Blow as hard as you like, you cannot make the rats alive again! Without saying another wórd the piper stepped into the street again, and began to pipe a sweet tune. And as he piped all the children came running out of the houses and followed him; their mothers could not keep them back, they were wild to go after him. And he walked on, right out of the town, playing the most wonderful melodies, and all the children followed close at his heels. The people were terribly frightened and yet they seemed unable to move. What was he going to do with their children? Was he going to drown them as he had done the rats? No, tliank God, he was not taking the road which led to the river, he turned off to the right. Oh, then the children were safe, for he would have to stop at the foot of the mountain; he would never be able to get the little ones over it. But lo! when they got to the mountain, it opened before them, and they all went in; then the opening was closed up again, and they had disappeared for ever. Only one little lame boy, who could not keep up with the others, was left behind. He told that the piper had promised them that they should all go to a beautiful country, full of fruits and flowers and cakes, where they could dance and sing and play all day long. The poor little lame boy wept a good deal at having been left behind, and he never got over his longing for the beautiful country to which his friends had gone. The piper was never seen in the town again. Mr. NOBODY. I know a funny little man, As quiet as a mouse, Who does the mischief that is done In everybedy's heuse! There 's 110 one ever sees his face, And yet we all agree, That every plate we break, was cracked By Mr. Nobody. 'tls he who always tears our books, Who leaves the door ajar; He pulls the buttons from our shirt And scatters pins afar. That squeaking doors will always squeak, The cause is, don't you see, We leave the oiling to be done By Mr. Nobody. He puts the damp wood on the fire That kettles cannot boil; His are the feet that bring in mud, And all the carpets soil. The papers always are mislaid, Who had them last but he, There's no one tosses them about, But Mr. Nobody. The finger-marks upon the door By none of us are made; We never leave the blinds unclosed To let the curtains fade. The ink we never spill; the boots That lying round you see Are not our boots; they all belong To Mr. Nobody. THE LITTLE GLEANEB. "Where have you been, little curly-haired maid?" "I've been a-gleaning, Sir," she said, "Gleaning the ears of golden corn, Out in the fields this summer morn!" "What did the farmer say, my busy maid?" The farmer said: "Thank you, Sir," she said, And told me a penny a week he'd pay, If I'd come and work for him every day." "What did you say to him, my little maid?' "I said that I couldn't come, Sir", she said, "For Jip would have no one to play with, you see And mother at home couldn't do without me! little raindrops. Oh where do you come from, You little drops of rain. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, Down the window-pane? They won't let me walk, And they won't let me play, And they won't let me go Out of doors at all to-day. They put away my playthings, Because I broke them all, And then they locked up all my bricks, And took away my ball. Teil me little raindrops, Is that the way you play; Pitter-patter, pitter-patter All the rainy day? They say I'm very naughty, But I've nothing else to do, But sit here at the window, I should like to play with you. A TALE OF WOE. "Twelve little dark grey mice are we, Leaving our holes all merrily, For we've been told for a certaintv, That the cat is not awake." One little mouse went down to see "I think I will stay and watch," said he, The other eleven rushed off with glee. To sup off cheese and cake. Eleven little mice went sadly back, With the ears and tail of poor little Jack, Which was all that was left bv the nasty cat, "VVho was very wide awake. THE NAUGHTY DUCKLINGS. "Let us go for a swim," said the baby ducks; "Better stav with me," said the hen, "For you may meet a cat or a water-rat, And whatever would you do then?" And three were good and agreed to stay, But six were naughty and ran away, And whatever became of the naughty six, Whether they lived to repent tlieir tncks The hen doesn't know, for she told us so, When we called to inquire yesterday. the house that jack built. This is the House that Jack built; This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built; This is the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built; This is the dog tliat worried the cat that ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat That ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built. This is the maiden all forlorn that milked the cow with the That tossed the dog, that worried the cat [crumpled horn That killed the rat that ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog that worried the cat That killed the rat that ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. little boy blue. Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn, Where is the boy that looks after the sheep? He's under the hay-cock, fast asleep. THE MILLER AND HIS SON. A miller and his son drove before them a donkey, whicli they wished to sell at a neighbouring fair. "What fools you are," cried a man who passed along on horseback, to let the ass go on thus, without one of you mounting it. Immediately the father told the son to get on its back. A little while after, a waggon met them and the waggoner cried to the son: "Are you not ashamed to ride on the ass, young fellow, and allow your poor father to walk on foot?" When the son heard this, he got down and made his father take his place. Some time after this, a peasant woman, who carried on her head a basket of vegetables for the market, met them in a sandy part of the road. "What a cruel father you are," she said, "to sit so comfortably on the ass and to let your poor son toil along through the sand." — The father therefore took his son up behind him. But when a shepherd, who was keeping his flock by the road-side, saw them, he exclaimed: " Poor beast, he will fall to the ground under such a load as that. Have you no feeling to treat an animal like that." Th en they both got down and the son said, "What shall we do now with the ass, to please the people? We shall have to tie his legs together and carry him to market on a pole on our shoulders." "Yes," said his father; "you see, my son, It is hard to please everybody." THE HORSE-SHOE. A farmer went out one morning, accompanied by little Tom his son. As they were walking along, the father exclaimed; "Stop, look at that horse-shoe on the ground. Piek it up and put it in your pocket." «Oh," said the little boy, "it is not worth the trouble of the father P« M put it in his pocket. At the first village through which thej passed, he sold it to a farrier for a penny, with which he bought some cherries. Then they set out again on theirjou ney The sunwas burning hot, and as they went on, e> s neither bouse, nor tree nor spring of water. Thomas was very thirstv and could scarcely keep up with his father. - Presently the father, as if by mistake, let fall a cherry. ThoL'picted it up as if it had been gold and qmcHy put it in his inouth. Aftera while the father dropped a second cherry which again Tom was not long m pickingup.In this way the father made him piek up all the cbernes one after another AVhen he had eaten the last, his father turned roun «hing heartily said, 'Yon see, been too lazy to stoop once to piek up th , ' yon need not have given yonrself tw.nty times the same tronhle in gathering up the cherries. the purse . Harrv the son of a poor workman, was sitting under a J, cry'ing bitterly, when a rich ^ntlem- pa.ed Inm wi£ his game-keeper. "What are you crymg about, m? boj . asked "This morning my father sent me to town sir, to pay some medicine mother has had, and I have lost the purse the road " The gentleman whispered to the game-keeper and Zt o7Ïpurse of crimson silk in which shone severap.eces Of gold. "Perhaps this is the purse you have lost, h said. "No," answered the boy, «mine is not so pretty; besides, there is not so much gold in it." "It will be this one then," said the game-keeper, drawing from his pocket an old little purse. "Yes, that is it!" cried Harry, "that is mine! Oh, I ainso glad.' „Well my boy," said the gentleman, "here are two sovereigns; buy something nice for your sick mother." - When Stephen, one of Harry's friends, heard of the gentleman's liberality, he also went to the wood, sat down under a tree and cried long and loud. AflHast the gentleman again came that way. When he asked Stephen what was the matter, the boy cried: "Oh I have lost my purse, I've lost my purse!" The gentleman showed him the silk purse and asked of it was his. Stephen eagerly replied: "Yes yes, it is." Then the gentleman said: "You naughty liar, you deserve a good thrashing for trying to cheat me like this. Go home and never let me see your face again." WE ARE SEVEN. I met a little cottage girl, She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl, That clustered round her head. "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said And, wondering, looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you teil." She answered: "Seven are we, And two of us at Conway dweil And two are gone to sea; "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dweil near them with my mother." "You say that two at Cornway dweil, And two are gone to sea, Yet you are seven! — I pray you teil, Sweet maid, how this may be." Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive ; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then you are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, I sit and sing to them. "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. 4 "The first that died was little Jane, In bed she moaning lay, Till God relieved her of her pain; And then she went away. "So in the churchyard she was laid, And all the summer dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." "How many are you then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" The little maiden would reply, "O master! we are seven." "But they are dead, those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven! ' 'Twas throwing words away, for still, The little maid would have her will And said: "Nay, we are seven." WORDSWORTH. THE COCK AND THE FOX. There was once a poor widow, who lived in a villageand earned a liumble living for herself and her children, by keeping a few pigs, sheep and poultry. In her yard lived a cock called Chanticleer, and his seven plump wives. Chanticleer was a beautiful bird, with feathers like gold and a brilliant red comb. His favourite hen was Partiet. — One night when he was roostiug 011 his comfortable perch, he had a dreadful dream and woke up screaming with fright. "What can be the matter with you?" cried Partiet. Then he told her that he had dreamed he was scratching in the yard as usual, when he saw an animal with a red coat, a long bushy tail and eyes like fire. He quite expected to be eaten up and cried in terror. Partiet laughed at him, saving that he must have eaten somethingthatdisagreed with him, and they went to sleep again. The next morning he was strutting about in the yard as usual. When the sun rose higher the hens made holes in the sand, and sat down in them to have a little nap; but chanticleer was too restless to sit down. He walked a little way down the garden-path, when suddenly, among the cabbage-leaves, he saw two glittering eyes fixed upon him. A hungry fox had stolen into the garden, on purpose to get some breakfast. — Chanticleer was terribly frightened, and was about to run off, when the fox spoke kindly to him. «Good morning, my friend," he said. «I have come to make your acquaintance. I am so glad to see you. Your father was a great friend of mine, but I suppose he never spoke to you about me." "No, I can't say he did, Sir," said the cock. "But you see, I was very young when he died." "He was a wonderful man, was your father," continued the fox. "I have never met the like of him since. He had a most remarkable voice. One could hear his singing quite two fields off, and the people going to church on Sundays, used to stop in the road to listen to the marvellous tones. You sing too, I suppose, don't you?" "Yes," said the cock, who was very proud of his voice; «but," 'he added modestly, Tm rather, out of practise at present, I'm afraid. "Well, let nie hear,'' said the fox patronisingly. So the cock opened his mouth as wide as he could, and crowed very loud. "Not at all bad," said the fox, putting his head on one side and nodding approvingly. Your voice is really very good, but you might inake it much clearer by stretching out your neck a little farther, and throwing your head more backwards. Then, 1 think, your father used to shut his eyes, when he wanted to make the tones come out well. You just try that, and see if you don't find it a great help." So Chanticleer stretched out his neck as far as he could, threw his head well backwards and shut his eyes, but just as he was about to crow, he feit himself seized by the neck, and when he opened his eyes he saw, to his horror that the fox was rushing off with him. He did not lose his head, however, as you shall see. When Partiet saw that Chanticleer was no longer in the garden she grew alarmed, and remembering the dreadful dream, she flew to the spot where she had seen him last, just in time to see the fox make off with him. She began to cluck as loud as she could, and the other hens, as soon as they understood what had happened, joined in lustily. This brought the widow and her children into the yard; they saw the fox scamper across the field with the cock in his mouth, so they rushed after him with whatever weapons they could find, erving with all their might: "the fox, the fox!". The neighbours heard their cries and joined them, armed with pitchforks and sticks. When Chanticleer heard their screams, he said to the fox: "Are not these people foolish to make such a noise; they will never catch you. Why don't you teil them they had better go home. You can run faster than they, and by the time they get to the wood, you will be safe in your den, and I shall be eaten up." The fox opened his mouth to do what the clever bird advised, and in doing so, of course, let fall Chanticleer, who tiew off and got high on a tree out of his enemy's reach. The fox tried to persuade him to come down, saying he had not meant any harm, but had only wanted to have a friendly chat with him, for he had feit so lonely. But the cock was not so silly as to be taken in a second time; so without paying any more attention to Reynard, he flewhome to his hens. After this the widow had a stone wall put up round the yard, so that the fox could not get among the poultry again, and Chanticleer often amused the chickens by telling them of his wonderful escape. WHAT NEWS FROM THE SEA. A Negro was once sent to buy fish for his master, with strict injunctions to see that it was perfectly fresh. Sambo went to the market, and picking up a mackerel from a stall, began to smell it. The fishmonger, observing the by-standers laugh, exclaimed somewhat angrily: — ^ "I say, there, what are you smelling that fish for?" "I am not smelling — I'm talking to it," answered Sambo. "Talking to it! Well, and what did you say to it then?" inquired the fishmonger. "I asked it what news there is from the sea", answered Sambo. "And what did it say?" asked the man, thinking he had the Negro in a fix. "It said it did not know; it has not been there these last three weeks!" was the answer of Sambo, as he laid the fish down and walked away. THE DOCTOR'S REBTJKE. A lady was very anxious about her health. Every trifle made her uneasy and, the doctor was called in immediately. The doctor was a clever man, and consequently had a large practice. It was very unpleasant for him to be so often called lor notliing, and he resolved to take an opportunity of letting the lady see this. One day she observed a red spot on her hand, and at once sent for the doctor. He came, looked at the hand, and said: "You did well to send for me earlv." The lady was alarmed and asked: "Is it dangerous, then! "Certainly not," replied the doctor; "to-morrow the spot would have disappeared without my assistance, and I should have lost my fee for this visit." THE BED SEA. Hogarth once got an order from a miserly old nobleman to paint for him a representation of the destruction of Pharaoh s host in the Red Sea. They could not agree about the price, the miser being unwilling to give more than one hall ot the real value of the picture. At last Hogarth said: "Very well, I accept your order." Within a day or two the picture was ready and the nobleman, in great surprise at such expedition, came to examine it. The canvas was painted red all over. "What have you here?" cried the miser; "I ordered a scene of the Red Sea." "The Red Sea you have," said Hogarth. "But where are the Israelites'?" "They have all gone over." "And where are the Egyptians?" "They have all been drowned." THE GATE THAT WANTED A LATCH. There was once a farmer, who had a large yard where fowls of all kinds were running about; and behind the yard there was a meadow with cattle, which also belonged to him Between the yard and the meadow was a little gate. This gate wanted a latch so it could not be fastened. When the farmer himself pas'sed through it, he always carefully pulled it to behm him, but other people were not always so mindful So it oft happened that the gate was either flapping backwards and forwards in the wind, or standing wide open so that he poultry could get out of the yard into the meadow, and the Leep and lambs into the yard. It took up half the chüdren s time to run after the chickens and drive them mto the yard acrain and to get the sheep and lambs back mto the field The farmer's wife had often told her husband that he ough t0 «et the latch mended, but he used to reply that it wou cost sixpence, and that the chïldren might as welbegunning after the sheep and poultry, as be domg nothmg. So the gate was not mended. One day a fat Pig broke out of its sty and, pushing open the -ate, ran into the field. It was soon missed and the hue and the crv was raised after it. The farmer was just tpngup a new horse in the stable, when he hearcl the noise; he le it to run after the pig. His wife was iroding clothes m the kitchen; she left her work to rush after her husbamL The daughter was stirring some broth over the fire, s e run after her mother. The farmer's son and his man ioined in the chase and away they all ran, men and women, peil mell after the pig. But the farmer's man, makmg more baste than good speed, sprained his ankle in jamping; over a fence. He cried with pain and could not walk, so that the farmer and his son were obliged to give up chasmg the pig, to carry him back to the farm. The woman and her daughter returned with them to look after the poor man. Meanwhile the pig ran off into the wood and was never seen agam. When they got back to the house they found that the broth was burnt, so that the dinner was spoilt; two; of the farmers best shirts, which had been hanging close to the fire, had got scorched and were utterly ruined. The farmer scolded his wife and daughter for having left the kitchen without taking the broth and the shirts away from the fire. But when he went to the stable, he found that more harm had been done through his own neglect. The new horse, which he had left loose, had kicked a fine colt, and had broken its leg. So that all for the want of a six-penny latch the farmer had lost: a pig, a fine colt, two shirts, his dinner and two weeks' work of his man. He had learned the truth of the old prove^b:. A stitch in time saves nine. HUNTING AND FISHING. A nobleman, who was very fond of hunting, lost all his money. He had to sell his country seat and made up his mind to go and live in rooms in town. While he was trying to find suitable lodgings, he happened to be shown a room, the wall-paper of which represented a chase. There were stags and hounds and hunters on horseback. The nobleman was in raptures. "I will take this room,"he cried; "myfaithful dog shall come with me, and we shall still be able to imagine ourselves hunting as of old." Before long he had settled in, and to the great annoyance of the other inmates of the house, he spent the greater part of the day blowing his horn, running about the room, and urging on his dog. He enjoyed himself immensely, but the dwellers on the other floors were disgusted. They sent to inform him that if he did not stop his din of his own accord, they would force him to put an end to it. But the nobleman could not deny himself the pleasures of tliis imaginary chase, and answered that he would hunt in his own room as much as he pleased. The next day, while he was again rushing about, he feit a drop of water on his nose. In great astonishment he looked up, and another drop came down on his face. He saw that thère was a little hole in the ceiling, through which the water trickled down. He immediately hurried upstairs and when he entered the room above his own, he saw the tenant sitting on the table with a fishing-rod in his hand, which he held above & puddle of water on the floor. "Whatever are you doing?" cried the nobleman. "The water is coming down into my room!" But the other calmly replied: "I suppose I have a right to enjoy myself as well as you. I don't see why I should not fish when you hunt." the fisherman and the porter. There was a famous nobleman, Who flourished in the East, And once, upon a holiday, He made a goodlv feast, And summoned in of kith and kin, A hundred at the least. Now while they sat in social chat Discoursing frank and free, In came the steward, with a bow, "A man below," said he, "Has got, my lord, the finest fish That ever swam the sea!" "Indeed!" exclairaed the nobleman, "Then buv it in a trice; The finest fish that ever swam, Must needs be very nice; Go, buv it of the fisherman And never mind the price." "And so I would," the steward said, "But, faith, he wouldn't hear A word of money lor his fish, Was ever man so queer? But said he thought a hundred stripes Could not be counted dear!" "Go, bring him here," mylord replied, "That man I fain would see; A merry wag bv your report, This fisherman must be! ' "Go, bring him here! Go, bring him here! Cried all the companv. The steward did as he was bid, When thus mylord began: "For this fine fish, what may you wish? Hl buy it, if I can." "One hundred lashes 011 my back! Exclaimed the fisherman. "Now, by the rood! but this is good." The laughing lord replied; "Well, let the fellow have his way; Go, call a groom!" he cried; "But let the payment he demands Be modestly applied." He bared his back, and took the lash As it were rnerry play; But at the fiftieth stroke, he said: "Good niaster groom, I pray Desist a moment, if you please; 1 have a word to say." "I have a partner in the case, The fellow standing there; Pray take the jacket off his back, And let him have his share; That one of us should take the whole Were surely hardly fair!" "A partner?" cried the nobleman, "What can the fellow mean?" — "I mean," replied the fisherman, With countenance serene, Tour porter thereV' the biggest knave That ever yet was seen! "The rogue who stopped me at the gate, And would not let me in Until I swore to give him half Of all my fish should win. rve got my share! Pray let, mylord His payment now begin!" "What you propose," mylord replied, "Is nothing more than fair; Here groom, lay on a hundred stripes, And mind you do not spare, The wretched dog shall never say He did not get his share!" Then all that goodly company, They laughed with might and main, The while beneath the stinging lash The porter writhed with pain. "So fare all villains," quoth mylord, "Who seek dishonest gain!" Then turning to the fisherman, Who still was standing near, He filled his hand with golden coins, Some twenty sovereigns clear. And bade him come and take the libe On each succeeding year. Saxe. CHRISTMAS. "I do like Christmas," said Pearl Trotter. "I think it is the nicest time in the whole year." "Very jolly, isn't it?" said her brother Jack. "I wonder what presents we shall have this year. Last year my stocking was so full that the apples were buiging right out at the top. And then the Christmas tree!" "I wonder where Father Christmas is all the rest of the year ?" said Pearl. " Would not it be nice to have Christmas every day!" "I wonder where all the Christmas presents come from ? We seem to get more and more every year," said Jack. "Oh, Santa Claus brings them," said Pearl. "Mother told us all about that, you remember, and I have seen pictures of him in the story-books." "Yes," said Jack, "but where does Santa Claus get the presents from?" This was a difficult question indeed, Pearl had never thought of it before. "I suppose he is very rich and buys it all, she said; "but come along, we must hurry up, else we shall be late. Wben they got home they found only their father. He looked verv grave. "What's the matter, father?" asked Pearl. "A very sad thing has happened," he said. You know the "cottages down near the water-side?' ( "Yes," said Jack. "It's a nasty place, I never go there. "Well " said Mr. Trotter, "you know the whitewashed house at the end, where Tom Johnson has been living? He has a large family, and one little girl, called Maggie, has een a cripple ever since she was bom. They are very poor, but hardworking people. Well, poor Tom Johnson was crossmg the railway to go to his work this morning, when an express tram came along and injured him so much that I am afraid he is going to die." , , The children looked very grave. The shadow of death ha never crossed their sunny little lives. ^ ^ "Oh, father," said Jack, "what will they do.-"' "I don't know," said Mr. Trotter. "Your mother is down there helping his wife to attend to him, but I am afraid from what the doctor said, that he is too badly hurt to get well agMr. Trotter's fears were too well founded. The poor man died that same day. Two days afterwards Pearl and Jack saw the hearse with the coftin go off to the churchyar • After the funeral was over, Mrs. Trotter did her best to cheer the weeping widow. Life had been a hard struggle for them, even when her husband was alive, and she did not know how she would be able to get food for her little ones. "Never mind, mother," said Tommy, Maggie's little brother, "when I'm a man like father, Fll go out and work for you. Fortunately all the children were not so voung as lom and Maggie. There were two elder girls and one big lad, who were able to earn something. "Thev'11 be hard put to it," said Mrs. Trotter, when she came home after the funeral, "even with the three children at work; and I'm afraid it will be a very sad Christmas for them this year." Pearl's eyes filled with tears and a great lump came in her throat. Her father put his hand on her head, and said: "Come, come darling; don't crv. We must do all we can to help them." CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. It was Christmas Eve and there was a hard frost. The snow which had fallen the day before, still covered the fields. Only in the streets and lanes it was trampled and dirty. All else was clear. The stars were shining in the frosty sky. Jack and Pearl had hung up their Christmas stockings over the mantelpiece ready for Santa Claus; and in the cottage bv the mill Maggie and Tommy had hung up their little stockings in their own little room. "I think Santa Claus will come to-night," said Maggie, "for the robins were pecking at the window-pane this mornmg." "What do you want?" asked Tommy. "Oh, I should like a dolly," said Maggie, "a nice dolly with golden hair and white kid shoes on its little feet." "Girls are silly!" said Tommy. "I should not care a fig for a doll." "What would you like?" said Maggie. "I don't mind," said Tommy, "as long as I get plenty of sweets." "Greedy boy!" said Maggie. So they went to bed. "I say," said Tommy softlv, long after they ought to have been asleep, «do you think Santa Claus will know the difference between our stockings?" "Why?" said Maggie. alt would be horrid if he put a doll in mine," said he. "Oh, Santa Claus -will know," said Maggie. And Santa Claus did know. . Soon after the clock struck twelve Pearl Trotter stirred in her sleep and half woke. "Jack?" she murmered. — But Jack was far awa} m ie Land of Dreams. Pearl raised herself upon one elbow and listened. Strains of music seemed to be filling the room. "Is it the angels?" she said to herself. "Jack," she said, reaching across to her brother, - "Jack, wake up.'' Jack stirred uneasily and then sat bolt uprignt. «What is it?" he asked. "Listen, Jack" she said. «Isn't it the angels? Jack rubbed his eyes. "Silly (rirl," he said, "it's onlv the waits." He was right. The waits were singing Christmas carols under the window, and the childern heard the familiar words: "Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, goodwill towards men. U last the music died away, and the children went to sleep. When morning dawned Jack woke up. He jumped out of bed, and seizing his stocking, carried it back to bed in triump . Pearl was not long in following his example, and for the next half hour they were busy looking over their presents. "Wel this is what I call a real, jollv Christmas, said Jack. "I say' isn't it odd that Santa Claus always seems to know what a' fellow wants? Just think what a horrid mess it would have been, if he had put my humming-top into your stockmg, pearl I" . Pearl agreed, but said nothing, and the children soon after went down to breakfast. They were full of glee, and eager to show their treasures to their parents. But if the little Trotters were pleased with the contents of their Christmas stockings, there was stil] greater joy in Mrs. Johnson's cottage. Maggie almost cried with delight, when she found at the very top of the stocking the doll, for which she had hardly dared to hope. "Oh Tommy," she said, "I feel so happy!" But Tommy was too busy with a box of chocolates to have anything to say. That evening he could hardly be got to bed, he was so interested in reading the storybook which Mr. Trotter had given him. TROTTY's FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL. Trotty was getting old enough to be taught something, so his mother had decided that he should go to school. One bright morning, when he was just thinking how he could manage to take from grandmother's work-basket a roll of blue silk cord, which he wanted to make telegraph-wires, he was startled by the announcement that Nat, their neighbour's little boy, was to call for him at nine o'clock, to take him to Miss Pumpkin's school. And not that morning only, but all the mornings. A little before nine he was washed and kissed, and he started away with Nat. Miss Pumpkin kept school in one of the lower rooms of an old, deserted boarding-house. The building looked dreary enough from the outside, with the windows boarded up and the blinds gone; but the schoolroom itself was pleasant. About a dozen little children sat at little desks, with little books before them. The windows were open, and the sweet spring air blew in. Miss Pumpkin was a gentle-faced lady, very little, and not very young; she had grey hair, and she wore a black dress. Naf pushed open the door, and dragged Trotty ul "He'fe come to school. He walked along with me. He doesn lrnnw verv much. He can t spell Cat. plor Trotty, thus introduced, blushed to hB curls, and «tood still in the middle of the room. will do, Nat," said the teacher. -You can go to yonr seat - Well, Trotty, I am glad to see you; good * Good morning Mrs. Pumpkin!" said Trotty m a very high key. All the little scholars langhed. Poor Miss timp m '""r^nórVm^ied My," she replied gentty. Tm not * i • v, + vfica Hu'sh • children! There! come this Mrs. Pumpkin, but Miss, ±iusn, cnuuie Tmftv • hprc is b. ste&t 8.11 rc&dy for ^ou. ""toss Pumpkin gave him a spelling-book with pictures in it, and heard him say his letters, and taught htm0 spell Cat; then she went away, and left him to study y * Now Trotty had just about as much of an idea how to study as JerLlem, his favourite old doll, wh.ch he atays carried about with him. So he began to iook about for something entertaining to do. The pictures m the spellmg- book looked promising, and he began to turn over ^ verv fast, By and by he cameto a funny picture of a monkey running away with an old gentleman's hat, and what he40usbhVrottyVaÏÏd the teacher. That frightenedihim,and for a few minutes he turned over the leaves soberly and silently. Pretty soon it came again - that irresistible little laugh. "Trottv!" said Miss Pumpkin, bitmg her lip. "Here's - he! he! he! - a boy standing on his — he. he. head!" rippled Trotty, and Jerusalem's feet, which wereangline over the edge of his pocket, shook as he laughed. Bj Ï2 by Nat saw those feet, and he laughed, theu Trotty** Nat laugh and he laughed; then Nat caught hold of one of Jerusalem's feet and tried to pull him away, and Trotty held on to the other and puilt d him back, and between them poor Jerusalem was itéarly pulled in two. "Trotty," said the teacher, "are you ready to spell "Dog?" Thus silenced Trotty opened his spelling-book again; gravely and with some difficulty he set the doll down in front of it, and when the children looked up, he and Jerusalem were studying together. By and by Trotty thought what fun it would be to wash Jerusalem's face in Nat's inkbottle. So he washed it carefully with his own little white handkerchief, and wondered what made the handkerchief grow so ugly and black, and where all those little damp black spots on the table that he kept putting his elbow into, came from. There was a little girl with white hair sitting on the other side of him, and when he was tired of washing Jerusalem, he wondered how funny she would look if somebody poured the rest of that ink right in the middle of her head on the top; whether her hair would always be black hair after it, or whether it would grow a little streaked like a black and white kitty's, and how the little girl would like it. He leaned across to ask her, with the inkbottle in one hand all ready for the experiment; but Miss Pumpkin shook her head at him, which he thought very unkind of her. / After that Nat gave him an apple, and Trotty nibbled it, for a long time, giving Jerusalem little bites occasionarfy, with a grave face. The way in which Jerusalem used to eat was by having the mouthfuls dropped into his head through the hole on the top. A bright sunbeam was just falling on Trotty's head. This made him feel so drowsy that he laid his arms on the desk and his head upon them and kept still. He kept so very still that everybody forgot him, and when the class was called out to recite the alphabet, he was fast asleep. «It's almost too bad to wake him up," said Miss Pumpkin, «but I suppose I must. Come Trotty, I want youto say a les- son now. , . , , , Trotty dug both fists into his eyes, anü winseaanu mm^u and nodded and yawned, and staggered sleepily out into the middle of the room, where the alphabet class was standing. Remembering that Jerusalem ought to learn the alphabet too he pulled him out of his pocket, and stuck him into his troüsers-band, where he could see the world. Now it happened that a little boy next to him had an apron on with a very loose neck. Trotty thought what a mee place it would be or Jerusalem under the apron. So he gently began to pushhim in till the little boy got red, and began to make funny c o- king noises. " Johnny!" said Miss Pumpkin, "what is the matter? Come here! Why Trotty Tyrol! did you do this?" «Oh yes," said Trotty candidly. «I wanted a place for Jerusalem. I will take him out now." «Trotty," said Miss Pumpkin, "you have given me a great deal of trouble this morning. You must learn that little boys cannot play in school. You may take your chair, and go and sit alone there by the door." Trotty did as he was told. He feit ashamed. Something began to feel damp in his eyes. Something choked him in his throat. Something rolled down his two cheeks, and feil on Jerusalem's inky face. He was so still that nobody noticed him. «Why, where's Trotty?" said Miss Pumpkin all at once Where * was he? The door stood wide open. Something shot past the window, and away down the dusty road. With curls flying, hat ofF, and Jerusalem hugged under one arm, there was Trotty running home as fast as he could go. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. Once upon a time, there lived in a beautiful castle in England a rich knight and his lady. They had one little son and one little daughter, of whom they were both very fond. Bat one day a terrible thing happened : the lady of the castle was taken ill suddenly and died almost without saying goodbye to her husband and children. Presently the knight was also taken ill. He knew at once that he should die, so he tried to make what arrangements he could for the future happiness of his children. He sent for his only brother, and gave his two little ones and their estates into his care, begging him to do his duty by them. The brother promised, and the good knight died. The uncle now took control of the castle, but he was a cruel wicked man. He knew that if the children should die, he would become master of all their possessions, and after a while he resolved to try and get rid of them. He remembered two men who had, at one time, been his companions, but who had gambled away all their possessions so that they would be very glad of some money. He sent for these men, and they agreed to kill the children for two hundred pounds. One day, when the nurse had left the boy and the girl alone in the garden, these men came along, and asked them if they would not like to have a ride, each on a big horse. The boy said "yes" directly, and taking his little sister by the hand, followed the men out of the castle gates. Here the murderers jumped on their horses, and each putting a little one in front of him, galloped off into the wood. The children were delighted and chatted so merril\ that the heart of at least one of the men was touched. When they cr0t to the spot where they had decided to kill the children, the less wicked of the two said to his companion: «I don t like this job; it seems a pity to murder the poor wretches, we have got the money so why should we not let them ïve. But the other man told him that he was a sentimental tooi, and that he was going to dowhat he had undertaken. They became angry, words got higher and higher, and presently the two robbers were fighting each other whilst the poor children looked on in terror. Suddenly the more merciful robber struck his cruel companion a blow which killed hun. Then he turned to the children. He did not know what to do with them; besides he wanted to get away, so he decided to leave them on the chance of somebody findmg them. They were getting very hungry, and asked for their dmner. So he told them that he was going to get them some food, and away he went, never to return. Hours went by, they got hungrier and hungner and the little girl began to cry. The boy looked round to see what he could do for his sister. He found some nuts and berries and when they had eaten, they lay down on the moss, and slept For four days they lived on the nuts and berries t ej found in the wood, but they got weaker and weaker and at last they lay down hand in hand under a tree, and feil asleep never to wake up again. The little robins came round them in hundreds, each bringing a crimson or golden leaf in his beak, and these they laid on the two little bodies till they seemed to be covered with a beautiful royal cloak. The wicked uncle did not enjoy his ill-gotten fortune. He had bad luck in every way. His cattle died, his servants robbed him, and at last his castle was burned down andhe could only just save his life. He wandered homeless for many a year, and at last a strange thing happened. The robber had started stealing again as soon as he had spent his money, and, being caught, was condemned to be hanged. He told the whole story of the children to the judge, and in consequence of this the wicked uncle was arrested and hanged too. So ends the story of the Babes in the Wood. THE TWINS. In form and feature, face and limb I grew so like my brother, That folks got taking me for him, And each for one another. It puzzled all our kith and kin, It reached an awful pitch, For one of us was born a twin, Yet not a soul knew which. One day, to make the matter worse, Before our names were fixed, As we were being washed by nurse, We got completely mixed. And thus, you see, by fate's decree, Or rather nurse's whim, My brother John got christened me, And I got christened him. This fatal likeness ever dogged My footsteps when at school, And I was always getting flogged, For John turned out a fooi. I put this question hopelessly To every one I knew: "What would you do, if you were me To prove that you were you?" TWILIGHT. The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free ; And like the wings of sea birds, Flash the white caps of the sea. But in the fisherman's cottage, There shines a ruddier light; And a little face at the window, Peers out into the night. Close, close it is pressed to the window, As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness, To see some form arise. And a woman's waving shadow, Is passing to and fro, Now rising to the ceilmgj Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement, Teil to that little child? And why do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the colour from her cheek ? Longfellow. THE OPEN WINDOW. The old house by the lindens Stood silent in the shade; And on the gravelled pathway The light and shadow played. I saw the nursery windows, Wide open to the air! But the faces of the children, They were no longer there. The large Newfoundland house-dog Was standing by the door; He looked for his little playmates, Who would return no more. They walked not under the lindens, They played not in the hall, But shadow, and silence and sadness Were hanging over all. The birds sang in the branches With sweet, familiar tone; But the voices of the children Will be heard in dreams alone! And the boy that walked beside me, He could not understand, Why closer in mine, ah! closer I pressed his warm, soft hand! Longfellow. the old, old song. When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green, And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hev for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down; Creep home and take your place there. The spent and maimed among: God grant you find one face there. You loved when all was young. Kingsley. the blind men and the elephant. It was six men of Indostan, To learning much inclined, Who went to see the elephant, Though all of them were blind; That each by observation Might satisfy his mind. The first approached the elephant, And happening to fall Against his broad and sturdy side, At once began to bawl: "God bless mei but the elephant Is very like a wall!" The second, feeling 'long the tusk, Cried: "Ho, what have we here So very round, and smooth and sharp; To me 't is mighty clear This wonder of an elephant Is very like a spear!" The third approached the animal, And happening to take The squirming trunk within his hands, Thus boldly up he spake: "I see," quoth he, "the elephant Is very like a snake!" The fourth reached out his eagerhand, And feit about the knee, "What most this wondrous beast is like Is mighty plain," quoth he: "'Tis clear enough the elephant Is very like a tree!" The fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, Said: "E'en the blindest man Can teil what this resembles most, Deny the fact who can. This marvel of an elephant Is very like a fan!" The sixth no sooner had begun About the beast to grope, Than, seizing on the swinging tail That feil within his scope: "I see," quoth he, "the elephant Is very like a rope!" And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong; Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong! Saxe. GERTTs STEPMOTHEB, "Oh, Jim, it is not true, is it?" cried little Gerty, pulling the old gardener by the sleeve. _ "What Missy," he asked, looking up from his work. There was a kind smile on his face, for little Gerty was a great favou- rite of his. . "It was like this, I wanted some more strawbemes, and the new cook said I might not, and I was a greedy little pig; and I said, I'd rather be a greedy little pig than a spiteful old cat!" Here the tears broke out. "And you eight on your last birthday! You should have more sense afsuch an age'than to call narnes." The head-gardener spoke reprovingly, but he stroked her rough hair. "I didtn't — not one single name — not even when she said 1 was enough to make a cat laugh, even an old one, and she wondered anv good servant ever stayed a week in the place. And she said I wanted keeping in order, and it was a very good thing I had a new mamma coming home to-day, to keep me under a bit, and that father would notloveme any more. But it isn't true, is it? She only said it?" "Mv dear girly," said the old man, "it is true that your good 'father is bringing home a new mother for you to-day. But I'll be bound it's a kind, gentle lady, who 11 love jou and make much of you, and teach you to sew, and play the piano, and all kinds of things. You must be a woman and not cry about it." When the tears were quite dried he gave her a white geranium to plant in her own garden, and went back to his work. Gerty took the geranium and walked ofï with it in her arms. She was thinking deeply. Soon her mind was made up. She would run away. She had just read the story of Cinderella, and she feit sure the new mamma would be as nasty as nasty could be, and make her wash the dishes, and sweep the kitchen, and wear old dirty clothes. So she went indoors, and put a few treasures in her pocket, all her money and some beautiful pebbles, and a bit of coloured glass, and went quietly out at the lodge gate, carrying the white geranium in her arms; it was so beautiful that she could not bear to leave it behind. But as she walked alons O the dusty road, the geranium got heavier and heavier, and when she came to the churchvard, where her mother was buried, she thought she would put it on her grave, and teil her that Gerty was going far away, because she would not have a new inamma. After that it was easy to go on. She walked a long way till at last she was very tired. Before leaving the village she had bought some cakes at a sweet-shop, but they were rather stale, and after a few bites she had put them under a tree bv the roadside for the little birds. Now she was beginning to feel hungrv, and to wish that she had not left them behind. At last she could not walk any further; she sat down in the shadow of a big furze bush. "I wonder what they are doing at home now," she thought. "I suppose it is just tea-time and Jane will say: "Where is that naughtv girl again;" they don't care about me except Old Jim. I will never go back, never!"' She iay looking for a long time down the white, dusty road, and she was begin- ning to feel very lonely. "I wish somebody would come," she said. Suddenly she saw a boy coming along. He was going to pass by without taking any notice of her, but Gerty could not bear to be alone any longer. "Hi, boy!" she called out. The boy stopped and said: "Well?" «Come here," said Gerty. "At least, I mean, come here if vou please." The boy, a lad of twelve or fourteen, shrugged his shoulders and came tovvards her. "Well?" he said again, rather grumpily. "Don't be cross," said Gerty, "I wïsh you would talk to me a little if you are not too busy." The boy laughed a little, threw himself on the turf and began pulling bits of it up by the roots. He soon began to look sulky again. "Go ahead," he said impatiently. Gerty looked at his face; it frightened her and she cried: «Go away. I don't want you; you're very unkind." She was very tired, and the tears began to run down her cheeks. At the sight of this the boy seemed to shake himself awake. "Oh, I say, don't cry. Look here, I am not unkind, really, there was something that made me cross. Come kiddie, what's the matter?" and he pulled a rather dirty handkerchief out of his pocket, and began to wipe off her tears. She stopped sobbing, and looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Now teil me what you are doing here," he said. "You teil first," she replied. "My father was a king," the boy began gravely, but Gerty looked at him and said: "Won't you teil me the real, true truth? I will you." "Well, the real, true truth is, I've run away from home and I'm going to sea." Gerty clapped her hands. "Oh so have I! Let me come with you. Whv did you run away? Did they beat you at home. Or have you a cruel stepfather, or stepmother or something?" "No," he said, "I haven't any step-relations. I ran away because I didn't choose to have a strange chap set over me, and that's all I'm going to teil you. But about you ? How far have you come to day?" "About ninety miles I should think," said Gerty; "atleast my legs feel exactly like it." "And what made you do such a silly thing?" he said. "You know it's no good girls running away, they always get caught." "Oh, but you will take care of me now? You will not let them catch me?" "Why did you do it then." Gerty told him. "And father never said a word about it, and I'm not going to stay to be made to wash dishes and things ; besides nobody wants me." "But perhaps the stepmother will be nice," said the boy. "Stepmothers never are ;I know she will look very old, and ugly with a face full of wrinkles." "Then you have not seen her?" "No, I would not wait till she came." "Well, you might have waited. Your father is good to you, I suppose?" "Of course," said Gerty indignantly. "He's the nicest, best, dearest- daddy you have ever seen." "Well, then he is sure to have chosen a nice stepmother." "You can't know," said Gerty. "But you have not told me all your secrets, and I have told you all about mine; who was the chap that was going to be put over you?" "Well then, my sister is going to marry a man I've never seen, and she wants me to come and live with them. And she did not ask me to the wedding, because they wanted to be married quietly. And I had been looking forward to my holidays all last term, for she had promised we should take long walks together and I might do whatever I liked. And I only got her letter last night, saying that she would come home from he wedding-trip to-night, and I was to come to this strange man's house, and spend my holidays. And my boxes were sent on straight from school, so I've no other clothes but those I'm wearing. And now I'm off to sea. "Why didn't she teil you before?" -She'said, she meant it as a pleasant surprise, because we've been rather hard up since my father died, and this chap has horses and everything. But I wont have anything to do with that old, stuck-up fellow." "But vou have not seen him,'' said Gerty, l,so you are also silly. Presently the boy said: "Now then, little one, let me take you home ; go and see what the stepmother is like." Gerty was very tired so she allowed herself tobe persuaded. "I will, if you go home too," she said. "Done," said the boy. Hand in hand the two trudged along for some time. At last they got to the gate of the lodge. "This is my house," said Gerty. "Now, if you let me have your address, I'U give you mine and we can write each other." The boy found the envelope of his sister's letter in his pocket; the two children stood writing very carefully and slowlv,' one on each side of the lodge gatepost. Presently they exchanged papers. Then suddenly they both turned very red. "But, this is my address," said Gerty. "That's where my sister has gone to live," said the boy. "Oh but then — then —" «Then it's him she married!" he cried. "Are yousure your father is a good sort?" "How dare you ask! But is your sister nice?" "She's tlie dearest old darling! Oh, come along, they will be here soon; she said, seven o'clock, and it's sure to be that almost,." They raced up to the house, arriving just in time to see the carriage stop at the door. Then there was much hugging and kissing, and the new mamma looked like a beautiful princess to Gerty; she could not believe that this could reallv be a stepmother. "I think I shall love her very much," said Gerty to her friend that evening. "Of course you will," said the boy; "and, I say, your father is a brick; I never thought he would be so jolly, not a bit stuck-up; I don't think 1*11 go off to sea just yet. THE ENGLISHMAN IN CHINA. An Englishman, who spoke no language but his own, was once travelling in China, in the East of Asia. One day he passed an eating-house, and as he feit rather hungrv, he thought he had better go in and have something for dinner there. But unfortunately he could not speak a single word of Chinese, so he was obliged to make himself understood by gesticulations. He walked in all the same, and when the waiter asked him politely what he was going to have, he simplv pointed at his mouth, and rubbed his stomack. The waiter brought him a meat-pie, and, as he had a very good appetite, he ate it all. He thought the pie excellent, and he wanted the waiter to teil him what he had eaten. 80, when the Chinaman came to clear away the dinner-things, John Buil pointed at the empty dish, and quacked like a duck, Quack, quack! But the waiter at once shook his head, and barked like a a dog: Bow, wow! Then the traveller knew that he had been eating dog's flesh. OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone Now dimmed and gone The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends so linked together, I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone, Some banquet-hall deserted,, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me. Th. Moore. 6 NINA AND TOTTY. (Nina is a little girl of a very reserved nature; she has a very tender heart, but her great shyness prevents her from showing her feelings, so that everybody thinks her hard and cold. Only on Totty, a weakly little brother of hers, for whom nobody else cares much, does she bestow all the sympathy and love she has in her heart.) She was sitting on the floor with her little brother in her arms, talking softly to him, or singing him little songs; and when Edmund and Cecily burst in with the news that there were niggers in the street, she answered sharply that she did not care. For she resented the interruption, and their noisy entrance had startled the nervous child in her lap. The animation, however, which shone in Totty's pale face at the news, made her pause, and bending her head over him, she whispered tenderly: "Would Totty like to see them?" "What are they like?" asked Totty. "They are black men, darling, and they sing anddance." Totty shuddered. Evidently he had not been prepared for the nature of the entertainment. "Must I really go?" he said, fearfully. "Oh yes, Totty," said Edmund, "Come on; they 're jolly men you know." But Nina, meeting the appealing glance of the great blue eyes, settled it for him in a moment. Throwing her arms round him, she assured him that no one and nothing should make him see anything he did not like. "Totty's a muff," said Edmund; but fortunately for him Nina did not hear. Then he and Cecily ran off again, and the brother and sister were left alone. "We're happier without them, aren't we darling? and we 11 go on looking at the pictures." Then, as it got later, and he grew weary, she pillowed his head on her shoulder and sang softly to him in the gathering twilight. Song after song he called for, joining in sometimes himself, but mostly listening quietly, and following the events of the tales contained in the quaint old ballads with eager interest. The crowning favourite was kept to the last and sung slowly and distinctly, that he might follow the sense. Lord Thomas, he was A forester bold, And hunted the king's brown deer, And Eleanor, She Was a fair maiden, He Loved her dear. On and on, through the twelve or thirteen stanzas of which the ballad was composed. Totty was half asleep towards the end, but kindled into sudden enthusiasm at the thrilling words: He cut off his Own brown wife's head And threw it against the wall!! "Oh, Nina, did he really?" This question would always come whenever the verse was sung; and Nina, seeing the shrinking in his eyes would always answer: "No darling, not really; it's only a tale." She had once said "story"; but this had so confused truth and falsehood in Totty's mind, and made him so fearful of how far Nina herself might be implicated in the untruth, that she had since substituted the word "tale". "Only a tale, darling, that's all." "But is it a joke, Nina?" "Yes, darling, it's a kind of joke." »A kind of a sort of a joke," he would repeat rather anxiously, "isn't it, Nina?" Nina had tried leaving out the verse altogether, but he always discovered this and asked for it. In spite of his fear, it fascinated him, and he would not for the worldliave allowed her to miss it. "Now again," he said sleepily, just as she had safely reached the end of the fourteenth verse; and Nina, unmurmuring, began all over again. He was fetched to bed at seven, and then she went and joined the others on the drawing-room balcony. (Mervyn, a bright young cousin of fourteen, had come to stay at Nina's home. He did not feel afraid of his aunt as her own children did, so he took liberties which they would never have dreamed of taking. One day he proposed that they should have a game of romps in the schoolroom: he actually carried Totty down to look on). "Why shouldn't he come?" said Mervyn, lifting the child in his strong young arms; and before anyone could object he had carried him out of the room. "He'd like to see us romping and jumping. Wouldn't you, Totty ?" he said, as they all went downstairs together. "Me coming too!" was the little fellow's delighted answer, as he twined his arms confidingly round Mervyn's neck. When they got into the school-room, Mervyn established him in a nice little corner, where he could see everything that went on; and then the game began. lts nature was not very decided. It was called a romp, an a romp it certainly was. Cecily and Edmund joined in it with vigour; and Nina, though a little grand at first, was soon carried away by Mervyn's spirits and Totty's delight. The confusion was at its height when the door opened, and Mrs. Middleton, dressed for dinner, appeared upon the scene, closely followed by her husband. She stopped short m her astonishment. The schoolroom-table was pushed up agamst the window, and the chairs were heaped upon it. Mervyn, wit Edmund on his back, was racing wildly round the room, jumping over little heaps of books and maps that were placed (evidently for the purpose) at measured intervals in full pursuit after Cecily, who was darting about with inconceivable rapidity; while Nina blew a horn and Totty clapped his hands from his corner. "Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Middleton, "what is the meaning of this uproar?" "We're hunting," answered Mervyn, laughing and breathless; "and we are having a capital run, Cecily's the fox. Tally ho! Yonder he goes! Why do you stop, Cecily? And Nina! go on blowing the horn." So saying Mervyn, who was the only one who did not seem discomposed at Mrs. Middleton's entrance, bounded over a big heap of books, and catching his foot in a loose one at the top, measured his length on the floor, rolling over Edmund as he feil. "Bravo!" exclaimed his uncle, laughing; "you took that fence well!" "This will never do," said Mrs. Middleton. "Mervyn, you must remember your cousins are young ladies, and you must not teach them these rough games." "Oh' nonsense, Lydia," said colonel Middleton, "what does it matter! It will do them all the good in the world. They're much too prim and old fashioned. I never saw Nina look so animated, and look what a colour Cecily has got. Little Totty too! See how he enjoys it." "Totty!" exclaimed Mrs. Middleton; "how did Totty get here ?" "I brought him down, aunt Lydia," said Mervyn running up; "he was so dull all alone in the nursery and wanted to come." Happily for all parties the dinner-bell rang at that moment and Mrs. Middleton hurried away. Colonel Middleton remained behind a moment to wish them all good-night, and Mervyn and Cecily eagerly asked for leave to go on with the game. Colonel Middleton ran off laughing, declaring he would not be responsible; but he was not sorry to find his laugh had been taken forassent, when, as he ran downstairs, he heard the uproar recommence with greater force than ever; and Mervyn's ringing voice reached him as he crossed the hall: "Tally ho! Yonder he goes!" And so ended Mervyn's first day at Granton. SONG FROM THE PRINCESS. Home they brought her warrior dead; She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: All her maidens, watching, said: "She must weep or she will die." Then they praised him, soft and low Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe, Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee, Like summer tempest came her tears, "Sweet my child I live for thee. the throstle. "Summer is coming, summer is coming I know it, I know it, I know it. Light again, leaf again, life again, love again, Yes my wild little poet. Sing the new year in under the blue, Last year you sang it as gladly. "New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new That you should carol so madly? "Love again, song again, rest again, young again, Never a prophet so crazy And hardly a daisy as yet, little fnend See, there is hardly a daisy. "Here again, here, here, here, happy year!" O warble unchidden, unbidden Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, And all the winters are hidden. killed at the ford. He is dead the beautiful youth, The heart of honour, the tongue of truth He, the life and light of us all, Whose voice was as blithe as a bugle call, Whom all eyes followed with one consent, The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word Hushed all murmurs of discontent. Only last night as we rode along, Down the dark of the mountain gap To visit the picquet-guard at the ford, Little dreaming of any mishap, He was humming the words of some old song. Two red roses he had on his cap And another he bore at the point of his sword. Sudden and swift a whistling ball Came out of the wood, and the voice was still; Something I heard in the darkness fall And for a moment my blood grew chili: I spoke in a whisper as he who speaks In a room when some one is lying dead; But he made no answer to what I said. We lifted him on his saddle again, And through the mire, and the mist and the rain Carried him back to the silent camp, And laid him as if asleep on his bed; And I saw, by the light of the surgeon's lamp. Two white roses upon his cheeks, And one just over his heart blood-red! And I saw in a vision how far and fleet That fatal bullet went speeding forth, Till it reached a town in the distant North, Till it reached a house in a sunny street, Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat, Without a murmer, without a cry; And a bell was tolled in that far-off town, For one had passed from cross to crown, And the neighbours wondered that she should die. THE SUMMER IS ENDED. Wreathe no more lilies in my liair, For I am dying, sister sweet; Or if you will for the last time Indeed, why make me fair Once for my winding sheet. Pluck no more roses for my breast, For I, like them, fade in my prime; Or, of you will, why pluck them still, That they may share my rest Once more for the last time. Weep not for me when I am gone, Dear tender one, but hope and smile ; Or, if you cannot choose but weep, A little while weep on Only a little while. THE POWL WITH ONE LEG. One day a gentleman invited some friends to dinner. He consulted his cook and arranged with him that one of the courses should be fowls. The cook went to the market and bought some fowls. While he was cooking them, one of the maid-servants, with whom he was on good terms, entered the kitchen. She asked him to let her have a little piece. At first he refused, but in the end he gave her a leg of one of the fowls. He arranged them nicely on the dish and hoped that the absence of the leg would not be noticed. But unfortunately the master noticed it at once, and the next day he sent for the cook and asked: "How was it that one of the fowls had only one leg?" Without hesitating for a moment the cook answered : "I bought it so." "Nonsense," said the master, "every bird has two legs." "I beg your pardon, sir," said the man, "but there are certainly birds with only one leg. If you will be so kind as to take a little walk with me before breakfast to-morrow, I will show you some." They went out the next morning and the cook took his master to a meadow with a little river running through it. "Look, sir," he said, "there close to the water, do you see those birds standing on one leg?" "Oh, well," said the master, "but they all have two legs; I shall clap my hands and you '11 at once see the otherleg appear." He did and the birds flew up, showing both their legs. "You see," said the master, "what do you say now?" "Ah, sir," said the man, "if you had clapped your hands yesterday, perhaps the other leg would also have appeared." The gentleman was pleased with his cook's presence of mind. He laughed heartily, and called him a sly rogue, but he did not dismiss him, as he had intended, but kept him in his service. A TIGER STORY. An officer in India once complained to a friend of being plagued and kept awake night after night by mosquitoes. The friend advised him to suspend a piece of raw meat over his bed; the mosquitoes would settle on this, and leave him in peace. He eagerly availed himself of this advice, but imaginc his terror when, happening to wake up in the middle of the night, he saw the glittering eyes of a huge tiger, which had stolen into his hut, fixed 011 the meat and the beast itself just preparing for a spring. He had the presence of mind quietly to slip under the bedclothes, and lie perfectly still. The next moment he feit the heavy body plump down upon him, and after some terrible miniites of suspense he heard the tiger rush off with his prey. He got up at once and kept watch for the rest of the night, but the animal did not return. The next night he again hung a piece of meat over his bed, but instead of lving down on it, he perched on a high wardrobe, which stood in the corner. There he sat with his loaded gun in his hand. Soon after midnight the tiger again stole into the hut. But this time an unpleasant surprise was in store for him. The officer took aim and fired, and before the tiger could secure his prey, he staggered and rolled over: the bullet had entered his heart, and had killed him on the spot. THE LITTLE MATCHSELLER. It was very cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the darkness a little girl' with bare head and naked feet, wandered through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized the other and ran away with it, saying that he would use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own. So the little girl went on with her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundie of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger she crept along — poor little child! She looked the picture of misery. The snow-fiakes feil on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she did not regard them. Lights where shining from everv window, and there was a savoury smell of roast goose, for it was New-Year's eve — yes, she remembered that. In a corner between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down, and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundie and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out — "scratch!" how it sputtered asitburnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting by a large iron stove, with polishecl brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the fiame of the match went out, the stove vanished and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand. She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light feil upon the wall, it became as transparent as a veil and she could see into the room. The ta'ble was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish, and waddled across the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her. She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was large and more beautifully decorated than the one she had seen through the door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches and coloured pictures, like those she had seen in the s4t>\bwindows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched öut her hand towards them and the match went out. The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like stars in the sky. Then she saw a star feil, leaving a bright streak of fire. «Some one is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God. She again rubbed a match on the wall and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her grandmother, clear und shining, yet mild and loving in appearance. "Grandmother," cried the little one, "oh, take we withyou! I know you will go away when the match burns out, you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose and the large glorious Christmas-tree. And she made haste to light the whole bundie of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than noonday and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God. In the dawn of the morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks andsmiling mouth, leaning againstthe wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the old year; and the New-Year's sun rose and shone upon the little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundie of which was burnt. "She tried to warm herself," said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother 011 New-Year's day. LAUNCELOT AND ELAINE. Sir Launcelot was the knight of most renown in all King Arthur's Table Round, and his shield, with the lions on it, was so well known that lie sometimes had the fancy to use a strange one, for some of the knights thought he had magie power. There was to be a great tournament held at Astolat, now called Guildford. At first Launcelot said he would not ride in it, but both King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were anxious that he should go, for they loved him dearlv; so they persuaded him to go. He went to stay with an old knight, Sir Bernard of Astolat, and he asked him if he could lend him a shield, for his own was too well known. "Gladly," said Sir Bernard; "I will lend you the shield of my elder son, Sir Torre, and his brother Lavaine shall go with you as your squire, and wait on you." Sir Bernard had two sons, and one only daughter named Elaine. She was a lonely girl, the mother being dead, and the father and brothers often away from home. Much solitude had made her fanciful and this was increased by constant brooding over the stories she heard of the knights and their wonderful doings. So when this strange knight came to stav with lier father, she took a great liking to him. No one in the house knew Sir Launcelot, for they had not been much at the court, so they were not surprised that he should ask for a shield. Elaine offered to take care ofLauncelot's own shield, and he thanked her so pleasantly, that, blushing, she asked him if he would wear a favour of hers upon his helm, as the custom was. He told her he had never worn any lady's favour in this way, but he agreed, and sho brought him a red sleeve embroidered with beautiful pearls. With many kind words he set off to the tournament. Never had he fought as he fought that day. One knight after another went down before him, and every one was saying: "Who is the knight with the strange shield and the red sleeve in his helm." No one knew, however. Towards the end Launcelot was wounded and he was forced to leave the field; and Lavaine, Elaine's brother, went with him. He was so faint and weary that he could only stagger to a little hermitage by the wayside, where he was put to bed. Launcelot was very ill and when Lavaine told this sad news at home, Elaine prayed her father to let her go and nurse him. At first her father would not let her go, but she looked so sad and pale, that at last he gave his permission. While she was nursing Launcelot her love for him grew stronger; but whenh e was so far recovered that he could speak again, he told her that he could never marry, for he had given his heart to Queen Guinevere, whom some years ago he had been sent to fetch for her marriage with King Arthur. Elaine's heart broke when she found that she had loved in vain. When she had returned to her father's house, she soon began to grow weaker and weaker, till at last it was only too plain that she was dying. When she feit that the end was near she called her father and brothers to her. They thought her better, for her sweet face, though pale, was bright and cheerful. She smiled at them, and asked Sir Torre to write a farewell-letter to Sir Launcelot for her, which he did. Then she charged them to dress her in white when she was dead, and lay her on a bed, with this letter in her right hand. And the bed was to be put in a barge, and this barge was to be all draped with black cloth, and the man to steer it wasto De an old deaf and dumb servant, who had grown up in the house. — Then, with a smile, she died. She was dressed in a fair white si lk gown, and laid on the bed and that was put in a barge and, with the old servant at the helm, lovely Elaine started on her last journey. The barge floated on to the court of King Alfred; the bed was carried into the hall and Queen Guinevere bent her sweet face over the dead girl. Sir Launcelot was deeply affected when he read the letter; all that could be done now was to give Elaine a fair burial. So she was buried next morning with great pomp. \/ ICE-CREAMS. When the summer has come with its flowers, and the sun has found its way into the streets of London, tliere is a cértain person who knows that he will be welcome there as well. This person is the ice-cream man. Oh dear, how hot it is! There is hardly any shade at all. Surely it is surprisingthat the sun, having come into the streets so seldom during the wet and foggy winter, is able to §nd its way all about the great city! Not a street is missed. The hot dust is under foot, the hot sky is overhead, and — where is the ice-cream man? When the Lord Mayor gives a banquet, a large party is happy to sit down at the Mansion-House, but I do not think any of them are more delighted than the boys who crowd round the ice-cream stand. The metal lid is lifted; the spoon goes into the cool "well", and comes out again with a pennyworth of the ice-cold cream, flavoured with raspberry or vanilla, or what passes for such. The London streetboys do not trouble to use a spoon, but they hold the thick glass, with the ice in it, to their lips and lick the ice till it disappears. Hence a somewhat vulgar riddle: Why is a horse like a halfpenny ice? Because the more you lick it, the faster it goes. But of recent years the choice _is given to the customers_at the ice-cream barrow of ha ving their ice between two waf er biscuits instead of in a glass. The ice-cream man was first known in the street of London some forty years ago, but he was not then such a favourite. Indeed, he had to give up the trade, for he had not leamed how to keep his ice cool. But he knows how to do his business better now, and at many street-corners he may be seen with a group of boys round his gaudily painted wheelbarrow. When the sun's summer visit is over and it travels south for the winter, the ice-cream man puts on his coat and comes into the street with a more suitable dainty. On his barrow is a glowing fire, and over the fire is a metal tray with roasting chestnuts in it. Then his guests gather round his fire with the same delight as they showed in the summer and the same mouths that swallowed the cool ice-cream are opened for hot chestnuts. What a jolly feast it is for — a halfpenny! It is a good thing that little boys 7 as a rule have not many half-pennies, for, though ice-creams and chestnuts are very nice, it is safer not to have too many of them. TB YING TO GET ODD JOBS. At the great railwav stations in London there are always numbers of boys ready to carry parcels or show the way for a few pennies. The people constantly leaving London or coming into it, generally have luggage to carry with them. Gentlemen who have very little time to spare, loaded with rugs and travelling-bags, are sometimes glad to hear a boy say: "Carry your bag, sir?" And the boy, who has long been waiting for a chance to earn a few pence, then, loaded with the heavy bags, follows his patron through the crowd. But alas! it is not often that the offer made by the eager would-be carrier is accepted. Then, finding that it is getting late and his pockets are still empty, the boy makes up his mind to a harder job. A train has just arrived from the country, and a few yards away from where he is standing, a party of travellers (an elderly lady and two young girls) are entering a cab, while the porter is lifting their heavy luggage on to the top, and putting many parcels inside. The porter pockets his tip, the cab-door is closed and the cab starts. The boy starts as well. In a few minutes the station yard is left behind, and street after street is passed. If the occupants of the cab looked out, they might see the figure of the boy, who was standing in the station yard when they arrived, — now slipping through the moving crowds who throng the pavements or dodging among the traffic in the roadway; but they would not guess that he had set himself the task of foliowing the cab to its journey's end in the hope of being allowed to help to carry the luggage into the house for the reward of a few coppers. On and on goes the trotting horse, increasing its pace as the streets become less crowded; and on and on jogs the poor boy, till the cab stops at the door and the panting lad offers his help often to be scolded and refused. Bnt sometimes, when there is only a maid to help the cabman to get the boxes and port-manteaus upstairs, the boy's help is aceepted, and he receives the coppers for which he has run so far. CASABIANCA. The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreek, Shone round him, o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm, A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form. The flames rolled on — he would not go Without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He called aloud: "Say, father, say If yet my task is done!" He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. „Speak, father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gonel" And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames roll'd on. Upon his brow he feit their breath, And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death In still yet brave despair; And shonted but once more aloud, "My father must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder-sound. The boy — Oh! where was he ? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea! With mast, and helm, and pennon fair That well had borne their part, But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young and faithfu! heart! Mrs. Hemans. A FAREWELL. Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver : No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, A rivulet, then a river: Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. But here will sigh thine alder tree And here thine aspen shiver; And here by thee will hum the bee, For ever and for ever. A thousand suns will stream on thee, A thousand moons will quiver, But not by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. Tennyson. THE MINSTREL BOY. The Minstrel boy to the war has gone In the ranks of death you'11 find him. His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him. "Land of Song," said the warrior bard, "Though all the world betrays thee, One sword at least thy rights shall guard One faitliful harp shall praise thee." The minstrel feil — but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under, The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder, And said: "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery, Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery." Th. Moore. A STORY OP A BURIED TREASTTRE. Leo and Peter were having tea in the schoolroom. Leo, aged fourteen, was busily engaged in dropping lumps of sugar into his tea-cup, while Peter, aged nine, was carefully and laboriously scraping out the jam-pot. Judging by the careful toilet of the boys, it appeared likely that they were expecting a visitor. Such was indeed the case. "Do you think she'11 be here soon?" asked Peter, skilfully catching a drop of jam on his finger and transferring it to his mouth. "I shouldn't wonder," replied the elder boy. "I wish Nora and Doll were at home. I feel just the least little bit—well, quaky at the idea of meeting a strange girl." "There's safety in numbers," remarked Peter, cheerfully. "There will be two of us. Besides, she may not be half bad. Nora and Doll are jolly enough, and she may take after them. Teil me something about her; I don't know much. I don't even know her name. Mother always calls her Baby?" "Bother it all! Neither do I!" answered Leo, with a look of dismay, "I only know that she's ten and she's come to stay with us, because father is her guardian and she is our cousin, you know. Her father only died two months ago, so you'11 have to be nice to her." "Of course I shall," said Peter indignantly. "I shall be awfully nice. If she is very decent I might give her one of my rabbits; not Spot but the one with the white." "Shut up! Here she comes," whispered Leo nervously. The door opened and a small girl, dressed in black, made her appearance. There was an awkward silence. The small girl gazed shyly at the two boys, and Peter kicked Leo to signify that he was the eldest. Thus awakened to a sense of his duty, Leo shook hands with his guest and hastily drew up a chair for her. "How do you do?" he said. "Will you sit down? Have you had tea in the drawing-room? That's a lucky thing.because Peter and I have pretty nearly ünished up everything here. This is Peter, you know. My sisters, Nora and Dorothy are away at present, but they'11 be home in a month's time. Er — would you mind telling us your name.' *Una," replied the child shyly. Leo began to laugh. "How awfully funny," he said. "I think it is a very pretty name," replied Una flushmg. Leo hastened to apologize. "Oh yes, the name's all rig t. was only laughing because my name is Leo and "Leo is Latin for lion, and some chap once wrote a book about Una and the Lion. Do you seë?" "Oh, I know," responded Una eagerly. "Edmund Spenser wrote it, and I've read it and it is so lovely. The Lion al- ways helped Una, and guarded her and kept her from harm. We had a splendid book about it at home and father used to let me read it." She glanced with sorrowful eyes at her black dress. Leo involuntarily stretched out his hand to her. "Fm awfully sorry," he said. Somehow the kind grasp of his hand soothed Una's lonely heart and her face brightened. "That's better," said Peter, who did not like to see sad faces. «I say, Una, do you play dólls?" ^ "No" she replied proudly. "Of course I don't, Fm ten. "Oh'well, Nora '11 change all that," said Peter comfortably. "You'11 like Nora and Dolly, I expect. They are such splendid girls, nearly as good as boys. They can swim and row and play hockey and cricket and football and tennis and climb trees; and they'11 teach you to, Fm sure. And oh, they do have such jolly fun with their dolls. We have awfully exciting times playing at mine-explosions and frisky horses and cricket-matches and desert islands, and circuses and—heaps of other things," cried Peter, waxing eloquent with his theme. Would you like to see round the place a bit?" inquired Leo, as he rose from the table. "I'm sorry I have to do some work now, but Peter will take you to see things." "Thank you,'" said Una gratefully, and she and Peter set off on their tour of inspection. "We'11 go down the gallery, first," remarked Peter. "Are you fond of pictures? Some of these look gloomy old things, don't they? But they are our ancestors, so we're bound to take an interest in them. That boy was only my age when he died. He feil from his horse and was killed. That fiercelooking man was a very great-great grandfather. I don't know how many greats, but he lived in the Wars of the Roses' time, so he must be pretty old. There is some legend that he buried a lot of treasure and died without showing where it was hidden. That funny-looking old man at the top is my greatest-grandfather. He founded the house. We've a lot of shut-up rooms and secret hiding-places and passages that I'll show you some time and a lumber room that is a splendid place on wet days. Now come and look^j at the dogs." Peter hurried his companion away, evidently glad to have finished with his ancestors. Una on her part, would gladly have lingered, gazing reverently on the cracked canvases and makiug stories about the hooked-nosed gentlemen and stiff ladies, but she suffered herself to be led to more lively interests. II The two children soon became firm friends. Under Peter's guidance Una lost her primness and proved a very good companion. She was not boyish in her tastes, but she developed a quiet courage, which won the boys' respect. They could not well look down on a girl who walked across a tree plaeed over the river simply because Leo said she dared not; and who, on another occasion, separated two dogs that were fighting. Peter and she were together all day long. Together they learnt their lessons; together they looked for the eggs in the early morning; together they feil into scrapes and out of tliem, and together they read their favourite books. They spent as must time as possible out of doors. However, one day the rain feil so persistently that the children were unable to go out and then Peter thought of his promise to show Una the lumber room and the secret passages. It was rightly called the lumber room for it was full of all kinds of things: old coats of armour, antiquated cabinets, chairs, a spinet and a large oak jchest. The children enjoyed themselves thoroughly. Each] found something to his mind. "Oh, I say, look here! What a delightful sword!" "Oh what a darling little hood! Just see what I've found in the chest." "Well, I never! If this isn't the very axe my great-greatgrandfather has in the picture in the hall! I'm certain it is the same, but it frightfully rusty." "Oh! Here's a book!" There was silence for a few minutes, Peter was trying to brighten up the axe with his jacket, while Una seated on the dusty floor, bent over the dusty book. But she had soon finished it; then she plaeed it once more in the chest. "Where's Leo?" she asked. "Don't you think he'd like to come here?" "He has been here often enough, you may be sure, replied the boy. "I told him that we were going here to-day and he said that I should show you that old cabinet. He said there was supposed to be a secret drawer in it and he advised to try and find it. Shall we try? "Of course we will," said Una excitedly. "Why didn't you teil me before. Is this the thing? Why it doesn't even lock." "Never mind, let's set to work to tap the drawers. Leo says, he read the other day, that sometimes a drawer had a doublé lining. I will take them out and give them to you." The two children worked on in silence for some time; nothing was heard but the squeaking of the drawers and the growls of Peter as he pinched his fingers. "Pm getting tired of this," he said, as he handed down the sixth drawer. "Let's give it up and do something better." But Una replied: "We haven't looked at them all, Peter. Give me down that small one from the top. That looks the likeliest of all." Peter lifted it down, grumbling somewhat as he knocked his head against a knob. "Peter! Oh Peter! Leo was right! Look it's just as he said," cried Una in delight, as the false bottoms slid back. "And oh, Peter, there's something in it." Una's voice sank almost to a whisper. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Let me see it," cried Peter in great excitement, jumping hurriedly down from his perch amid clouds of dust. "Why, it's only a little bit of dirtv paper," he cried in disgust. "You made such a fuss, I thoughtitwas diamonds or money at least." "See what it says," she said spreading the paper before her. Peter bent over it too, and this is what they read: "In case this paper falls into the hands of any of my heirs I wish to state that I have buried a large treasure. Lift up to brass firedog on the hearthstone and thou wilt see a cavity. Plunge tliy hand boldly in and thou shalt find a wooden box bounds with leather thongs. Gilbert de Cockerham 1461." "There! What do you think of that?" "Think of that?" echoed Peter. "It's the best day s work we have ever done in all our lives. I should like to dance with joy. Just think Una'we, the-two youngest people in the house, have- discovered a secret that no one else has ever succeeded in discovering." "That's because no one ever tried. Besides we have not go the treasure yet." III The next morning was again wet, so they could visit the lumber room once more. "It looks as if some one had been in here,' said Una. «I'm sure we didn't leave the cabinet open. "Nonsense; who'd be likely to come? Help me to lift this dog. It's pretty heavy." . The dog was lifted and Una in a trembling voice read the directions. Peter plunged his hand in, but found — nothmg "Where on earth can the thing have got to?" he asked in perplexity. — "You feel Una. Una feit carefully round the sides. "There is nothmg u this," she said, holding up a small^piece of parchment. "Oh, but look, there is something on it." The paper was written bv the same hand and contamed these words: "I intended to place the treasure in this hole but I have changed my mind. The box has been plaeed under the ancient oak tree in the terrace garden. Dig and thou shalt find it under the surface of the earth to the lef side of the big root." , , , Una looked at Peter with grave eyes. "That must be the tree Leo was climbing yesterday. What a pity it is raming; we might have gone now." "Let's go," said Peter. "You aren't afraid of a little rain, Una. Do, do come." Una looked doubtfully at the black clouds and the rain pouring down. "No," she said. "Of course we can't go. Don't be silly Peter and oh, please, don't be cross." "You're a namby-pamby girl," cried Peter scornfully. «I've a good mind to go without you. Afraid of rain! You aren't salt, you won't melt." And Peter rushed out of the room in a temper. That evening when Una was in bed and nurse had gone downstairs, a little white figure crept to her bedside, and a gruff little voice said: "I say, Una, I'm sorry, I was so horrid, only I did feel cross. It seemsf as if we should never get the treasure. I was so disappointed." "Never mind, Peter," said Una brightly. «Stay and talk; I'm feeling so lonely." Peter climbed on the bed and nestled snugly beneath the eider down, and the two children enjoyed a long talk. "I'm longing to teil Leo," said Peter. "Won't he stare when he knows. It will be such fun to show him the treasure and explain about it afterwards. Won't it? We'U just keep the secret till his birthday." "And his birthday is the day after to-morrow," replied Una, clapping her hands. "We'11 dig up the box to-morrow, and give him a diamond ring for a present, or a scarf-pin." — They talked on and on about their secret till nurse came upstairs. Una was the first to hear her on the stairs. "Nurse is coming," she whispered. «Be quick; good night, dear old Peter; think of the beautiful diamonds and the gold and silver." Iv At last. The day had dawned, and the sun shone clear and bright. At twelve o'clock they shoiild be free. Oh, how slowly the hours passecL1! Miss Smith had two inattentive little pupils that morning. The moment the clock struck twelve the books were hastily pushed away and the two rushed out to the terracé, Peter armed with a spade and Una clasping tightly the paper of directions. When they arrived at the oak tree they encountered Leo. The children looked at each other dismayed ; they must keep the secret from him. An idea came to Peter. "I say Leo," he said, "I saw your stamp-book on the nursery floor, and the stamps were all over the place. I'd have put them straight, only —" There was no need for him to say more. Leo was oft' like a shot, for stamp collecting was his pet hobby and for his book to be on the floor and his prized stamps all over the place —! "Let's be quick," said Peter nervously. "I'll dig first and when I'm tired you can take a turn, because I expect the treasure 's pretty deep." As he turned up a clod of turf with his spade, curiously enough, it struck almost immediately on the lid of a box. The children's faces grew rosy with excitement. The box was not a large one and was soon lifted out. It seemed an eternity before the straps were unfastened and the lid raised. They pressed forward eagerly to look in; then they drew back with blank faces. For all the treasure that the box contained was a paper on which was written in a large clear hand . "April Fooi." Suddenly they heard a laugh behind them. "Ha! ha!" laughed Leo's voice. "The first of April to-day, you know! You were taken in! I didn't think you would be so green, especially you Peter." Before Leo could say more Peter had thrown himself on him like a young tiger. But a small boy of nine is no match for a lad of fourteen. Leo held him off with one hand, while with the other he gave him a few sound cuffs till Peter, wrenching himself free, rushed away. Una had stood by while the boys were struggling. Now she turned to the elder brother. "You wicked, wicked boy," she cried passionately. "I hate you! I hate you! Peter won't ever love you again and Pil never speak to you as long as I live. I don't know how you could beat Peter so. You're just a great big bully, that's what you are." "Shut up," cried Leo angrily. "Fm not a bully. If a fellow cannot correct his younger brother a bit, things have come to a fine state. That's not bullving. It'11 do Peter a lot of good. He flew at me first; besides I didn't hurt him. You're just a silly girl and I don't care a brass farthing whether you speak to me or not. I've had my fun. When I put that first bit of paper in the cabinet I had no idea you would follow it up so. You feil into the trap easily enough. I wonder you didn't guess anything." And Leo chuckled to himself. But the joke did not prove so amusing as he had expected. Something was wanting. He told himself that he had not expected that the little beggars would take it to lieart so much. Una, at his last remark, burst into tears of rage and disappointment. At the sight of her distress Leo melted. "Oh, Una, don't cry," he said. "Pm a beast, I know, Fm awfully sorry. I thought it would be such a lark to take you in, but I really didn't think you'd mind so much. Do stop crying." There was silence for a moment. Then Leo continued: "Pm going away soon, Una, so let's make it up. You won't have me plague you much longer. Fm going to London next week to be coached for my Navy exam. I shall have to cram all through the holidays for I'm frightfully behindhand with my work." And at this dismal thought Leo's voice became quite melancholy. Una's sobs had ceased. She was listening. So Leo was going away, Leo whom she had looked upon as so kind and brotherly until to-day. She remembered how friendly he had been from the first. He looked sad too and was really sorry, so she stretched out her hand towards him. «It'g all right," Una said briefly and Leo shook hands with a relieved sigh. _ . „ . ■ j "Father gave me my pocket-money this mornmg, he said. Til give you and Peter a treat at Tucker's. They have rip- ping tarts and I've never tasted anything better than their toffee. Let's go and find Peter. It's all right now Una, isn't it ?" «Quite all right, old Lion," replied Una laughing, as they ran off to find Peter. Peter was in the stable yard. He affected not to see his brother when Leo and Una came towards him. Leo went up to him. "Peter," he said, "Una and I are gomg down to Tuckers's. Are you coming?" Peter turned a sulky face towards the stable wall, and kicke up the gravel at his feet, but said nothing. "Don't be an ass," said his brother. "I.only did it for fun, you know. Una and I have made it up. Come along, old man. Think of the tarts and the toffee." With a great effort Peter brought himself to forgive his brother, and chocolate, toffee, lemonade and cakes did their part to ensure a perfect understanding. lament op the irish emigrant . I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May morning long ago, When first you were my bride: The corn was springing fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high — And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark's loud song is in my ear And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek, And I still keep listening for the words You never more will speak. 't Is but a step down yonder lane And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary, I see the spire from here. But the grave-vard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest — For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends, But oh! they love the better still, The few our Father sends! And you were all I had, Mary, My blessing and my pride; There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on. When the trust in God had left my soul And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow — I bless you, Mary, for that same Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patiënt smile When your heart was fit to break, When the hunger pain was gnawing there And you hid it, for my sake! I bless you for the pleasant word, When your heart was sad and sore — Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can't reach you more! I'm bidding you a long farewell, My Mary — kind and true, But I'll not forget you, darling! In the land I'm going to; They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there, But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair. And often in those grand old woods I'll sit and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies; And I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side: And the springing corn, and the bright May mom, When first you were my bride. Lady Gifford. 8 THE FATE OP HYACINTHUS. Once when Apollo, the Sun-God, was driving in his chariot across the peninsula of Greece, he saw in the palace gardens of a Spartan king a beautiful boy at play. No sooner did the sun-god set eyes upon the king's son, than he loved him and desired to have him for his own. He quickly won the boy's affection and the two were like father and son, so happy were they in their love for one another. They walked and drove together, and played at merry games in the king's gardens, while Apollo lavished upon the boy gifts rich and costly, for he thought nothing too good for his beautiful Hyacinthus. Thus for a time all went well, until Zephyr, the West-wind, who also loved the boy, grew jealous of his evident preference for the sun-god. By all the means in his power Zephyr tried to win the love of Hyacinthus, but the youth took no heed, and in spite of the West-wind's gentle words and tender soft caresses, he continued to love Apollo best. So Zephyr became more and more angry and jealous. Day by day he watched the two friends and awaited his opportunity for revenge. Now it happened one bright spring morning that Apollo and Hyacinthus were playing a game of quoits together. The boy's merry laugh rang through the clear air and reached the ear of Zephyr, who was hiding in the branches of some trees near by. An angry look passed over his face as he exclaimed: "He shall die! Rather than give him up to Apollo, I will cause his death!" Just at that moment Apollo raised his arm and threw his quoit. Straight as a dart it sped, till a strong gust of wind, raised for the purpose by the angry Zephyr, changed its course, so that it struck Hyacinthus upon the head and killed him on the spot. And now the revenge of the West-wind was complete for not only had Apollo lost the object of his love, but he had slain him with his own hands. The sun-god was frantic with grief, and casting himself upon the body of his favourite, he wept loud and long. "Oh, my beloved," he cried, "come back, come back to me!" But he could not restore the boy to life again. There was but one thing he could do, and in order that the memory of his darling might always remain fresh and fragraut among men, he changed the beautiful but lifeless form into a sweet and lovely flower. So year by year with each returning spring the hyacinths reappear, reminding us of the illfated youth whose life was sacrificed to Jealousy! WE ARE SE VEN. The old stage-coach was rumbling along the dusty road. The day was as warm as midsummer, though it was only the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobb was sitting on the box, the reins loosely in his hands and his trimmed hat of worn feit well pulled over his eyes. There was one passenger in the coach, a small dark-haired peróon in a glossy calico dress. She was so slender and so stiffly starched that she slid from side to side on the leather cushions, though she braced herself against the middle seat with her feet, and held on to the sides with her cotton-gloved hands in order to maintain some sort of balance. Whenever the wheels sank farther down than usual she bounded involuntarily into the air, came down again, pushed back her funny little strawhat, and pickea up a small pink sunshade, which seemed to be her chief responsibility. When Mr. Cobb was about to leave the post-cffice in Maplewood that morning, a woman had come up to him with a girl of ten or eleven years old, and had asked him to take the child to her sisters in Riverboro, and to keep an eve on her on the way. She had paid the fare, and after helping her into the stage-coach and depositing a bundie and a bouquet of lilacs beside her, she had said: "Good-bye, Rebecca; try not to get into any mischief, and sit quiet, so as to look nice and neat when you get there." "Good-bye, mother; don't worry. You know it isn't as if I hadn't travelled before." The woman gave a short laugh and said to Mr. Cobb: "She's been to Wareham and stayed overnight; that isn't much to be journey-proud on!" "It was travelling, mother," said the child eagerly. "It was leaving the farm, and putting up lunch in a basket, and a little riding, and a little railway-journey, and we carried our nightgowns." "Don't teil the whole village about it if we did," said the mother. "Have not I told you before," she whispered, "that you shouldn't talk about nightgowns and stockings and things like that in a loud tone of voice ?" "I know, mother, I know, and I won't. All I want to say is," — here Mr. Cobb gave a cluck and the horses started — "all I want to say is that it is a journey when" — the stage was roally under way now and Rebecca had to put her head out of the window over the door in order to finish her sentence, "it is a journey when you carry a nightgown." All this had been half an hour ago, and the sun, the heat and the dust had made Mr. Cobb quite forget his promise of keeping an eye on Rebecca. Suddenly he heard a small voice above the rumble of the wheels and the creaking of the harness. He turned his head over his shoulder and saw a small shape hanging far out of the window. A. long black braid of hair swung with the motion of the coach; the child held her hat in one hand and with the other tried to touch the driver with her microscopie sunshade. "Please, let me speak!" she called. Mr. Cobb drew up the horses. «Does it cost any more to ride up there with you?" she asked. "It's so slippery here, and the windows are so small I can only see pieces of things." "You can come up if you want to," said Mr. Cobb with a good-natured grin; "there is no extra charge to sit beside me." "Whereupon he helped her out and up to the front seat. Rebecca sat down carefully, smoothing her dress under her with great precision, and putting her sunshade under its extended folds between the driver and herself. This done, she pushed back her hat, pulled up her darned white cotton gloves and said delightedly: "Oh, this is better! This is like travelling! I am a real passenger now, and down there I feit like a hen shut up in a coop. I hope we have a long way to go?" "Oh, we've only just started; it's more than two hours." "Only two hours!" she sighed. "That will be half past one; the children at home will have had their dinner, and Hannah cleared all away. I have some lunch, for mother said it would be a bad beginning to arrivé hungry. It's a fine day, isn't it?" "It is, certainly; too hot almost. Why don't you put up your parasol." '—She extended her dress still further over the article in question as she said: «Oh dear no! I never put it up when the sun shines. Pink fades awfully, you know; I only carry itto church on cloudy sundays. It's the dearest thing in life to me; but it's an awful care. Miss Ross, a lady that paints, gave me the sunshade. Did you notice the doublé ruffle and the white tip and handle? They're ivory." "How many are you at home?" asked Mr. Cobb to whom the pink sunshade was not of the same interest as to its owner. "Seven. There's verses about seven children: "Quick was the little maid's reply "O master, we are seven !" I learned to recite them in school. — Hannah is the oldest, I come next, then John, then Jenny, then Mark, then Fanny, then Mira." "Well, that is a big family!" "Far too big, everybody says," replied Rebecca, with an unexpected and grown-up wisdom, which made Mr. Cobb stare. "They 're dear, but such a bother and cost so much to clothe and feed, you see," she rippled on. "Hannah and I haven't done anything but put babies to bed at night and take them up in the morning for years and years. And Miranda wanted Hannah to come instead of me, but mother couldn't spare her; she can do housework better than I." "Your farm isn't old Hobbs' place, is it?" "No, it's Randall's farm — at least that's what mother calls it. I call it Sunnybrook Farm because there is a little brook and when the sun shines on it, it's full of sparkles. Doesn't your stomach feel hollow? Mine does. I could not eat any breakfast this morning." "You 'd better have your lunch then. I don't eat till I get to Milltown." "I wish I could see Milltown. I wonder if it is like Paris. Miss Ross told me about Paris; she bought my pink sunshade there." "Paris is not so great. I've driven there many a time; it is the dullest place in the State of Maine." "Paris is the capital of France, Mr. Cobb," she said instructively, "and you have to go to it in a boat. It's in my geography, and it says: "The French are a gay and polite people, fond of dancing and light wines." I can see Paris as plamas day by just shutting my eyes. Tbe beautiful ladies are a gaily dancing around with pink sunshades, and the gentlemen are also dancing and drinking wine. But you can see Milltown almost every day with your eyes open. «If your aunt will let you, I'll take you down to Milltown some day when the stage isn t full. _ A thrill of excitement ran through Rebecca's frame, she pressed Mr. Cobb's knee ardently and said: "Oh, it can't be true! It's like having a fairy godmother, who asks you your wish and then gives it you. Did you ever read "Cinderella or "The Yellow Dwarf', or "The enchanted Frog"? "No," said Mr. Cobb after a moment's reflection, "I dont think I ever did read those particular ones." «I've read lots of books," said Rebecca, "father's, ana Miss Ross's, and all the school-teachers, and all in the Sunday-school library. I've read "The. Lamplighter", and "Ivanhoe and "TheHeir of Redclyffe", and "David Copperfield", and^Pilgrim's Progress", and lots more. What have you read?' "I've never happened to read those books, butl have read in my time," said Mr. Cobb evasively. "Look, there's the river again; this is the last long hill, and when we get to the top of it we shall see the chimneys of Riverboro' in the distance. Rebecca's hand stirred nervously in her lap, and she moved in her seat. "I didn't think I was going to be afraid," she said almost under her breath; but I suppose I am, just a little bit when you say it's coming so near. "Would you go back," asked Mr. Cobb. Her big eyes üashed and she said proudly: "I'd never go back — I might be frightened but I should be ashamed to run. Going to aunt Miranda's is like going down a cellar in the dark. Is there a main street at Riverboro? "Well, I suppose you might call it a main-street, but there are no large shops; the quiet part of the village is on this side the river." "Oh, I'm sorry, for else I might have put up mysunshade, and held the bunch of lilacs in my hand, and we might have driven in in great state." "W hj there is no harm in our making the grand entry. ' I'll take the whip out and" — "Oh, but I forgot," interrupted the child while a look of disappointment passed over her face, "I suppose I ought to go and sit inside; mother put me in, and perhaps she wants me to be there when I arrivé. May be, I shall be more genteel inside, I shall not have to jump down and my clothes won't fly up, but I can open the door and step down like a lady passenger. Will you please stop a minute, Mr. Cobb, and let me change." The stage-driver good-naturedlv pulled up his horses, lifted the excited little creature down, opened the door and helped her in, putting the lilacs and the pink sunshade beside her. "We have had a grand time," he said, "and we've got quite well acquainted, haven't we? You won't forget about Milltown?" "Never!" she exclaimed fervently, "and you're sure you won' 't either?" "Never!" vowed Mr. Cobb solemnly as he remounted the box. And as the stage rumbled down the village street, those who looked from their windows saw a little brown girl in calico sitting primly on the back-seat holding a great bouquet tightly in one hand, and a pink parasol in the other. Htfd they been far-sighted enough, they might have seen a calico yoke rising and falling over the beating heart beneath, the red colour coming and going in two pale cheeks, and a mist of tears swimming in two brilliant dark eyes — Rebecca's journey had ended. home fob the holidays. Home for the Holidays, here we go; Bless me the train is exceedingly slow! Pray Mr. Engineer, get up your steam, And let us be off, with a puff and a scream! We have two long hours to travel you say; Come Mr. Engineer, gallop away! Two hours more! why the sun will be down Before we reach dear old London town! And then, what a number of fathers and mothers, And uncles and aunts, and sisters, and brothers, Will be there to meet us, oh! do make haste, For I'm sure, Mr. Guard, we have no time to waste! Thank goodness, we shan't have to study and stammer Over Latin, and sums, and that nasty French grammar Lectures, and classes, and lessons are done And now we'11 have nothing but frolic and fun. Home for the holidays, here we go! But this fast train is really exceedingly slow. We shall have sport when Christmas comes, When snapdragon burns our fingers and thumbs; We'11 hang mistletoe over dear little cousins, And pull them beneath it, and kiss them by dozens; We shall have games at blind-man's-buff, And noise and laughter, and romping enough: We'11 crown the plum-pudding witch bunches of bav, And roast all the chestnuts that come in our way; And when Twelfth Night falls, we'11 have such a cake That, as we stand round it, the table will quake. We'11 draw "King and Queen" and be happy together, And dance old "Sir Roger" with hearts like a feather; Home for the holidays, here we go! But this fast train is really exceedingly slow! And we'11 go and see Harlequin's wonderful feats, Changing by magie whatever he meets; And Columbine too, with her beautiful tripping, And clown, with his tumbling, and jumping, and slipping, Cramming all things in his pocket so big, And letting off crackers in Pantaloon's wig. The horses that danced too, last year in the ring We remember the tune, it was sweet Tink-a-Ting; And their tails and their manes, and their sleek coats so bright; Some cream and some piebald, some black and some white, And how Mr. Merriman made us all shout When he feil from the horse and went rolling about. We'11 be sure to go there — 't is such capital fun, And we won't stir an inch till it's every bit done! Mr. Punch, we'11 have him too, our famous old friend; One might see him for ever and laugh to the end; With his little dog Toby, so clever and wise, And poor Mrs. Judy, with tears in her eyes; With the constable taking him off to the bar, And the gentleman talking his "Shalla-balla"; With the flourishing stick that knocks all of them down, For Punch's delight is in breaking a crown. Home for the Holidays, here we go! But really this train is exceedingly slow. Yet stay! I declare here is London at last; The Park is right over the tunnel just passed. Huzza! huzza! I can see my papa, I can see George's uncle and Edward's mamma! And Fred, there's your brother, look! look! there he stands; They see us! they see us! they're waving their hands! Why doesn't the train stop? what are they about? Now, now, it is steady — oh! pray let us out! A cheer for old London, a kiss for mamma, We're home for the holidays. Now huzza! E. Oook. the white ship. King Henry the first went over to Normandy with his son Prince William and a great retinue, to have the prince acknowledged as his successor by the Norman nobles, and to arrange a marriage between him and the daughter of the count of Anjou. When both these things had been done with great show and rejoicing, they prepared to embark for the voyage home. When all was ready there came to the king a sea-captain called Fitz-Stephen, and said: "My father served your father all his life on the sea. He steered the ship with the golden boy upon the prow, in which your father sailed to conquer England. I have a fair vessel in the harbour here, called the white ship, manned by fifty good sailors. I pray you, Sire, to let your servant have the honour of steering you in the White Ship to England." «I am sorry, friend," replied the king, "that my vessel is already chosen and that I cannot therefore sail with the son of the man who served my father. But the prince with all his company shall go along with you in the fair white ship, manned by the fifty good sailors.' An hour on two afterwards the king set sail in the vessel he had chosen, accompanied by other vessels, and, sailing all night with a fair and gentle wind, arrived upon the coast of England in the morniug. While it was yet night the people in some of the ships had heard a faint, wild cry over the sea and had wondered what it was. The prince went aboard the White Ship with one hundred and forty voung nobles like himself, and eighteen noble ladies of the highest rank. All this gay company, with their servants and the fifty sailors, made three hundred souls aboard the fair White Ship. "Give three casks of wine to the sailors, Fitz-Stephen," said the prince. "My father the king has sailed from the harbour. What time is there to make merry here, and yet reach England with the rest?" "Prince," said Fitz-Stephen, "before morning my fifty and the White Ship shall overtake the swiftest vessel in attendance on your father the king if we sail at midnight.'' Then the prince commanded to make merry and the sailors drank out the three casks of wine and the prince and all the noble company danced in the moonlight on the deck of the White Ship. When at last she set out of the harbour of Harfleur, there was not a sober seaman on board. But the sails were all set, and the oars going merrily, and Fitz-Stephen at the helm. The gay young nobles and the beautiful ladies, wrapped up in mantles to protect them from the cold, talked, laughed and sang. The prince encouraged the sailors to row harder yet, for the honour of the White Ship. Crash! a terrific cry broke from three hundred hearts. It was the cry the people in the distant vessels of the king heard faintly on the water. The White Ship had struck 011 a rock and was going down! Fitz-Stephen hurried the prince into a boat with some few nobles. "Push off," he whispered, "and row to the land. It is not far and the sea is smooth. The rest of us must die." But as they rowed away from the sinking ship, the prince heard the voice of his sister calling for help. Never in his life had he been so good as he was then. He cried: "row back! I cannot bear to leave her!" They rowed back. As the prince held out his arms to catch his sister, such numbers leaped in, that tbe boat was upset. And in the same instant the White Ship went down. Only two men floated on the surface of the water: a nobleman Godfrey by name, and a poor butcher of Rouen. B\ and by another man came swimming towards them, whom they knew, when he had pushed aside his long wet hair, to be Fitz-Stephen. When he lieard that the prince and all his retmue had wone down, Fitz-Stephen cried: "Woe, woe is me!" and sank to the bottom. The other two clung to the yard for some hours. Atlength the young noble saidfaintly: "lam exhausted and benumbed with the cold and can hold on no longer. Farewell good friend. God preserve you." So he dropped and sank, and of all the brilliant crowd the poor butcher of Rouen alone was saved. In the mormng some fishermen saw him floating in his sheep-skm coat, and got him into their boat. , , For three days none dared to carry the intelligence to the king- at length they sent a little boy into his presence, who, weeping bitterly, and kneeling at his feet, told him that t ie White Ship was lost with all on board. The king feil to the ground like a dead man, and never afterwards was seen to smile. the frog that went a-travelling. Once upon a time there lived a frog. He dwelt in a marsh j cauerht gnats and moths, and during the spring croaked lustily in "chorus with his friends. And thus he would have lived in comfort and died full of days, provided, of course, bewas not eaten up by the stork. But there happened an event He was sitting one day on a twig that rose above the water, enjoying the warm drizzling rain. „Ah, what beautiful wet weather we are having," he thought. "What a delight it is to live in the world." The rain oozed down his variegated, glistening back; drops of it rolled down his belly and under his legs, and this caused him great pleasure, — such pleasure that he was nigh on croaking, — but fortunately he remembered that it was already autumn and that in the autumn frogs do not croak, a wise Providence having specially designed the spring for that purpose. Wherefore, reflecting on the loss of dignity that might have resulted had he croaked, he maintained a delighted silence. Suddenly a shrill, swishing, irregular sound was borne through the air. There is a species of duck the wings of which in flying cut the air with a sort, of singing, or rather whistling, sound. You can hear this whistling as they pass overhead, though the ducks themselves are invisible, so high they fly. This time, having described a huge half-circle, they came down on the very marsh where dwelt the frog. "Quack, quack,"said one of them. "We have a long iiiglit before us. Let us eat." Whereupon the frog at once sought safety in hiding. Though he knew that the ducks could not think of eating him, great fat frog as he was, he avoided all risks by diving under. But after thinking a while, he decided to thrust his bead-eyed liead out of the water, as he very much wanted to find out where the ducks were flying to. "Quack, quack," said another duck, "it is getting cold. Let us hurry southwards." Whereat the otlier ducks loudly quacked their approval. "Ladies," the frog ventured to say, "what do you mean by flying south wards? To what place are you flying? Pray excuse me for troubling you." Hereupon the ducks surrounded the frog. Their first feeling was a desire to eat him; but each reflected that he was too big, and she could not swallow him. Then, flapping their wings, they all began to shout: "It is warm in the south! The South is good! Such fine warm marches! And such worms! It is good in the South! They shouted so that the frog was nearly deafened. It was all he could do to persuade them to stop, and then he asked one of them, who seemed to him bigger and wiser than the others, to explain to him what the South was. And when she told him all about the South, he could scarcely contain himself with delight. But, being cautious, he finally asked: "But are there plenty of moths and gnats there. «Oh, heaps of them," was the answer. "Cra!" croaked the frog, and immediately looked round to see of any of his friends were near who, having heard liim, would scorn him for croaking in the autumn. He really could not help croaking just once. "Take me with you!" "That surprises me!" exclaimed the duck. "How can we take you? You haven't got wings." "When will you start?" asked the frog. «Soon, soon!" shouted all the ducks. "It is cold here!— Southwards, Southwardsl" "Give me just five minutes to think," said the frog. "111 be back directly and I'm sure to think of something good." And he splashed from the twig, on which he had climbed again, into the water, dived into the mire and quite buried himself in it, so that his attention should not be distracted and he might think. Five minutes passed. The ducks were just on the point of starting, when suddenly near the twig the frog's head showed again with the most radiant expression a frog can by any possibility assume. "I have it, I have found it!" he said. "Let two of you take in their beaks a twig, and I shall catch hold of it in the middle. You will fly and I shall ride. If only you do not quack and I do not croak, all will go well." Although the ducks were not enraptured at the prospect of having to carry a large-sized frog a thousand miles, the frog's cleverness so roused their admiration that they agreed to take him. They found a good strong twig, two ducks took in their beaks, the frog seized hold of it in the middle and they rose into the air. The dreadful height to which they rose took the frog's breath away, and besides, they fiew unevenly and jerked the twig; poor froggy swung backwards and forwards like a loose signboard, and had to grip with all his might to avoid being jerked off and tumbling down on the ground. However, he soon got used to his position, and even began to venture a glance this way and that. Beneath him fields, meadows, rivers, and hills were rapidly fleeing; it was very difficult for him to make them out, because in his position he could only look backwards and slightly upwards, but something here and there he nevertheless could see, and he was glad and proud. "That was a great, an excellent thought of mine," he said to himself. And the other ducks flew behind the couple who were bearing him, shouting and praising him. "Wonderfully clever, froggy," they said. "You won't find many such heads even among ducks." He was about to thank them; but remembering that if he opened his mouth he would go tumbling down from a tremendous height, he gripned his jaws still more firmly and summoned all his patience. He was carried, swinging in this way, the whole day. The ducks jerked him terribly now and then; the feeling was dreadful, and the frog more than once almost croaked with fright; but presence of mind was needed, and he possessed it. In the evening the whole company stopped on some swamp. At dawn the travellers resumed their journey; but this time the frog, in order to better see the sights of the journey, took up a position head and back forward, and belly behind. The ducks flew over reaped fields, yellowing woods, and villages with well-filled corn-lofts. Fr om the latter came the sound of voices and threshingmachines. People looked at the flight of ducks, and noticing something strange in it, pointed it out to one another. And the frog wanted very much to fly nearer the earth to show himself and hear what they were saying about him. When next day they stopped he said: "Could we not fly a little lower? I grow so giddy at such a height and am afraid I shall fall if giddiness overcomes me." And the good-natured ducks promised to fly lower. The next day they flew so low that voices were heard. "Look, look," said the children in one village. "The ducks are carrying a frog!" «Look, look!" shouted the people in the next village. "What a wonder!" The frog heard this and his heart leapt. "Do they know that it was I, and not the ducks, who thought of this?" he said to himself. "Look, look!" they shouted in the next village. "What a wonder! who could have thought of such a clever thing? At this the frog could no longer control himself. "I did! I thought of it! The idea was minel" he shouted forgetting all prudence. And with this cry he went flying head downwards towards the earth. The ducks gave a loud shout, one of them attempted to catch théir poor companion in his downward flight, but missed. Down went the frog; swiftly jerking his four paws this way and that, but as the ducks had been flying very rapidly, he did not fall on the hard road above which they were at the moment of his fall, but was carried a long way beyond, which was very fortunate for him, as he went plump into a muddy pond at the end of the village. He soon came up again out of the water, and shouted out again in great excitement: "It was I thought of it." But round about him there was no one. The local frog folk, startled by the sudden splash, had all dived under in affright. When they came up again they looked with astonishment at the new arrival. And he told them a wonderful story of how he had thought all his life and had at last invented a new and unusual mode of travelling on ducks; how he had his own ducks to carry him where he wished; how he had been in the beautiful South, where life is so delightful, where there are such beautiful swamps and marshes, so many moths and gnats and other edible insects. "I just looked in to see how you were getting on," he said. "I shall stay with you till the spring, until the return of my du§ks, to whom I have given a holiday." But the ducks never returned. They thought the frog had been dashed to pieces on the ground and pitied him very much. THE MAY-QUEEN. You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year; Of all the glad New-Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day. Por I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. There's many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine, There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline: But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say, So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break: But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see But Robin, leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday, But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'mto be Queen o' the May. He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light, They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o the May. They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be; They say his heart is breaking, mother, — what is that to me? There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you will be there too, mother, to see me made the Queen, For the shepherd lads on every side will come from far^ away, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers, And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass; There will not be drop of rain the whole of the live-long day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 1'm to be Queen o' the May. All the valley, mother, will be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill. And the rivulet in the flowery dale will merrily glance and play, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year, To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest, merriést day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. NEW YEAK'S EVE. "If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year, It is the last New-Year that I shall ever see, Then you may lav me low in the mould, and think no more of me. To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind T'.ie good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind; Aad the New-Year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; Eeneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May: And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel-copse, Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops. There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane, I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high, I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave, But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave. Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early early morning the summer sun will shine, Bef ore the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still. When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light You'11 never see me more in the long gray fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool Over the oat-grass, and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. You'11 bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, And you '11 come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid, I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. I have been wild and wayward, but you'11 forgive me now, You'11 kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go, Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place, Though you'11 not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face; Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you, when you think I'm far away. Good-niglit, good-night, when I have said goodnight for evermore And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door; Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green: . She'11 be a better child to you than ever I have been. She '11 find my garden-tools upon the granary floor; Let her take them: they are hers: I shall never garden more; But teil her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set, About the parlour window and the box of mignonette. Good-night, sweet mother; call me before the day is born, All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn, But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-Year, So if you're waking, call me, call me early mother dear. Tennyson. THE NIGHTINGALE. In China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen also. The story I am going to teil you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. The emperor's palace was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of porcelain and very costly but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor's garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where it ended. Those who travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches. In one of these trees lived a nigthingale, who sangso beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and listen. Sometimes when they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing and say: "Oh, is not that beautiful!" Travellers from every country of the world came to the city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; hut when the,heardthe mghmoale they all declared it to be the hest of al). And the tra vellers, on theii return home, related what t ey a seen^ and leamed men wrote hooks, contaimng descnp bon. o he town, the palaee, the gardens; bnt they dri not forget the nightingale which was reallv the greatest won "• And those who oonld write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest_near^the deep sea. The books travelled all over the world and some of them came into the hands of the emperor; and as he rea£ he nodded bis approval every moment, for it pleased tam find such a heantiful description of tas city, tas patece >. his gardens. But when he came to the words „the ng gale is the most heantiful of all," he exclaimed: •What is this? I have never heard of auy nightingale Is there such a bird in my empire? and even m my gar en. I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learned from books.' _ _ Then he called one of his lords-in-waitmg who was so high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spo to him, or asked him a question, he would answer, Pooh which means nothing. «There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called nightingale," said the emperor; "they say it isthe bestthing in my large kingdom. Why have I not been told of it. «I have never heard the name," replied the cavalier; she has not been presented at court." . „ "It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evenmg, said the emperor; "the whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself." "I have never heard of her," said the cavalier, ye try to find her." But where was the nightingale to be found ? The nobleman ran up and down the halls and corridors, and asked every one he met, but none had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor and said that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. "Your imperial majesty," said he, "cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction." "But the book in which I have read this account," said the emperor, "was sent me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended." "Tsing-pe!" cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said: "Oh yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she lives down by the seashore, and as I come back I feel tired, and I sit down in the wood to rest and listen to the nightingale's song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me." "Little maiden," said the lord-in-waiting, "I will obtain for y°u constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace." So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang and half the court followed her. As they went along a cow began lowing. "Oh," said a young courtier, "now we have found her; what wonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly heard it before." "No, that is only a cow lowing," said the little girl, we are a long way from the place yet." Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh. "Beautiful!" said the young courtier again. "Now Ihearit, tinkling like little church bells." "No, those are frogs," said the little maiden; "but I think we shall soon hear her now;" and presently the nightingale began to sing. , "Hark, hark! there she is," said the little maiden, and there she sits," she added, pointing to a little grev bird, who was perched on a bough. "Is it possible?" said the lord-in-waiting. "I never imagined it would be a little, plain simple thing like that. She has certainly changed colour at seeing so many grand people around her." «Little nightingale," cried the girl, raising her voice, "our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before hirn. "With the greatest pleasure," said the nightingale, and began to sing most delightfully. «It sounds like tiny glass bells," said the lord-in-waitmg, «and see how her little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before; she will be a great success at court." "Shall I sing once more before the emperor?" asked the nightingale, who thought he was present. «My excellent little nightingale," said the courtier. «I have the great pleasure of in viting you to a court festival this evening, where you will gain imperial favour by vour charm- ing song." "My song sounds best in the green wood," said the bird; but still she came willingly when she heard the emperor's wish. The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors; what with the running to and fro, and the draught these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was present and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was now installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every eye was turned to the little grey bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor's eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to everybody's heart. The emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the honour with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. "I have seen tears in an emperor's eyes," she said, "that is my richest reward." "That singing is a lovely gift," said the ladies of the court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to anybody, so that they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to please. In fact the nightingale's visit was a great success. She was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying. The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said "nightin" and the other said "gale" and they understood what was meant, for nothmg else was talked of. One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written "The nightingale." "Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird," said the emperor. But instead of a book it was a work of art contained 111 a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was written «The emperor of China's nightingale is poor compared with that of the emperor of Japan. "This is very beautiful," exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had brought the artificial bird received the title of: lmperial—nightingale—bringer in chief." "Now they must sing together," said the court, "and what a duet it will be!" But they did not get onwell, for the real nightingale sang in its own natural way, but the artificia bird sang only waltzes. «That is not a fault," said the music-master, "it is quite perfect to my taste;" so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breastpins. Three and thirty tunes did it sing thirty-three times over, without bemg tired; the people would gladly have heard it agam, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing somethmg. But where was she? No one had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods «What strange conduct," said the emperor, when her fiight had been diëcovered; and all courtiers blamed her and said she was a Verv ungrateful creature. "But we "have the best bird after all," said one, and then they would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power. "For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we never can teil what is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed and why one note follows on another." "This is exactly what we think," they all replied, and then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. When they heard it they were like people intoxicated. They all said „Oh!" and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale said: "It sounds prettilv enough and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly teil what." And after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor's bed. The presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it, were round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of "Little-ImperialToilet-Singer" and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people. The music-master wrote a work in twenty-five volumes about the artificial bird, which was very learned and very long and full of the most difficult Chinese words: yet all the people said they had read it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon. So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird's song; and for that same reason it pleased them better. They could sing with the bird, which they often did. The streetboys sang "Zi-Zi-zi, cluck-cluck-cluck," and the emperor himself could sing it also. It was really most amusing. One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded «whirr". Then a spring cracked. "Whirr" went all the wheels, running round, and then the music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed and called for his physician; but what could he do? Then they sent for the watchmaker; and after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were worn and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowedto play once a year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. Five years passed and then a real grief came upon the land. The Chinese were really fond of their emperor, and now he lay so ill that he was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been chosen, and the people who stood in the street asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he onlv said "Pooh!" and shook his head. Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The Chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies' maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down in the halls and passages so that not a footstep should be heard. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay stiff and cold on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and the heavy gold tassels. A window stood open and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes and saw Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor's gold crown, and held in one hand his sword of State, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed were a number of strange heads, some very ugly and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the emperor s good and bad deeds, which stared liim in the face now that Death sat at his heart. "Do you remember this?" "Do you recollect that?" they asked one after another, then bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the perspiration stand on his brow. "I know nothing about it," said the emperor. "Music! music!" he cried. "The large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say." But they still went on and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said. "Music, music!" shouted the emperor. "You little precious gold bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents. I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck: Sing! sing!" But the bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note. — Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes and the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale. She had heard of the emperor's illness, and had come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sang, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor's veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even Death himself listened and said: "Go on, little nightingale, go on." "Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword, and that rich banner? and will you give me the emperor's crown?" said the bird. So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song and the nightingale continued her singing. She sang of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the eldertrees waft their perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners' tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window. "Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed and banished Death from my heart with your sweet song. How can I reward you?" "You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I shall never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But now sleep and grow strong and well. I will sing to you again." And as she sang the emperor feil into a sweet sleep; and how mild and refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and restored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one of his servants had returned — they all believed he was dead, only the nightingale still sat beside liim and sang. "You must always remain with me," said the emperor. "You shall sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces." "No; do not do that," replied the nightingale; "the bird did very well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I cannot live in the palace and build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant's cot. I love your heart better than your crown, though something holy lingers round that also. I will come and sing to you, but you must promise me one thing." "Everything," said the emperor, who having dressed himself in his imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the gold sword pressed to his heart. "I only ask you one thing," she replied; "let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it." So saying the nightingale flew away. The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when lo! there he stood and, to their astonishment, said "Good morning." BREAKING-UP DAY. "O, Miss Reynolds, do you think it will be fine to-morrow ?» "I am sure I hope so, my dear. It does look a little dark over there, but let us hope for the best. It would be dreadful to have all the people indoors; the hall is big and we have the adjoining schoolroom, but still, I am afraid we shall be crowded, even if several people stay away, which they are sure to do when it is very wet." Miss Reynolds was the lady-principal of a large school for girls. The summer term had come to an end and the next day was to be breaking-up day. The lessons were over, the girls were to go home on the day following the breaking-up, the boxes had been packed, so there was nothing for them to do but to help in the preparation for the great event of the year. The lady-principal had tried to get an M. P. to give away the prizes, but as this gentleman had been obliged to decline, she had applied to a countess, who lived iii the neighbourhood and she had been very glad when this great lady had pro- mised to come. . _ i The great day had arrived. The sun was shining brightly. There was no cloud in the sky. Early in the morning the girls were busily running up and down to get everything ready. A long table was put on the lawn, covered with a pretty cloth and on it the prizes, all books, were laid. Then the needle- work, which the girls had done during the year was arranged on a' table and, I ara afraid, the nicest bits of works were put on the top so as to make it all appear to best advantage. On another table the best drawings were displayed. Rows of chairs were put on the grass so as to face some easy-chairs for the countess, the head-mistress, the vicar, and the mayor. A Maypole was put in the middle, for there was to be May- pole-dancing. On one side of the house a long table wasset ready for the tea which was to be handed round. The girls were terribly excited, and Miss Reynolds and the other mistresses had to do all they could to prevent them from tiring themselves too much. After a hasty lunch the finishing touches were put to the arrangements, and when all was ready the first guests soon made their appearance. There were some fathers, uncles and guardians but chiefly mothers, aunts and other lady-friends of the girls or the mistresses. Miss Reynolds received them, and some of the girls had to find them places. At last when all the guests were seated a carriage drove up and the countess descended from it. The headmistresses conducted her to the place destined for her, the vicar and the mayor sat down by her side, the girls took the places set apart for them on one side of the lawn, and everybody was ready for the prize-giving to begin. The lady-principal made a little speech, in which she wel- comed all her guests and said how pleased she was to be able to receive them out of doors. Then the names of the girls who had won prizes were called out; they stepped forwards to receive their books from the hands of the countess. When a girl got more than one prize, the great lady said a few kind words of praise to her, which made her blush with pleasure. At last all the books had disappeared from the table. The vicar arose and made a speech and after him the Mayor arose and made a speech; the vicar thanked the countess, also in the name of the lady principal, for her presence on this occasion. He feit sure, he said, that the scholars would carry a pleasant remembrance of this day home with them. The Mayor in his speech praised the school, which, he said, did honour to the town. Then the headmistress arose and thanked the two speakers for their kind words. Now the solemn part of the day was over; tea was handed round and twelve or fourteen girls, dressed in white with ribbons of various colours on their frocks, grouped themselves in graceful, attitudes round the Maypole and waited for the lirst tones of the violin, which the dancing-mistress was al» ready holding under her chin. She struck up a well-known melody, and they began to trip and whirl and twist and turn in the prettiest manner. Down from the Maypole hung ribbons of the same colours as those with which the dresses were trimmed. These the dancers held in their hands. They danced in couples, two with red, two with green, two with yellow ribbons and so on. One girl of every couple was a good deal taller than the other; the small girls formed the inner circle, while the bigger ones stood outside. It looked very pretty. They moved round each other, the little ones slipping in and out under the ribbons which the taller girls held over their heads. When at last the music stopped, they were very tired and quite ready for some tea. When the countess had inspected the needlework and the drawings, her carriage drove up to take her home. When she had driven off the girls could run about more freely. The prizes were admired and mostly entrusted to the care of the parents and friends with the request to take them home. Then the girls had tea and cakes and le monade and other good things; and they ran about and played games till they were all thoroughly 'tired and quite glad to go to bed. And the next dav whenever two or three travelled together, the talk ehiefly ran on the jolly breaking-up day. GTJLLIVER AMONG THE GIANTS. (Gulliver has been found by the servants of a giant farmer in a cornfield. The farmer is going to take him home). Taking his pocket-handkerchief from his pocket he doubled and spread it in his left hand, which he placed flat on the ground, with the palm upwards, making me a sign to step into it, as I could easily do, for it was not above a foot in thickness. I thought it my part to obey, and, for iear of falling, laid myself at full length upon the handkerchief, with the remainder of which he lapped me up to the head for further security, and in this manner carried me home to his house. There he called his wife and showed me to her;but she screamed and ran back as women in England do at the sight of a toad or a spider. It was about twelve at noon, and a servant brought in dinner. It was only one substantial dish of meat in a dish about four-and-twenty feet in diameter. The company were the farmer and his wife, three children and an old grand-. mother. When they were all seated, the farmer placed me at some distance from him on the table, which was thirty feet high from the floor. I was in a terrible fright, and kept as far as I could from the edge for fear of falling. The wife minced a bit of meat, then crumbled some bread on a trencher and placed it before me. I made her a low bow, took out my knife and fork, and feil to eat, which gave them exceeding delight. The mistress sent her maid for a small cup, which held about two gallons and filled it with drink. I took up the vessel with much difficulty in both hands, and in a most respectful manner drank to her ladyship's health, expressing the words as loud as I could in English, which made the company laugh so heartily that I was almost deafened by the noise. As I advanced towards my master (as I shall henceforth call him) his youngest son, who sat next him (an arch boy of about ten years old) took me up by the legs, and held me so high in the air that I trembled in every limb, but his father snatched me from him, and at the same time gave him a box on the left ear which might have felled a tree, and ordered him to be taken from the table. In the midst of dinner my mistress's favourite cat jumped into her lap. I heard a noise behind me like that of a dozen stocking-weavers at work; and turning my head, I found it to be the purring of that animal, who seemed to be three times larger than an ox. When dinner was almost done, the nurse came in with a child of a year old in her arms, which, as soon as it saw me, began to cry very loud to get me for a playthiug. The mother took me up and put me towards the child, who presently seized me by the middle and got my head in its mouth where I roared so loud that the urchin was frightened and let me drop, and I should surely have broken my neck if the mother had not held her apron under me. When dinner was done, my master went out to his labours, and as I was very tired and disposed to sleep, my mistress put me on her own bed which was about eight yards from the floor, and covered me with a clean white handkerchief, but larger and coarser than the mainsail of a man-of-war. THE RAINY DAY. The day is cold and dark and dreary, It rains, and the wind is never weary, The vine still clings to the mouldering wall But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary, It rains, and the wind is never wearj, My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining, Behind the clouds is the sun still shining, Thy fate is the common fate of all Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. Longfellow. THE LUTE-PLAYEB, She was a lady great and splendid, I was a minstrel in her halls, A warrior like a prince attended, Staved his steed by the castle-walls. Far had he fared to gaze upon her, "O rest thee now Sir Knight," she said, The warrior wooed, the warrior won her. In time of snowdrops they were wed. I made sweet music in his honour, And longed to strike him dead. I passed at midnight from her portal, Throughout the world till death I rove, Ah let me make this lute immortal, With rapture of my hate and love. W. Watson. LTTCY. Se dwelt among the untrodden ways, Beside the springs of Dove; A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye, Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be, But she is in her grave, and, oh! The difference to me. WORDSWORTH. T.TTT.T.A-RV. The days are cold, the nights are long, The north wind sings a doleful song, Then hush again upon my breast, All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty love! The kitten sleeps upon the hearth, The crickets long have ceased their mirtli, There's nothing stirring in the house Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse, Then why so busy thou? Nay, start not at that sparkling light, 'tls but the moon that shines so bright On the window-pane bedropped with rain, Then little darling! sleep again, And wake when it is day. MASTEB JOHN BULL Jr. Master Johnny Buil is a good little boy, who sometimes makes slips in his exercises, but he always "knows it. «Do you know your lesson?' you will ask him. "Yes, sir," he will reply. "But you can't say it." "Please, sir, I forget it now." Memory is his weak point. He has done his best, whatever the result may be. Last night he knew his lesson perfectly; the proof is that he said it to his mother, and that excellent lady told him he knew it very well. Again this morning, as he was in the train coming to school, he repeated it to himself and he did not rnake one mistake. He knows he didn't. "If he has done but two sentences of his home work he "is afraid" he has not quite finished his exercise. "But my dear boy, you have written but two sentences." Is that all?" he will inquire. "That is all." "Please, sir, I thought I had done more than that." And he looks at it on all sides, turns it to right, and to left and upside down. No use, he can't make it out. All at once, he will remember that he had a bad lieadache last night and this he tries to make his excuse. Sometimes he brings no exercise at all. You ask him: "Well Brown, you have brought no exercise this morning. How is that?" "Please, sir, you said yesterday that we were to do the 17th exercise." "Well?" (Boy, looking sad): "Please, sir, .Jones said to me, last night, that it was the 18th exercise we were to do." "But my dear boy, you do not bring me any exercise at all." (Boy, looking good): "Please, sir, I was afraid to do the wrong one!" THE STORY OP A MOTHER. A mother sat by her little child; she was very sad, for she feared it would die. It was quite pale, and its blue eves were closed, and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh; and then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor little creature. Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walked in. He was wrapped in something that looked like a great horsecloth; and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was a cold winter; the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice and the wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little child had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that the old man shivered with cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer on the stove to warm him. The old man sat and rocked the cradle; and the mother seated herself in a chair near him, and looked at her sick child, who . still breathed heavily, and took hold of lts httle hand. «You think I shall keep him, do you not?" she said. «Our merciful God will surely not take him away from me. The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head in a peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes or No- and the mother cast down her eyes while the tears rolled down her cheeks. Then her head became heavy, for she had not closed her eyes for three days and nights, and she slept, but only for a moment. Shivering with cold, she started up and looked round the room. The old man was gone, and her child - it was gone too! - the old man had taken it with him. In the corner of the room an old clock began to strike; "whirr" went the chains, the heavy weight sank on the ground, and the clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house calling for her child Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and she said to the mother, «Death has been with you myour room I saw him hastening away with your httle child; he strides faster than the wind, and never brings back what he has taken away." "Only teil me which way he has gone," said the motier, "teil me the way, I will find him." "I know the way," said the woman in the black garments; «but before I teil you, you must sing to me all the songs that you have sung to your child; I love these songs, I have heard them before. I am Night, and I saw your tears flow as you sang." "I will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do not detain me now. I must overtake him, and find my child." But Night sat silent and still. Then the mother wept and sang and wrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet even more tears; till at length Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark forest of fir trees; for I saw Death take that road with your little child." Within the wood the mother came to cross-roads and she ■ knew uot which to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush, it had neither leaf nor flower, for it was cold winter time, and icicles hung on the branches. "Have you not seen death go by, with my little child?" she asked. "Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not teil you which way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. I am freezing to death here, and turning to ice." Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh green leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the bramble-bush told her the path she had to take. She came at length to a great lake, on which was neither ship nor boat to be seen. The lake was not frozen sufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough to wade through, and yet she had to cross it, if she wished to find her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water from the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do; but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might take place to help her. "You will never succeed in this," said the lake, "but let us make an agreement together, which will be better. I love to collect pearls, and your eyes are the purest I have ever seen. If you will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then I will take you to the large hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowers and trees, every one of which is a human i e. «Oh what would I not give to reach my child. said the weeping mother; and as she still continued to weep hereyes feil into the depths of the lake and became two costh pearls. Then the lake lifted her up and wafted her across to the opposite shore as if she were on a swing, and there stoocla wonderful building many miles in length. >-o one couldtel whether it was a mountain covered with forests and full caves, or whether it had been built. But the poor mother could not see, for she had wept out her eyes into the lake. "Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little child?" she asked. . «He has not arrived here yet," said a old grey-haired woman, who was walking about and watering Death's hothouse. "How have you found your way here? and who helped you. «God has helped me," she replied. "He is merciful; wd vou not be merciful too? Where shall I find my little child . * «I do not know the child," said the old woman ; "and you are blind. Many flowers and trees have faded to-night, an Death will soon come to transplant them. You know already that every human being has a life-tree or a life-flower just as may be ordained for him. They look like other plants but they have hearts that beat. Children's hearts also beat ; from that you may perhaps be able to recognise your child. But what will you give me, if I teil you what more you will have to do?" . , T «I have nothing to give," said the poor^ mother; but would go to the ends of the earth for you." "I can give you nothing to do for me there," said the old woman; "but you can give me your long black hair.' \ ou know yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases me. Y ou can take my white hair in exchange, which will be something in return." "Do you ask nothing more than that?" said she. "I will give it you with pleasure." And she gave up her beautiful hair and received in return the white locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death's hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderful profusion. Blooming hyacinths and peonies; water-plants, some quite fresh, others sickly which had water-snakes turning round them. Each tree and flower had a name; each represented a human being, and belonged to men still living. Some large trees had been planted in little pots so that they were cramped for room, and seemed to burst the pot in pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil, with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. The sorrowing mother bent over the little plants and heard the hearts beat in them and at once recognised the beatings of her child's heart. "That is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards a little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head. " Do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; but place yourself here; and when Death comes — I expect him every minute — do not let him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does you will serve the other plants in the same manner. This will make him afraid, for he must account to God for each of them. None can be uprooted, unless he receives permission to do so." There rushed through the hothouse a chili of icy coldness, and the blind mother feit that Death had arrived. "How did you find your way hither?" he asked; "how could you come faster than I have?" "I am a mother," she answered. And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate little flower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast at the same time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she feit his breath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless. "You can do nothing against me," said Death. "But a God of mercy can," said she. «I only do his will," replied Death. "I am His gardener. I take all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of Paradise. How they flourish there arid what that garden resembles I may not teil you. "Give my back my child," said the mother, weeping and imploring; and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hauds and cried to Death: "I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair." «Do not touch them," said Death. "Would you make ano- ther mother as unhappy as yourself?" «Another mother!" said the poor woman, setting the flowers "There are your eyes," said Death. "I saw them in the lake. Take them back — they are clearer now than before — and then look into the deep well which is close by here. I will teil you the names of the two flowers you wished to pull up; and you will see the whole future of the human beings they represent." Then she looked into the well; it was a glorious sight to behold how one of them became a blessing to the worldand how much happiness it spread around. But the life of the other was full of care and poverty, misery and woe. "Which is the unhappy flower and which the blessed one ? sliö cried. "That I may not teil you," said Death, "but one of the flowers represents your own child." Then the mother screamed with terror. "Which of them belongs to my child? Teil me that. Release the unhappv child from so much misery. Rather take it away. Forget my tears and entreaties; forget all I have said and done." And she prayed to God: "Grant not my prayers when thev are contrarv to Thy will, which at all times must be best." And Death carried away her child to the unknown land. THE FHIIiOSOPHIC CAT. "It's all very fine," said the cat, yawning, and stretching herself against the fender, "but it is rather a bore; I don't see the use of it." She raised herself, and arranging her tail into a ring, and seating herself in the rniddle of it, with her fore paws in a straight line from her shoulders, at right angles to the liearth-rug, she looked pensively at the fire. "It is very odd," she went on, "there's my poor Tom; he is gone. I saw him stretched out in the yard. I spoke to him, and he took no notice of me. He won't, I suppose, ever any more, for thev put him under the earth. Nice fellow he was. It is wonderful how little one cares about it. 80 manv jollv evening we spent together; and now I seem to get on quite as well without him. I wonder what has become of him; and my children, too, what has become of them? What are we here for? I would ask the men, only they are so conceited and stupid they can't understand what we say. I hear them teach their littles ones every day; telling them to be good and to do what they are bid, and all that. Nobody ever tells me to do anything; if they do I don't do it, and I am very good. I wonder whether I should be any better if I minded more. I'll ask the dog." "Dog," said she, to a little fat spaniel, coiled up on the mat like a lady's muff with a head and tail stuck on it. «Dog, what do you make of it all? The Dog faintly opened his languid eyes, looked sleepih at the cat for a moment and shut them again. "Dog," she said, "I want to talk to you; don't go to sleep. Can't you answer a civil question?" "Don't bother me," said the dog, "I am tired. I stood on my hind legs ten minutes this morning before I could get my breakfast, and it hasn t agreed with me. "Who told you to doit?" said the cat. "Why, the lady I have to take care of me," replied the dog. «Do you feel any better for it, dog, after you have been standing in your hind legs?" asked she. "Haven't I told you, you stupid cat, that it hasn't agreed with me? let me go to sleep and don't plague me. «But I mean," persisted the cat, "do you feel improved as men call it. Do you feel good and great?" «What do I know?" said the dog. "I eat my breakfast and am happy. Let me alone." «Do you never think, O Dog without a soul! Do you never wonder what dogs are and what this world is?" The doo- stretched himself and rolled his eyes lazily round the room. «I think," he said, "that the world is for dogs, and men and women are put into it to take care of dogs, women to take care of little dogs like me, and men for the big dogs like those in the yard, and cats," he contmued, "are to know their place and not be troublesome. "They beat you sometimes," said the cat. "Why do thej do that? They never beat me." "If they forget their places and beat me," snarled the dog, "I bite them and they don't do it again. I should like to bite you too, you nasty cat; you have waked me up." Tliere may be truth in what you say," said the cat calmly "but I think you know very little. If you listened like me, you would hear the men say it was all made for them, and you and I were made to amuse them." "They don't dare to say so?" said the dog. They do indeed, "said the cat." I hear many things which you lose by sleeping so much. They think I am asleep and so they are not afraid to talk before me; but my ears are open when my eyes are shut." ^ou surprise me," said the dog. "I never listen to them except when I take notice of them, and they never talk of anvthing except of me. You seem to be a very wise cat; but what is the good of knowing so much?" "Why, don't you see, I want to find out what we are here for and if there is nothing for us to be done but sleep and eat and eat and sleep. This is too tiresome. I think I shall go on a journey and try to find out. Won't you come ?" "Who, I?" said the dog; "not quite." "But you may get so wise." "WTisdom is good, but so is the hearth-rug; I am too delicate to bear the hardships of travelling. Good-bye!" And so the cat had to go on her travels alone. THE KAPT. The rays of the afternoon sun were beaming along the orchard grass when at last we launched the raft. She floated out beyond reach with the last shove of the launcliing; but Oswald waded out and towed her back. He had taken off his boots; yet, if he had known of the things that were at the bottom of the moat, he would have kept them on. So would the others, especially Dora, as you will see. We four elder ones got on the raft very carefully; and even then, every time we moved, the water swished up over the raft .and hid our feet. But, considering that we had never made a raft before, I must say it was not so badly done. Dickie was captain. We made the girls stand together in the middle and hold on to each other to keep steady. Then we christened the gallant vessel. We called it "The Richard" after Dickie. Then those on shore waved a fond adieu as well as they could with their damp handkerchiefs, which we had had to use to dry our legs and feet when we put on our stockings before dinner, and slowly and stately the good ship moved away from shore, ridiug on the waves as though they were her native element. We kept her going with the poles, but we could not keep her steady enough and she went where we did not want her to go and once she bumped her corner against the barn wall, and all the crew had to sit down suddenly to avoid falling overboard into a watery grave. Of course then the waves swept her decks, and when we got up again we said that we should have to change completely before tea. Early that morning one of us had by accident puslied a milk-pan out of the dairy window, and it had fallen into the moat. We had all tried hard to get it out, but it was no use. But now our raft happened to get under the window of the dairy and there was the milkpan standing on its edge quite quietly. The girls cried out: "Oh, here it is,'' and without waiting for orders from the captain as they ought to have done, they both reached out to get it: Of course the raft capsized. For a moment it feit like standing on the roof of the house, and the next moment the ship stood up on end and shot the whole crew into the dark waters. We boys can swim all right. Oswald has swum three times across the Swimming Baths at the shallow end, and Dickie is nearly as good; but just then we did not thmk of this; though, of course, if the water had been deep we should have. As soon as Oswald could get the muddy water out of his eyes he opened them on a horrid scene. Dickie was standing up to his shoulders in the inky waters, the raft had righted itself, and was drifting gentlv away towards the front of the house, where the bridge is, and Dora and Alice were rising from the deep, with their hair allplastered over their faces. There was a great noise of splashing and then a feminine voice from the dairy window screamed, — '-Lord love the children!" It was Mrs. Pettigrew. She disappeared at once and we we were sorry we were in such a situation that she would be able to get at Albert's uncle before we could. Afterwards we were not sorry. Before a word could be spoken about our desperate position Dora staggered a little in the water and suddenly shrieked: "Oh, my foot! oh, it's a shark ! I know it is — or a crocodile." Of course we knew it could not be a shark, but I thoug t a pike, which are large and very angry always, and I caught hold of Dora. She screamed, without stopping I shovedher along to where there was a ledge of brickwork, and shoved her up, till she could sit on it; then she got her foot out of the water still screaming. It was indeed terrible. The thing she thought was a shark came up with her foot, and it was a horrid jagged, old meattin, and she had put her foot right into it. Oswald got it off and directly he did so, blood began to pour from the wounds. The tin edges had cut it in several spots. It was very pale blood, because her foot was wet, of course. She stopped screaming, and turned green, and I thought she was going to faint. She did not, however, and just at that moment, Albert's uncle appeared with the punt and took us back in it. Mrs. Pettigrew had told him what had happened. Dora had to be carried upstairs; we were all sent to bed. Next day was Saturday. Father gave us a talking to. The worst, though, was that Dora could not get her shoe 011, so they sentfor the doctor, and she had to lie down for ever so long. It was hard lines on her, but she was very jolly about it. THE BOAT-MAKEB. The sun was beating hotly down upon the wide stretch of yellow sand. Nurses in cool dresses were looking on while the children paddled and dug holes which the sea-water would fill up when the flood came. Now and then the rasping voice of a Punch and Judy-show man was heard, who, at a little distance, was performing, surrounded by a group of admiring children. In one of the shady places a young man was lying. He ■was not sleeping or reading. His eyes, set m a thin face, were gazing on the sea with a listless expression. He was very tired. — The morning passed slowly by as he lay there, and at last very few people were left on the beach: the rest had all gone in to lunch. He did not seein to notice what was happening around him; he kept gazmg at the sea. Close to him lay a round, grev-white stone. Towards this a small child, whose feet and legs were still shining and wet with the warm sea-water, made her way. When she arrivé she sat down with a merry little laugh; the man glanced at her with some annoyance on his face, but she did not loo at him. All her attention was given to the task of disentangling a pair of black stockings, which weretwisted about her neck. The man looked away again and was once more lost in his own thoughts. "If you were not dreffully impolite you would help a little girl," said a small, grumbling voice. It was some seconds before the man understood that she was talking to him. Then he turned his head, and saw two blue eyes on the point of tears. He muttered something and, half rising, set about the task of disentanglement. When he "had finished, he began to cough, and panting, he leant back in the sand. The owner of the blue eyes paused in the act of puiling on a black stocking. "You coughs very hard. Haven't you any sweeties?" she asked. He smiled. "No, I'm afraid I haven't." "I haven't either, now. I eated all mine, or I'd give you half to make you better." She put on her shoe and tied the laces in a one-sided knot. "Well, you can easily get some, can 't you, in the shops ?" "Quite easily." "Can'tl make nice bows?" She tied the laces of her second shoe with hot and somewhat dirty fingers, and eyed the result with pride. "Very nice," said the man absently. "'Tisn't a bit easy to tie bows; I always do it myself now since I've growed so muc'n. I growed all this much since Christmas." She indicated on her sturdy black-stockinged leg a space of about three inches. The man was coughing again. When he could find his voice he said "Really" and she rippled into a merry laugh. "Just you wait till I've growed all I've got in me. Then you'11 be s'prised. I'm going to be very big. You can, if you're good, you know." "I shouldn't wonder," said he. "You're very big!" She drew a long breath. I s'pose you're drefful good. What makesyouso—bonv? Because you growed so fast?" He laughed, a little bitterly. "I suppose that must have been it." The child looked at him earnestly. She wondered what he was looking at and why he seemed sad. She supposed he did not like being so very bony; but she feit there was something else the matter. She touched him with a tiny hand. 'Tm Bess, and I'm six," she said in a soft voice. "Indeed," said he, somewhat amused, "I'm Langham and I'm very much older than six," he said after a pause. She looked down and her thouglits returned to her shoes. "They're new ones. I got them coming here," she said; "they're prettier than vours. Onlv the sand gets in. Does the sand get in yours." "No. You see I'm grown up, Bess." "Still, there might be just a little bit of sand if } ou looked. I could take them off for you. You havent hard bows." She knelt by his side, quite ready to begin. "No, no, not now, there's a good girl. Sit down and let us have anotlier talk." "Do you never play at things? We have already talked such lots." Langham tried to think of something. At last he said: "Well, I can make fairv boats." "Oh, please, make some now," cried Bess. The man's hand went to his pocket. He brought out a letter and shook it out of the envelope. The two sheets of notepaper were vellow and a little worn. He looked at them for a moment. Then he folded a sheet in two. Bess crept close to him to watch. As best he could he made a boat out of the paper, and as he did so, there came a rush of remembrance of his own old childish days, and his fingers trembled. "It takes a drefful long time to make a boat," complained the little maid. "It does," said the man. At last it was made, and Bess clapped her hands with delight. The boat had a sail in the middle and looked quite real and was beautifullv light. There was a little hole underneath into which you could poke your little finger and so hold it up for everybody to see. "Now I'll go down and sail it!" Bess cried. — But a voice was heard calling: "Miss Bess, come along, we are very late." "Oh, I say there's nurse now. May I keep the boat? I'll come back to-morrow and we'11 sail it. You will wait for me here till I come, won't you? I'll be sure to come, sure, sure." Langham promised and she ran awav. She turned when a few yards away and kissed her hand to him. "I'll be sure to come," she cried again. Langham lay for a long time. At last he rose with an effort. He feit much weaker than a week ago when he had come down. With great difficulty he dragged himself home. The morrow came to the shore and with it Bess with her dancing curls. She looked everywhere, but her friend the boat-maker was not there. IN THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. It is pleasant, when one has reached middle age and has a busy life behind him, to sit on a winter's evening bv the fireside and recall the scenes of past years. One of the first things which I remember is our London house, where, an only child, I lived witli my father and mother. I was then about six years old and for some reason — delicacy, I think, and being an only child — I slept in a crib in the corner of my father and mother's bedroom There was one door from this room opening upon the landing of the first floor and opposite this door was the drawing-room; another door of the bedroom opened into my fathers dressingroom and that dressing-room had in its turn a door to t e landing. I had said my prayers and my good old nurse had tucked me in and told me to go to sleep, and I was drowsily watching her as she folded my clothes and laid them m their appointed place, when I heard my mother's voice crymg "Mary" in a loud and excited note. Mary went out to the landing, and something passed between my mother and her my mother standing in the hall beneath. By this time I was wide awake, for anything unusual excites a child, and then I was mucli impressed by Mary coming in with haste and locking the door to the landing and, after attemptmg m yain to lock the dressingroom door which seemed to havenokey placing her back against it as one determined that it shou d not be opened. When I asked her what was wrong she told me to lie down and ask God to take care of me, and then I feit that there was danger somewhere, but from her cou set no information. . What had happened, as I heard afterwards, was eer ainly very alarming and enough to throw a quiet household into confusion. As my father and mother were taking some supper in the dining-room, the doorbell rang with great violence, and when the housemaid opened the door someone pushed it back so that she was pressed between the door and the wall and then rushed along the passage and, turning the corner, disappeared. All she could say was, that it was a man who had passed, tall and, she thought, bearded He had said nothing, and she did not know whether he had gone downstairs, where there happened to be at that time no servant, or into a bedroom at the back of the house, or upstairs to either of the floors above. He had come in and he had disappeared, and he was hidden somewhere in the house. Who he was, and for what purpose he had come, none could teil, and as my father would not allow my mother to go upstairs, she had besought Marv to lock herself and me into the bedroom, so that whatever he might do, he should not injure her child. After my father had placed my mother in the dining-room and quieted the housemaid, who was certain that we should all be murdered, and thought she should be murdered first herself, for as she said, he was a "fearsome-looking man," my father, a quiet and determined Scotchman, took a stick and proposed to go upon a search expedition. My mother, assured of her son's safety, was now concerned about her husband's, and would neither allow him to go into the darkness beneath nor to mount into the darkness above, considering that he might be attacked at any moment by the invader. In those circumstances, and feeling very foolish, my father went into u neighbour's house to get help, while during his absence my mother and the housemaid were locked securely into the dining-room. Next door the son of the house and two friends, who had just dropped in, were at once ready to go in search of the mysterious housebreaker. They armed themselves with thick bludgeons and came with my father. First of all they searched the lower floor, which as I knew well enougli through playing hide-and-seek, had endless places of concealment, and then they ascended the stairs to the drawing-room floor. As my father passed the bedroom door he inquired if all was well within, and I can still see Mary, with her back against the dressing-room door, assuring him that we were safe, and looking as if the burglars would have to pass over her body to get at the crib. Nothing but the strongest injunctions of my nurse kept me in bed, for now I was sure something un- eommon was happening in the house and I was anxious to be in the thick of it. The drawingroom was a large room extending across the front of the house, and that night was lit up with the light of the moon. My father went first and, as soon as he had opened the door, he saw the mysterious man standing upon the hearthrug. The light was on his face and my father at once recognised him, and with what seems to me extraordinary presence of mind, turned round and stopped the army of volunteers on the threshold. He explained to them outside the door that there had been a mistake; and that the unexpected visitor was a friend. The volunteers returned downstairs, and after my mother had thanked them for their friendly and courageous help, they left, deeply disappointed that they had not been able to prove their valour. My father then went upstairs, and spoke to the man on the hearthrug, as if it were the most usual thing in the world for a visitor to make his way to the drawingroom after this fashion. He was a retired of6eer who had done gallant service in India and had suffered from sunstroke, so that at certain times he hardly knew what he was doing. As he was accustomed to come to our house — not only in our time, hut much more in the time of the previous owner — the idea suddenlv seized him as he was out wallang that he would go to the old house, and, the sun warming his brains overmuch, he made this hastv entrance. He came to himself when my father spoke to him, and then, much puzzled as to how he had been standing alone in the dark room, he quietly went downstairs and bade my father good-night. My father, under pretence of taking a turn, walked with him to his home, and next dav the old man, with a confused recollection of what had happened, came to apologize. My mother made as though nothing had happened, and I was glad that he had called, for he told me two stories of the Indian Mutiny which I had never heard before and promised to show me his Victoria Cross. IT IS SOMETIMES DIFFICULT TO MAKE UP ONE'S MEND. "Now, which would you advise, dear? You see, with the red I shall not be able to wear my lilac hat." "Well then, why not have the gray?" "Yes, yes — I think the grey will be more useful." "It's a good material." "Yes, and it's a pretty grey. You know what I mean, dear; not a common grey." "It's quiet." "But then, what I feel about the red is that it is so warmlooking. Red makes you feel warm even when you're not warm. You know what I mean, dear." "Well then, why not have the red? It suits you — red." "No; do you really think so?" "Well, when you've got a colour, I mean, of course. ' "Yes, that is a drawback to red. No, I think, on the whole, grey is better." "Then you will take the grey, madam?" "Yes, I think I'd better; don't you dear?" "I like it myself very much." "And it is good wearing stuff. I shall have it trimmed with — Oh, you haven't cut it off, have you?" "I was just about to, madam." "Well, don't for a moment. Just let me have another look at the red. You see, dear, it has just occurred to me — that grey fur would look so well on the red." "So it would, dear." "And, you see, I've got the grey fur." "Then have the red. Why not?" "Well, there is the hat I'm thinking of." "You haven't anything else you could wear with that?" "Nothing at all, and it would go so beautifully with the grey. Yes, I think I'U have the grey." "Fourteen yards, I think you said, madam? "Yes, fourteen yards will be enough. One minute. You see, dear, if I take the grey, I shall have nothing to wear with my black jacket." "Won't it go with grey?" "Not well — not so well as with red." "I should have the red then. You like it yourself." "No, I really prefer the grey. But — good gracious, is that the right time! we musthurryon; how long shopping takes! We shall never get to Madame Jenner's in time.'' "Well, now you haven't decided whether you're going to have the grey or the red." "I'm sure ï don't know what I am going to have. I had made up my mind a moment ago, and now it's all gone again. Ah—yes, I remember, the red. Yes, I'll have the red. No, I don't mean the red, I mean the grey." "You were talking about the red last time if you remember, dear." "Oh, so I was, you're quite right. That's the worst of shopping; you get so confused." "Then you will decide on the red, madam?" «Yes—yes, I had better, had not I, dear? What do you think? Yes, well, I must have it, I can't be worried about it any longer." They leave the shop and outside the lady remembers several objections to the red, and she wonders if they would change it. But the friend, who wants her lunch, hurries her on. THE FRENCHMAN AND THE BUS-CONDUCTOR. One afternoon I jumped upon a bus in the Seven Sisters Road. An elderly Frenchman was the only other occupant. "You vil not forget me," the Frenchman was saving as I entered. "I desire Sharing Cross." "I won't forget you," answered the conductor, "you shall have vour Sharing Cross. Don't make a fuss about it." "That's the third time he's asked me not to forget him," he remarked to me in a loud aside, "he doesn't give you much of a chance of forgetting him, does he?" At the Corner of Hollowav Road we drew up, and our conductor began to shout: "Charing Cross — Charing Cross — here you are, come along, lady, Charing Cross." The little Frenchman jumped up and prepared to get out: the conductor pushed him back. "Sit down," he said; "this is not Charing Cross." The Frenchman looked puzzled, but sat down. We picked up a few passengers and proceeded on our way. Half a mile up to Liverpool Road a lady stood on the kerb regarding us as we passed, in an undecided way. Our conductor stopped. "Where do you want to go to?" he asked her, "Strand, Charing Cross?" The Frenchman did not hear or did not understand the first part of the speech, but he caught the words "Charing Cross," and bounced up and out on to the step. The conductor took him bv the collar as he was getting of, and pulled him back angrily. "Can't you keep still a minute." he cried indignantly; "you want looking after like a baby." "I want to be put down at Sharing Cross," answered the Frenchman, humbly. «You want to be put down at Sharing Cross," repeated the other bitterly, as he led him back to his seat. I shall put you down into the middle of the road if 1 have much more of you. You stop there till I come and teil you to get out. I am not likely to let you go much past your Sharing Cross; I shall be too glad to get rid of you." The poor Frenchman sat down patiently and we went on. At "the Angel" we, of course, stopped. "Charing Cross, shouted the conductor, and up sprang the Frenchman. "Oh, my goodness," said the conductor taking him by the shoulders, "what am Ito do? Can't somebody sit on him?" He held him firmly down until the bus started and then released him. Once again the conductor called out "Charing Cross" and the Frenchman became exasperated. "He keepsaying Sharing Cross, Sharing Cross,' he exclaimed, turning to the other passengers, "and it is no Sharing Cross. He is a fooi." "Can't you understand," retorted the conductor, alsoindignant, "of course I say Sharing Cross — I mean Charing Cross, but that does not mean that it is Charing Cross. That means and then seeing the astonished look of the Frenchman s face and fearing he should not be able to make it. clear to him, he said. "Oh well," and stepped back to the rear-balcony. A day or two afterwards I happened to enter his omnibus again. "Well," I asked him, "did you get your French friend to Charing Cross all right?" "No Sir," he replied, "you'11 hardly believe it, but I had a little row with a policeman just before I got, to the corner, and it put him quite out of my head. I took him on to Victoria!" DEATH'S MESSENGERS. In olden times a giant was once wandering up and down a road, wheu suddenly an unknown man appeared in his path, and cried, "Stop! not a step further." " What, you stripling!" said the giant, "why, I could crush you between my fingers; will you stand in my way? Who are you to speak so boldly?" "I am Death," replied the stranger, "whom nobody opposes, and whose commands you must obey." The giant however refused, and began to wrestle with Death. It was a long battle, but at last the giant got the best of it and knocked Death down with his fist so that he dropped like a stone. The giant, thereupon, went his way, leaving Death vanquished and strengthless so that he could not rise again. "What will be the consequence?" thought Death; "if I lie here in this corner nobody will die in the world, and it will soon get so full of human beings that they will not be able to move." Just then a young man came up the road, strong and healthy, singing a song, and looking well about "him. As soon as he perceived the beaten man he went up to him, and helped him to get up. He even gave him a refreshing draught from his flask. "Do you know," asked Death as soon as he was on his legs again, "do you know whom you have helped?" "No," replied the young man. "I am Death, I spare none and can take no excuse from you even. But to show you I am not ungrateful I promise that I will send you my messengers before I come to fetch you.'' "Very well," said the young man; "that is a bargain.„ He lived happily for some time. But at last, one day he feil ill. "I shall not die,'' said he, "for Death must first send his messengers; I wish this illness were over." By-and-by he got well again and began to live as usual. One day somebody knocked at the window and looking round he saw Death, who said: "Follow me, your time is come." "Why," exclaimed the man, "you are breaking your promise, you never sent me any messengers.'' "Did I not," said Death. "Why, I sent you several. First fever came and shook you, then giddiness, then a singing in your ears and then lumbago in your back." The man could not deny that these had visited him and there was nothing for it but to follow Death. THE MTJRDEB OF WILLIAM THE SILENT. It was Sunday morning and the bells were tolling for Church. Balthazar had just been dismissed after an interview with the prince of Orange. Upon leaving the house he loitered about the court-yard, taking a good look round, so that a sergeant asked him why he was waiting there. Balthazar meekly replied that he wished to attend divine service in the church opposite, but added, pointing to his shabby clothes, that, without at least a new pair of shoes and stockings he was unfit to join the congregation. The small, pious, dusty stranger did not seem suspicious to the goodnatured sergeant. He spoke of the wants of Gérard to an officer, who again communicated them to Orange himself, and the Prince instantly ordered a sum of money to be given him. Thus Balthazar obtained from William's charity what he wanted for carrying out his purpose! The next morning he bought for this money two pistols from a soldier, chaffering long about the price. Before the sunset of the following day that soldier had stabbed himself to the heart and died despairing, on hearing for what purpose the pistols had been bought. On Tuesday, the lOth of July 158-1, at about half-past twelve, the Prince, with his wife on his arm and followed by the ladies and gentlemen of his familv, was going to the dining-room. William the Silent was dressed upon that day, according to his usual custom, in very plain fashion. He wore a large, loosely-shaped hat of dark feit, with a silk cord round the crown—such as had been worn by the Beggars in the early days of the revolt. A high ruff encircled his neck, from which also depended one of the Beggar's medals; he wore a loose surcoat of grey cloth over a brown leather doublet. Gérard presented himself at the doorway and demanded a passport. The Princess, struck with the pale and agitated countenance of the man, anxiously asked her liusband about the stranger. The Prince earelessly observed that "it was merely a person who came for a passport," ordering, at the same time, a secretary to prepare one immediately. The Princess, still uneasy, observed in an under-tone that "she had never seen so villainous a countenance." Orange, however, not at all impressed with the appearance of Gérard, conducted himself at table with his usual cheerfulness, conversing much with the burgomaster of Leeuwarden, the only guest present at the family dinner. At two o'clock the companv rose from table. The Prince led the way, intending to pass to his private apartments upstairs. The diningroom, which was on the groundfloor, opened into a little square vestibule. This vestibule was directly at the foot of the wooden staircase leading to the next floor, and was scarcely six feet wide. Upon its left side was an obscure arch sunk deep in the wall and completely in the shadow of the door. Behind this arch a portal opened to the narrow lane at the side of the house. The stiirs themselves were completely lighted by a large window, half way up the flight. The Prince came from the dining-room and began slowly to ascend. He had only reac'ned the second stair, when a man emerged from the sunken arch, and standing within a foot or two of him, discharged a pistol full at his heart. Three balls entered his body, one of which, passing quite through him, struck with violence against the wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed in French as he feit the wound. "O my God, have mercy upon my soul! O my God, have mercy upon this poor people." These were the last words he ever spoke. His master of the horse, Jacob van Maldere, had caught him in his arms as the fatal shot was fired. The Prince was placed on the stairs for an instant, when he immediately began to swoon. He was afterwards laid on a couch in the dining-room, where in a few minutes he breathed his last in the arms of his wife and sister. The murderer succeeded in making his escape through the side door and speel swiftly up the narrow lane. He had almost reached the ramparts, from which he intended to spring into the moat, when he stumbled over a heap of rubbish. As he rose, he was seized by several pages and halberdiers, who had pursued him from the house. He acknowledged that he had committed the murder. He was brought back to the house where he immediately underwent an examination before the magistrates. He was afterwards tortured and condemned to be executed in an indescribably cruel fashion. THE TfEU.TEF OF LEYDEN. The besieged city was at its last gasp. The burghers had been in a state of uncertainty for many days; they knew that the fleet was on its way but they also knew that it would have the greatest difficulty to approach the town. While the wind continued to blow from the east they feit that they must look in vain for the welcome vessels. Yet, while tlius patiently waiting, they were literally starving. Bread, maltcake, and horseflesh had entirely disappeared; dogs, cats, rats, and other vermin -were considered luxuries. A small number of cows, kept as long as possible for their milk, still remained; but a few were killed from dav to day, and distributed in small proportions, hardly sufficiënt to keep the famished population alive. Starving wretches daily swarmed round the shambles where these cattle were slauglitered, fightiug for any morsel which might fall; the hides, chopped and boiled, were greedily devoured. Women and children were daily searching the gutters for bits of food. The green leaves were stripped from the trees; every living plant was cooked and eaten. The daily mortalitv was frightful; mothers dropped dead in the streets with their dead children in their arms. But the inhabitants of the wretched town remained firm; Leyden was great in its despair. Only a few murmurs were heard and a party of the more fainthearted even assailed the heroic Adrian van der Werf with reproaches as he passed through the street. A crowd had gathered round him as he reached a triangular place in the centre of the town close to the Church of Saint Pancras. There stood the burgomaster, a tall, thin, imposing figure with a dark face and a tranquil but commanding eye. He waved his large feit liat for silence and then exclaimed: "Wliat would ye, my friends? Why do ye murmur that we do not break our vows and surrender the city to the Spaniards? a fate more horrible than the misery she now endures. I teil you I have made an oath to hold the city and may God give me strength to keep my oath. I can but die once; whether by your hands, the enemy's or by the hand of God. My own fate is indifferent to me, not so that of the city entrusted to my care. I know that we shall starve if not soon relieved; but better starvation than dishonoured death. Your threats move me not; my life is at your disposal; here is my sword, plunge it into my breast and divide my flesh among you. Take my body, but do not expect me to surrender." The words of the noble burgomaster gave new courage to those who heard him and a shout of applause rose from the enthusiastic crowd. They went to the rampart and cned to the enemy: "Ye call us rat-eaters and dog-eaters. Know that so long as ye hear dog bark or cat mew within the walls, the city will hold out. And when all has perished but ourselves we will rather devour our left arms, retaining our right to defend our women, our liberty and our religion than surrender to a foreign tyrant." _ . On the 28th of September a dove flew into the city bnngmg a letter from Admiral Boisot. In it the inhabitants were assured that in a very few days the long-expected relief would enter their gates. The letter was read in the market-place and the bells were rung for joy. In the night of the lst and 2nd of October a storm arose from the worth-west. The water soon covered the country round Leyden; the enemy had to fly in great haste and when Boisot at last arrived with his Heet there was nothing to prevent him from entering the town. Thus on the 3rd of October, Leyden was relieved. The quays were lined with the famishing population as the fleet rowed through the canals. From every vessel bread was thrown among the crowd. The poor creatures eagerly snatched every gift; in their greediness many choked themselves to death , othérs became ill with the effects of this sudden plenty. The next day the Prince, who had only just recovered from a severe illness, visited the town much against the advice of his physicians. With the consent of the estates he granted the city, as a reward for its sufferings, a ten days' annual fair and as a furtlier proof of the gratitude of the people of Holland and Zeiand for the heroism of the citizens, it was resolved that an academy or university should be established within their walls. The University of Leyden, afterwards so famous, was thus founded in the very darkest period of the country's struggles. On the 4th of October, the dav following on the relief, the wind turned to the north-east, the waters were rolled back to the ocean and in a few days the land was bare again and the work of reconstructing the dykes commenced.