the Squire expected this would safely reach Mark Layton's hands. Then followed a stern exordium, which ended in an acknowledgment that the Laytons had been wronged. Although no receipt had been found during the careful search of his papers the Squire had instituted, yet a memorandum in his late father's pocket-book, attested the truth of the elder Layton's assertion that he had paid his rent. Anxious to atone for the evil that had been wrought to the family of the unfortunate man, the Squire offered to assist Mark in establishing himself, either in the country to which he had flown, or in England, if he chose to return thither, which he might safely do; as in consideration for his wife, Squire Desborough would never make public his felonious, and, in point of fact, unpardonable, attempt on the cabinet.

"And you came as soon as you received this?" asked Letty, when she had wiped away the tears which sprang forth as she read.

"Yes, gladly. When I knew that my poor father's name had not been publicly dishonoured by my acts, I began to take heart and to think that if the Squire forgave me, Letty would not bid me go back, and work out the long probation to which I had sentenced myself. Ah, wife! dear, dear wife! to see you look at me so lovingly is more, much more, than I deserve. God help me to become worthy of you!

Was this scornful Mark Layton, whose voice took such a reverent tone, as he named his Maker? Letty's swelling heart offered up another thanksgiving as she heard it.

And now for Mark's decision. What was it? Were they to take their little one and cross that wide ocean, and begin the world anew?

When she asked this he drew her closer to his side. "It shall rest with you, Letty. When I have remembered your promptings and acted upon them, all has gone well with me, even though you have been miles away, and it was only my own conscience that whispered what you would have me do."

The little wife thought long and seriously ere she replied, "If you could be happy here, Mark, I'd sooner stay in our own country. There's been a dark cloud over the name of Layton for many years, and-and-it would be pleasant if you and I, by humbly doing our duties, and bringing up our boy carefully and religiously, could win back for it the old respect with which it used to be spoken."

Mark paced the cottage floor awhile, and had a long contest with his natural pride ere he came back to his seat by Letty, and agreed

that she was right, and that they would let the Squire know their decision on the morrow. By no unkind allusions to the past, did Squire Desborough mar Letty Layton's felicity, as she stood before him the next day, clinging to her husband's arm. He wisely eschewed old grievances on either side, and at once proceeded to business.

"I cannot restore your father's farm to you," he said to Mark; "it would be an act of injustice to the man who has held and improved it for many years. But there is a productive, though small one, on the estate, which you shall have; and if you want help in stocking it Mr. Preston has my order to assist you."

But Mark had not returned home penniless, and with his old independence he refused all further aid. So, for the first few years, Letty and he worked harder and fared far worse than if they had chosen the other part and quitted England. Still they never repined nor turned back from the plough. And by-and-by labour earned its reward. The farm of the Laytons is as flourishing as diligence and skill can make it; and Mark, with all the old bitter feelings rooted out of his heart, is a good master to his dependents, the best of husbands to his still fair and loving Letty, and a careful father to his bright, healthy children; watching over their moral culture with a grave and wholesome recollection of his own faulty and ill-trained youth. L. CROW.

THE FAIRY PRINCE.

I SAW her face shine through the pane (That dripp'd with beads of rain and glistened,) Just as above the Marble Arch

A rainbow sprang: I stood and listened

To a drenched man who played the flute;
A tune of joy, but dashed with sadness.
Dead leaves were blowing round the park,
Yet that sweet face was full of gladness.
I knew that look so beaming, pure,
(I've seen it very often since ;)
O Love's beguiler, faithless Hope!
She waited for a Fairy Prince.

That Fairy Prince, with royal brow,
So strong to slay misfortune's brood;
So swift to rescue maidens fair,

So full of power to aid the good:

Resistless, wise, with voice so clear,

"Twould make the envious syrens pine; With eyes all luminous with love, A love eternal and divine.

I waited till night brought the stars, And then I saw that saddened face Move slowly from the window there, And darkness gather o'er the place.

How many maidens wait like her,
(I've seen such faces often since,)
On Summer morns, and Autumn eves,
Still waiting for their Fairy Prince.

WALTER THORNBURY.

ANECDOTES OF ANIMALS.

SOME years ago there resided in the neighbourhood of one of the well-known sea-bathing towns in Devonshire, a most observant naturalist. Few things escaped his eye; and at his death he left a very interesting collection of objects of natural history, which are now in the possession of his widow, and which, it is to be hoped, will some day find their way into a museum worthy of them. He had also several living pets, for which he always evinced much regard. Amongst these were two geese, a mother and daughter, and their little history is worth recording. The mother, it is well ascertained, is now thirty-five years old, and her daughter thirty-two. By some accident the daughter, when very young, lost her foot, so that she is obliged to hobble about on a stump. The mother's care of her daughter, under this circumstance, is not only extraordinary but interesting. They roost close together, side by side; if the latter strays into a lane, or any place where she was likely to be harassed, the old goose utters a cry which is well understood, and her offspring immediately joins her. They are both of them still alive, and as some geese have been known to attain the age of 100 years, (like the raven,) we trust that the loving geese we have referred to may continue for many years to enjoy each other's company, and the youngest the protection of her affectionate mother.

It is always pleasing to have well authenticated instances of affection in animals. White of Selborne relates an instance of friendship (somewhat incongruous) between a horse and a hen; and I have known of one between a horse and a cat. Horses that have for a length of time served side by side in a cavalry regiment, have, when one of them has been killed in battle, or otherwise been removed from his companion, evinced unmistakeable signs of misery, refusing all food and eventually dying of grief.

That strong attachments exist among other animals cannot be doubted. It is to be found in birds as well as in quadrupeds. Monkeys of different breeds and countries have been known to pine and die on being separated either by death or accident. Parrots have been inconsolable, and refused food on the death of a companion. A German writer relates an instance of a crane, which having lost its mate, continued moping and solitary for a considerable time, at last attached itself to an

ox, from which it became inseparable, following it to its pasture, and roosting beside it in its stall. A hen has been known to foster under her wings a poor shivering little pig, the youngest of a litter, and she continued to do this until the pig was able to take care of itself, or rather feed itself from the milk which was supplied it by a kind-hearted female, who had witnessed the fostering care of the hen. I have known lambs, whose mothers have died in bringing them forth, suckled and cared for by other sheep of the flock, who have had young of their own.

I was once witness to a man driving away rooks from a wheat-field. He wounded one, which fluttered along the ground but was unable to fly. The whole colony of rooks then present fluttered around the sufferer, and endeavoured to assist it in making its escape. When the man picked up the wounded bird, it uttered piercing cries; on hearing them the others fled, or rather darted close to it, regardless of their own danger, evidently hoping to release it. This they continued to do until a twist of the neck silenced the wounded bird, but they continued to follow the man for some time with the dead rook in his hand.

Dr. Percival, in his Dissertations, gives another instance of sympathy of rooks. He says that "a large colony of these birds had for many years frequented a grove on the banks of the Irwell, near Manchester. One calm evening," he says, "I placed myself within the view of it, and marked with attention the various labours, pastimes, and evolutions of this crowded society. The idle members amused themselves with chasing each other through endless mazes, and in their flight they made the air sound with the infinitude of discordant noises. In the midst of these playful exertions it unfortunately happened that one rook, by a sudden turn, struck his beak against the wing of another. The sufferer instantly fell into the river, when a general cry of distress ensued. The birds hovered with every expression of anxiety over their distressed companion. Animated by their sympathy, and perhaps by some peculiar notes, he sprang into the air, and by, a strong effort reached the point of a rock which projected into the water. The joy then became loud and universal, but alas! it was soon changed into notes of lamentation, for the poor wounded bird in attempting to fly towards its nest, dropped into the water and was drowned, amidst the lamentations of the whole fraternity."

It is evident from these anecdotes that there exists a fellow-feeling for suffering and an extraordinary sympathy for each other in the animal creation. Indeed pigs, which

are generally supposed to be stupid, insensible animals, evince the greatest distress for the sufferings of one of their number.

Some animals have peculiar modes of action, differing from what might be called the usual impulse of nature. For instance, when the Zoological Society had a nursery for their collection on Kingston Hill, I was in the constant habit of going there in order to watch the proceedings of a pair of emus which were confined in a large pen. The female emu dropped her eggs here and there in it without reference to any nests, but the male rolled them carefully to a nest he had prepared for them, and when they were all collected he sat upon and hatched them, thus taking upon himself the office of the female. Amongst the young birds so hatched, one was found to be perfectly blind.

Under this circumstance anyone would have supposed that this unfortunate bird must have died. But no such thing occurred. Cabbage and lettuce leaves were thrown into the pen for the old birds to feed on, when, by an extraordinary instinct, the poor blind bird, just escaped from its shell, lifted up, first one of its legs, and then the other, and in this way moved about the pen till it trod on one of the leaves, which it held under its feet while it fed upon it. In this way it grew and throve as if its sight was perfect. What became of it afterwards I could not ascertain.

The affection of animals for their young is often shown in a surprising manner. While a pack of fox-hounds were drawing a cover in the neighbourhood of Brighton two years ago, they started a bitch-fox, which left the cover with a cub not more than one or two days old in her mouth. Being hard pressed by the hounds, she dropped the cub, and the hounds ran over it without noticing it. A kind-hearted friend of mine had it picked up by his groom, brought it home, and reared it. It is now so tame that it has become a perfectly domesticated animal. I am happy to be able to add that its affectionate mother made her escape from the hounds, although I cannot but think that it would have been to the credit of the hunt had the dogs been whipped off when the female fox was first seen endeavouring to preserve her young one.

A much smaller quadruped will show equal affection for its offspring. When a mouse's nest has been discovered with young ones in it, I have known the mother remove them to a place of safety by conveying them away in her mouth in a very short space of time.

In the last number of the "Gentleman's Magazine" there is an admirable letter by Mr.

"A Plea for Small

C. Roach Smith, entitled, Birds." This letter cannot be too widely read and circulated in all rural districts, and I hope it may lead many of our country gentlemen to protect these useful and beautiful works of the hand of a good and wise Creator.

When we consider how many birds are destroyed in the spring when they have nests and young ones, by foolish gardeners who are ignorant of their utility, it is surprising how very seldom one meets with a nest containing starved or dead birds. It may, therefore, be fairly presumed that these young birds, when deprived of their parents, utter their hungry cries, which attract the pity of other birds, perhaps of a different species, who feed and bring them up.

These anecdotes will serve to show the sympathy and love which animals have for each other. It is a very pleasing reflection, and offers a useful lesson. The very sight of suffering shows that compassion is felt in the animal world in a greater or less degree, and that there exists a desire of alleviating it. It is a curious subject for reflection, and one, perhaps, which ought to attract more attention than it appears to have done. Is there not some degree of reason to be found in these kindly impulses in the animal creation ? EDWARD JESSE.

THE MILL-STREAM.

OH! dark the night, with storm and mist,
And fastly fell the snow;

And all around the creaking mill
The bitter wind did blow:

And the mill-stream with a fearful sound
Went moaning to and fro.

The winter sun rose round and red,
And glared along the snow;

The miller stood and gazed amazed,
And oh the wind did blow:

And the mill-stream with a fearful sound
Went moaning to and fro.

All in the quiet afternoon
Came one across the snow;

To-morrow he'd wed the miller's child,
And oh the wind did blow:

And the mill-stream with a fearful sound
Went moaning to and fro.

The weary, cruel night came down
And hid the sleek, smooth snow;
And oh the mist and rain came on:
And oh! the wind did blow:
And the mill-stream with a fearful sound
Went moaning to and fro.

A peasant in the chilly dawn

Did gaze across the snow;

He looked, nor saw the taper light,
Nor heard the mill-wheel go:
And the mill-stream with a fearful soun
Went moaning to and fro.

They found her 'neath the cruel wave, Where shady willows grow:

And the mill-stream with a fearful sound
Went moaning to and fro.

The stranger took her tenderly,
And laid her 'mid the snow;

And oh he kissed her lily lips;
And oh the wind did blow:

And the mill-stream with a fearful sound
Went moaning to and fro.

They laid her in her simple grave
Among the cruel snow;

And near to her her father dear:

The wailing wind was low:

And the mill-stream with a fearful sound
Went moaning to and fro.

The stranger rode across the plain--
Across the smooth, sleek snow;

And if he ever came again

No man save he may know:

But the mill-stream with a fearful sound

CADETS, not at Woolwich or Sandhurst, (such was not their good fortune,) but cadets of old and now impoverished houses-of houses which still kept up their ancient state. They were both handsome, well-grown, well-bred, but utterly poor, and utterly unfitted by their education for anything in the world, or to speak more truly, for anything in any world but their own. Neither of them had place or provision of any kind, and both had been used to luxury from their youth up.

They were cousins-Edward Hornby and Lionel Horton. Edward was a large, loud, fierce man, very vicious, very handsome, a terrible bully (these were in the older timesthe Camelford times), a splendid rider, a fine shot, as brave as a lion, and as treacherous as a leopard. Lionel was cast in a gentler and more feminine mould to all appearance; not quite so tall, perhaps even more handsome, and of pleasing genial manners. Somewhat idle even in the few things he had to do, but a most amiable and excellent young fellow, disgusted with his life, and knowing himself fit for higher things.

They had a third and mutual cousin, slightly younger, a young lady. Her family was as poor as were either of theirs, but she was rich. She was dowered with a beauty so wonderful that people in the world began to speak of it even now, before she was out; and to this beauty her father and mother looked, in part, to restore the fallen fortunes of their house, for they were heirless, and she was the last of the long old line.

She had been seen by few, but had been very much in the company of her cousins. Inevitably, but with singular infelicity, those two unhappy young men fell deeply in love with her, and more unfortunately still, she returned the love of the more gentle Lionel.

It was in the autumn, at one of their dilapidated old country houses, that this took place. Edward broke the fiercest horses for her amusement; swam the broad cold river in November because she was on the other side, and that he might have the happiness of walking home beside her in his dripping clothes in the biting wind. But she did not care for him, she was far too refined a creature to be won by mere exhibitions of brute strength which any prize-fighter could surpass. When he did not frighten her he displeased her; she disliked him, and he saw it.

Lionel was a perfect gentleman, and though not a close scholar, had read somewhat. And he had a gentle, playful manner, too, and a pleasant quiet way of saying humorous things, and altogether was such a very charming person that she gave him the preference from the first, and grew to love him deeply before she had any idea that such was the case. was only her cousin.

He

She was at first very careful in her behaviour to the two to show no marked preference for either. But each of them before long saw perfectly well how the matter stood.

The old people of course guessed nothing of it; if they had, it would have given them only a temporary uneasiness. Her father was so inexorably certain of her destiny that nothing could have disturbed his certainty; the car of Juggernaut is not to be turned aside by a stick. And the poor young lady was well aware of what awaited her, and but for this appearance of Lionel in these autumn days, would have looked forward with extreme pleasure to that destiny.

Lionel was roused from his lethargy of life by this newly-found love, and he formed a scheme, a foolish lover's scheme.

"If she will be constant for a year or two, I will win a position for her. There is, at all events, India,"

Alas, poor youth! he should have known that he would get no nearer to the moon by going to India than he would to his cousin Alice.

As the autumn drew towards a close, she began to relax a little in the extreme care with which she had kept the balance between them, and somewhat to unbend towards Lionel. Edward, hating with a deep and deadly hatred, watched them closely, and saw the growing hope in Lionel's eyes.

"The fool will not be long before he speaks."