THE DOG.

CXVII.

A dog belonging to Mr. John Gale, of Sise Lane, in London, may frequently be seen carrying a penny to a neighbouring baker's and bringing therefrom a biscuit. The animal's love of "Abernethy's" is well known in the locality, and he is enabled to indulge it pretty freely. Several well-authenticated stories of his sagacity are told. One is that he keeps a strict watch over his owner's hat when out at a public place, and has removed it from the head of another person who put it on to see whether he would really interfere. He was once far away in the country, on the sick list, for a couple of months. When he returned he heard the rattling of keys when the safe was being locked up for the night, on which he immediately went to the safe and demanded, in his way, to carry the keys to his master, as was his wont before his sickness. He is of the Irish retriever breed, and has been a very handsome dog, but is now falling into the "sere."

64

CXVIII.

A traveller was passing in a carriage along the Avenue de Neuilly, in Paris. The night was dark; all at once the horse stopped, and the traveller saw that the animal had met an obstacle. At the same moment a man raised himself from before the horse, uttering a cry. Why don't you take care ?" said the traveller. "Ah," cried the man, "you would do better, instead of halloing, to lend me your lantern." "What for?" "I had 300 francs in gold on my person: my pocket is broken, and all is fallen in the street. It is a commission with which

my master has entrusted me. If I do not find the money I am a ruined man." "It is not easy to find the pieces on such a night; have you none left ?" "Yes, I have one." 'Give it to me." The man hesitated. "Give

66

it to me; it is as a means of recovering the others." The poor man gave him his last coin. The traveller whistled; a magnificent Danish dog began to leap around him. "Here," said the traveller, putting the coin to the nose of the dog-"look." The intelligent creature sniffed a moment at the money, and then began to run about the road. Every minute he returned leaping, and deposited in the hand of his master a napoleon. In about twenty minutes the whole sum was recovered. The poor fellow who had got his money back, turned, full of thanks, towards the traveller, who had now got into his carriage. “Ah, you are my preserver," said he, "tell me at least your name." "I have done nothing," said the traveller. "Your preserver is my dog; his name is Rabet-Joie." And then bidding him farewell, he disappeared in the darkness.

THE BUTTERFLY.

CXIX.

Among the many pets that I have loved and lost, few have endeared themselves more to me than my butterflies, two of which I once kept for the space of a year and a half.

They came to me in their chrysalis state, and I, not knowing anything of entomology, shut them up for safety in a cabinet having glass doors. The cabinet stood near a small window in my bedroom. I was very unwell that winter, and therefore a fire was kept in my room night and day. The room was therefore very warm, and I suppose the little butter. flies were deceived thereby, and thought or dreamed that summer smiled upon the earth; for a few days after Christmas, to my astonishment and delight, a little yellow butterfly was seen fluttering freely within the cabinet.

My attention was first directed to the cabinet by the playful gambols of a pet pussy, who had mounted on a chair, and stood upon its hind legs, pawing at the little creature through

the glass. I soon sent pussy away, opened the cabinet, and tried to induce the butterfly to alight upon my hand. But it was either dazzled and bewildered at finding itself in its new and extended sphere of existence, or had already learned the fear of man, for, at the approach of my hand, it flew wildly about, and finally settled down, as if exhausted.

I now became most anxious to feed the little thing; but how this was to be achieved I had not the slightest idea, nor could any one in the house advise or help me in this important matter. Moreover, I was loudly ridiculed for the bare idea of trying to tame and feed butterflies. However, I remembered that the poets all agreed in saying that butterflies sipped nectar from the opening flowers, and therefore turned my attention to manufacture a substitute for nectar. Obtaining some honey, which I diluted with rosewater, I put one drop into the centre of the open blossoms of a fairy rose, and placed the little plant in the cabinet. I soon had the joy of seeing the little thing flutter round the rose, and finally settle upon it. Whether it really drank or not I cannot say. I thought that it must have done so, as it appeared to grow stronger, and more lively every day. I fed it in this manner every day for a fortnight, and by the end of that time it became so tame that it would step off the flowers, or anything else on which it might be standing, and appear quiet and at rest upon my hand. It also appeared to understand that I wished it to come to me when I called it by the name of "Psyche," that being the name which I had given to the insect.

About three weeks after the advent of Pysche, we were gladdened by the addition of another butterfly to our establishment-a peacock. He was strong and vigorous from the first, and flitted swiftly about like a gleam of prismatic light. I used to fancy they talked to each other, as he at once fell into the ways and habits of the other; and when I called Psyche, he too would come. I gave him another name, but he never seemed to understand that it belonged to him.

They lived in this way until the earth had donned her glowing summer robe of lilies and roses, when I was told that their life-power could only extend over a month or two, and that it was cruel to keep them, even as happy

prisoners. I was, therefore, induced to give them their liberty. The cabinet was placed with open doors before the window. It was many days before the butterflies ventured to leave the window-sill, and this much to my joy, for I thought it might be affection for me that held them back. However, one day, with many bitter tears I saw them depart, and join some wild companions; but at night we found them again in the cabinet. On the following morning they left us, and came not back until the cold and stormy September weather set in. Yet, when in the garden, they would come if I called them, and rest for a short time on my hair or hands. At length, on a cold windy day in September, we saw them on the window-sill; and on our opening the window, they came in and resumed possession of their old quarters, and abode there for the winter. It is true they were but poor-looking objects to what they were when they went forth. The world seemed to have used them somewhat roughly, for the sheen had gone from the rich wings of the peacock butterfly, and the soft yellow bloom from Psyche's plumage. Nevertheless, they were welcomed guests; and though ragged and wayworn, were not less loved. We observed that during this winter they slept more than they did formerly. They also manifested pleasure when sung or talked to, and were very fond of being waved about and danced up and down in the air, while they would sit upon the hand quite calmly. I think that the movement must have reminded them of the nodding flowers and fresh breezes of their summer life.

The sun and earth ran their appointed course until they brought us another bright June, and again I bestowed the boon of freedom on our fairy pets, who went forth gaily; but, alas, never to return. One day, after a heavy thunderstorm, we found the inanimate form of a yellow butterfly upon the window-sill. I took it up lovingly, and did my best to revive it, for I believed it to be the material form of my own beautiful Psyche, who had sought refuge from the storm, but had found the window closed. Of this I cannot be sure.

I have since tried to tame other butterflies, but never again was so successful, although I have taught three or four to know me, and to come at my call.-Rev. J. G. Wood.

shaped, not unlike that of the otter. The head is round, attached to the body without a neck: the muzzle, in which the nostrils are placed, is large and fleshy: the upper lip cleft, and bristled at the sides; the lower lip much shorter; and the mouth small. The teeth, which are all molars, bear a resemblance to those of some cloven-footed quadrupeds.

The mamma of the Manatees are pectoral, and this structure, joined to the adroit use of their finger-like flippers, have caused them,

of mermaids have arisen; and "It is not at all improbable," says Scoresby, "that the Walrus has afforded foundation for others. I have myself seen a sea-horse in such a position, that it required little stretch of imagination to mistake it for a human being; so like, indeed, was it, that the surgeon of the ship actually reported to me that he had seen a man with his head just appearing above the surface of the water!" *

*Cassell's "Natural History, Vol. II., pp. 365-6."

WOMEN OF ENGLAND."

Let us Sing of the Dead.

ET us sing of the dead so kindly,
That if they still could hear,
They would know how well we loved
them,

How true was every tear.

Let us sing of the flowers of summer,
Of the cool and pleasant shade,
Of the spots, all green and golden,
By light and shadow made.
Let us sing of our garden sisters,

In loving tones, and true;

With their wreaths of shining silver,

Their bells of tender blue;

With their cups of pearl and ruby,

And many a queenly crown,

And many a star of glory,

That beauty blushed to own;
And the scented breath they sent us
From bower and border gay;
With the smiles of early morning,

The sighs of closing day.
And this wealth of joy and gladness
Returning year by year,
With a faithfulness unchanging,

Which made them more than dear:
For it told us-oh, how sweetly!-
A tale for ever true:

That He who made the world so fair,
Its bloom will still renew :-
That to fade is not to perish,
Where He His pledge has given
Of a blessed reawakening

In the garden bowers of Heaven.

Glad Tidings.

F nature grieves not when our hearts are sad,

But blooms afresh, and blossoms while we sigh:

So we regard her not when tidings glad

Come floating o'er the garden sere and dry.

So glanced the maiden o'er a golden pageGolden to her, with wealth in every word; Unseen by her was blight of youth, or age,

And the sharp rustling of the leaves unheard. There is no winter in her young life now,

No autumn chill, no withering in the blast; Spring scatters sunshine o'er her smiling brow, And flowers of summer round her feet are cast.

He comes! and not with lingering steps, and slow;

But swift to prove the truth his words have told,

That, taught by sorrow, he has learned to know Life's richest blessings are not bought with gold.

His proud heart yields at last-his dream is o'er

The sordid promise of his worldly gain. He stands in thought upon his native shore, And sees the idol of his life—how vain!

He comes; but yet returning is not all,
He brings that blessed wisdom taught by

tears

By patient watching,-listening for the call

Of death, beneath the shade of wasted years. "Tis thus he comes, to share a lowlier home Than fancy painted in his early dreams. Thus her fond heart has yearned that he might

come,

And now too full her cup of gladness seems. Too full for only one. The flowers should hear Her happy tidings; and the flowers are gone. He too is gone, that brother still so dear,

And she must drink her cup of joy alone.

Such is our life. No blessed draught is given, But comes some bitter drop-some grief

some sore.

Such is our life; if not it would be Heaven, And we should trust, and pray, and hope no

more.

"Be assured that one cause of spiritual weakness is the constant dwelling upon self instead of upon Christ. Such persons study self more than they study Christ, and then they are weak in courage-they have none; weak in power-they can do nothing; weak in love-it centres all in self. There is no expansiveness; there is no going forth to others. Why, how constantly we see it, my brethren,-persons that are in affliction, perhaps unable to get out much, to have much intercourse with others. A great many persons visit them, but it is always in the way of sympathy, giving out to them, compassionating them, pitying them, making them think still more and more of self. But when those persons recover a little, let them make an effort, and go to see other people, and give out to others, instead of always craving to take in, and how wonderfully they are improved then. What a change it makes when once we are occupied with the sorrows of others, instead of always circling just round our

own.

"Oh, it is not good for some minds always to be taking in human sympathy, but it is a good thing to be giving out. The happiest people are those that have large sympathies for the sorrows of others; who endeavour to cast their own cares upon the Lord, and who receive from Him that help and support by which they are comforted themselves, and are enabled to comfort others. As I have said, then, these persons are weak because they look in, and not out-down, and not up; so they forget what Christ is, and dwell only on what they themselves are--poor and wretched and miserable. They forget all the promises of God, and that His Word is like Himself- The same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.'

The Family: Its Duties, Joys, and Sorrows. By COUNT A. DE GASPARIN. Translated from the French. London: Jackson, Walford, and Hodder.

We shall best introduce this volume (which is emphatically a Book for the Home Library, rich in the counsels of the ripest experience) by two or three extracts:

THE FAMILY AND THE SCHOOL.

"The laxity of family ties is one of the ominous signs of our times. Not only has it been made infinitely easy for parents to desert their task, even to giving out their children to nurse, but we have gone further; we have neglected the employment of those means of action which public virtue has left to us. Hours out of school have not been turned to account; parents and children alike have learnt to do without each other,

and evil independence has arisen. us. Is it not there? Does it not it not exercise a moral oversight? against everything?

School has quieted give lessons? Does Does it not provide

"Schools providing everything, and families concerning themselves about nothing; this is, in two words, the crime and the peril of the present day. How many holy affections it extinguishes, how much delightful intimacy, how much strength and joy, no tongue can tell. Deprived of the family, we are losing, little by little, that certain something, distinctive and personal, which home alone can give: turned out of the same wholesale manufactory, we are naturally pretty much like one another: a decent mediocrity prevails everywhere, accredited sentiments, recognized opinions. MEN are becoming more and more rare.

"Far be it from me to advocate the suppression of schools. Let us have schools, but by all means families. It is a grievous mistake to imagine that school supplies what is lacking in the family; it may often do what the family cannot, but it does not do what the family alone can. Domestic education must

ever go hand in hand with public education; or rather, I should say, there is no public education; children can be brought up only at home. This is a task that cannot be deputed; if neglected by the family it

is undone.

"God has not created the family for it to be dispensed with. We may give ourselves many dispensations, but our duties devolve upon us unalterably. We shall never invent a mechanism capable of, in any degree, superseding the action of parents. So that it is not everything to send children to school; they must be brought up at home.

"Solemn and noble work, the sweetness of which cannot be imagined by those who seek to escape from it! The children of true families may go to school, or college, like others; but they will feel themselves followed by an affection which never loses sight of them; they will feel themselves to be under the eye of God, and under their mother's eye."

THE FIRST LESSON OF THE FAMILY.

"The first and chief thing is, to love our children. The first lesson of the family is love. Their best friends must be those at home. Without lowering ourselves, without assuming the tone of comrades, without practising a false equality, and compromising our dignity and the respect due to us, we shall attach our children to us closely.

"You have doubtless known that special affection which grows up between parent and child, an affection always increasing, and sometimes confidential. It comes of genuine education. It is one of the best gifts we can bestow upon our sons and daughters, and it is one of the best joys we can receive from them.

"We should not forget that one of our first duties is to make home happy. Our children must feel happy there; for if otherwise, if their best moments were not spent with us, if they did not look forward to the family gathering at the close of the day, as to its joy and crown, something essential would be wanting in