Old mice and young mice all giving

opinions;

Mice running wildly, 'mongst plaster and bricks ;

Mice nibbling biscuits; mice playing
their tricks;

Whisking o'er shelves, to help themselves
To cheese and bacon, and what might be
Stored away in the cook's pantry.
Excited they were, for everywhere
Were notices pasted, to say that, if fair,
At eight Mr. Whisker would take the chair,
And Professor Mouse would give an address,
On "Courage and how to gain fearlessness."

The place he would grace was a cheesemonger's shop,

Where, after the lecture, they all might stop,

And eat as much cheese, at their ease, as they please,

For supper, without any payment of fees.

So at night, by the light of the dips left and right,
That blazed and flamed and dazzled one quite,

The mice assembled in all their might,
And presented quite an imposing sight.
And when the Professor, in tie of white,
And spectacles perched upon his nose,
Appeared, the squeaks and cries that uprose
Might have daunted their foes;

They were ready for blows, so one might suppose;
When the speaker said, "Friends, as each one

(Rapturous cheering from every mouse;
Shouts of " I promise!" throughout the house.)
Then Professor Mouse continued, "No doubt
The foe we've the greatest fear about

Is the cat" (sensation)--" the tortoiseshell cat,
The tabby, the black, and the sandy cat,
The white, and the grey, and the piebald cat,
The Manx, the Persian, the stable cat,
The cat and her kittens-in fact, the cat
In whatever garb or place she is seen,
Has ever our deadliest enemy been.

She has filled our minds with unreasoning fear,
And made us feel exceedingly queer
Whenever we knew that a cat was near.
'Twill be different now if you won't be supine,
But will take due heed to this thought of mine,
And will make up your minds to combine, combine.
And if a bold front you combined put on,

The cat would turn tail and would soon be gone."
(Uproarious cheering, and stamping, and squeaking.).
And then the Professor said, "That his oration
He hoped would prove good for the mighty mouse
nation.

His heart palpitated, he felt rather queer:
Whilst the audience knew that a crisis was near!
To fight they weren't ready, their spirit grew colder,
To fight must be left to the mice who were bolder.
The only way now for their safety was flight,
And away they all scampered to left and to right,
The Professor among them! If he should be
caught

How e'er could the mouse of the future be taught?
Most needful it was the Professor should live,
Or how could he lectures on courage still give?
And he muttered, his features assuming a pallor,
"Discretion's an excellent portion of valour."

The cat made a spring, but she found that the house

Was entirely deserted by every mouse,

And there she might sit and might muse at her ease, And if she should wish it might sup upon cheese. She was very much vexed, for she thought at a meeting

Of mice she'd have had some most excellent eating,

Whilst the mice in their holes, the Professor in bed, "Good is courage, but safety is better!" all said.

EARS have gone by, but the scene of that wild, romping March morning still returns to my mind's eye. The turbulent river, aglow with sunshine, rolling on in its glory of strength; the bridge spanning it; trees and hedgerows bursting into early leaf; the far-stretching meadows, where buttercups danced in a sheen of yellow splendour-yes, it all comes back to me: a fair, bright, laughing picture of the past. And this is how it all came about.

We were down by the river, I, my brother Jack, my sisters, Alice, Annie, and little Bess. A gipsy's cart-as we called the vehicle of any rovers-stood under the shelter of the elms, at a short distance from the stream. It was nothing unusual; these itinerant folk often halted there in the retired spot, but a stone's throw from the direct road to Chistleton. We scarcely heeded the gipsy's cart, or the lean horse tethered hard by, and feeding greedily; for little Bess's eyes had espied some dark object in the water, and we all went hurrying on to the bridge to see what it was. Here stood a swarthy-faced lad, of about Jack's age, gazing moodily into the water, where that tiny something was tossed here and there, and carried on by the swift current. Down some way below were the flood-hatches, where a flour-mill was in full swing; we could hear the rush and roar of the water sweeping through them in their mad haste, as we stood on the bridge.

"Oh! it's a dear little black kitten," cried Bess, as we all peered down; and so it was: a panting, struggling mite, fighting, as only young things will fight, for life. Nay, her poor, little, pleading eyes were upturned to us, and her small red mouth opened with piteous cries of entreaty.

"Ay, little Nan's kitten, missie," said the swarthyfaced lad, a gloomy scowl on his brow.

"Is this some of your dirty work?" asked Jack. "No, it isn't; and if it were it would be no business of yours. Let her drown," was the return. The lad still scowled, but I saw his lips quiver.

"I'll not let her drown," cried impulsive Jack; and away he scudded along the river's bank.

""Tis all along of uncle; she ate his sausage, and he tossed her in there," the strange lad informed us.

And I'm glad she ate it, I be," he laughed-a wild, reckless laugh, at which I wondered.

But now Jack was trying to rescue her, grasping a branch of an overhanging tree, and bending out and out over the river, reaching down to her with a twig, if so be she would cling to it, or he could draw her in towards the bank, and so clutch her up. The little thing was just clinging to the friendly twig, and we were drawing a deep breath of satisfaction, when, to our childish horror, Jack's hold gave way, the treacherous branch failed him, and down, down he went with a great splash into the water. We girls shrieked in our terror, and not without reason, with the waters roaring and clamouring, as they rushed on their swift course towards the floodhatches, but a short distance below.

"He'd better have let her drown," cried the gipsy lad, watching to see what the next act in the little drama would be.

Jack could not swim, but he beat about him bravely, the sunlit waters laughing all the while, as if it were sport-only sport. Poor little black pussy! poor, poor Jack! they both went hurrying on together.

"He'll be through the flood-hatches in a minute," cried the stranger lad, who watched with us.

Ha! he held her up at last, a dripping mite, and would fain have tossed her on to the friendly bank ere the current bore him on; but no, she only fell into the river again-they went drifting on towards the seething waterfall at the hatches.

"Nay, little missies, I'll not let him get drowned." Now the stranger boy ran down along the bank, and dashed in to the rescue.

Jack's hand clutched the poor waif again, but, alas! the waters were too much for him, too much for his boyish rescuer-no, not rescuer; they both went drifting on, the kitten held up a moment, and now going under as Jack went twirling on. Now another actor came upon the scene, a tall rough man; and he dashed in below, near, dangerously near, the swirl above the hatches.

"You two simpletons! why didn't you let her be?" he roared, as we came within earshot, and we could see that his face was a dark, evil one, as he struck out towards the drowning lads with his giant strength. Jack he grasped by the shoulder, the other by the hair of his head. I know not how he did it, but he soon landed with them, muttering dark, evil words the while, and tossing them from him, away among the dancing buttercups--Jack's hand still holding the

black kitten. The tall man stalked away sullenly towards the gipsy cart, leaving us girls to do what we could for the two he had rescued. Of course we wept for very childish joy, mingled with fright, stroking Jack, patting the kitten, and eyeing our stranger friend half shyly, half curiously. He soon rose, however, with a merry laugh.

"Ha! that was a wetting, and no mistake,” said he, turning to Jack, who still lay upon the ground. "Can ye walk, young sir?"

"Yes," returned Jack, rather languidly.

"Then ye'd better go home, and get rigged out in dry clothes."

“And you?" questioned my brother, looking at the lad's ragged, dripping garments.

"Ha, ha! I shall get dry as I got wet—I'm used to it, young sir. But will ye keep the kitten?"

"Yes, we shall keep her," I answered, in my eagerness.

"Then Nan'll be glad." He turned away. I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but I was not sure. We called after him to stop, but he never even looked back.

Then we all went homeward, feeling very like children stepped out of a story-book. Our home lay half a mile away on the banks of this same stream, the old Moat House, where only a grandmother and one old servant lived with us. Well, arrived there, grandmamma and Mary took Jack away to bed, while we attended to our newly-found treasure by the kitchen fire, where, wrapped in flannel and laid to rest in a hamper, she soon fell into a sound sleep. Jack's nurses also left him in a peaceful slumber. The house was strangely quiet all that long, long afternoon, till after sundown, when Jack was allowed to sit by the dining-room fire, wrapped in a blanket, and we brought in Smut-as we had already named her to keep him company, still snug and warm in her hamper bed. I had just given her a saucer of milk, and was laughing with the rest at her queer little invalid way of sitting up in her bed and looking around her, when Sarah, a handmaid of Mary's, came with the message that a ragged boy was in the porch, asking to see one of the young ladies.

"That's me," I said, with the importance of my eight years, and tripped away, knowing I should see our stranger friend of the morning.

"How's the young master?" he asked, standing in the moonlit porch.

"Better, thank you," said I. "Ha, ha! that's good; I'm

going to keep the kitten?

66

"How are you?" all right. Are ye

Oh, yes! we shall keep her," I answered, feeling half shy, half amused at the gipsy boy.

"Little Nan bade me ask. Little Nan's my cripple sister, and lies days and days in the cart, and frets, and fumes, and has nobody to love her now, 'cept me."

"And this was her kitten?" I questioned, my heart yearning over this unknown Nan.

"Yes; but you keep her, she told me to say. And will ye come to-morrow, and let her see her kitten's new mistress?"

Go to the gipsy cart to see this unknown Nan! The story-book feeling thrilled over me, and I promised to go.

66

That's well," quoth the lad, and went away all down the moonlit walk.

I kept my visit a secret from everybody, and went alone. I may have been wrong to go thus alone, but truly my heart throbbed and thrilled with I know not what of right feeling and pity, sitting in the cart on the floor, by the side of the sick girl's rag of a bed. She told me of her pain, her weakness, her weariness, her age-just mine; and Jem's-that was her brother-was just Jack's, ten years. She kissed my hand for promising to be good to her kitten, and shed a torrent of tears at the thought of never seeing her again.

"No; uncle'll kill her," she sobbed when I offered to bring her back; "he said he would. And now I'll have no one to love me but Jem-no, no one." It wrung my heart to hear her sob so.

"You have Jesus to love you," said I, and in my girlish pity I told her of that good Friend of children, grown-up people, and all.

She lay silent a little time after I stopped speaking; the sweet afternoon sunshine stole into the cart and played over her wan face. I hoped she understood what I had told her, but I did not know. I left her with tears in my eyes, amid a golden halo of sunset light, and hard by the cart I met her dark, surly uncle.

"You are the little lady as lives along with two old women yonder, aren't ye?" he asked in his harsh tone, halting in front of me.

"No; they have men folk there too," spoke Jem's voice from behind the cart; but I, in my truthfulness, answered

"No, we haven't; we live alone with grandmamma and Mary," although the lad nodded and winked at me, standing out of sight of his uncle behind the cart. I felt half afraid, and was glad to get away from them both.

And that night I heard a sound of confusion and cackling at the back of the house, where the fowls roosted, and upon which my window looked. Curious girl that I was, I opened the old diamondpaned casement, and peered out. There in the moonlight was Nan's brother-I was sure it was he,

and no other -hurrying stealthily along under the shadow of the wall; then followed whispering voices, a scud

ding away, sobs cand cries, was for mercy, in the dis

ance; after that ball was quiet, save han opfor the river singing its song in the night under the watchful stars. On of the morrow my beautiful

black pet hen was missing, and the gipsy cart nowhere to be seen. Then this Jem, Nan's brother, who had tried to save my brother,

and whose sister I had visited, was al thief could steal from those who had been friendly with him! I was bitterly disappointed in him-in Nan, if she knew. dd Still we kept Stepte od 1 little Smut as

Anon, when summer was at its prime, the gipsy cart was in its old place again, and Jem, the thief, stole to our door early one forenoon with the requestrequest omat of baly od Tasod

"May I see the young lady?" I heard him, and stepped out. I knew his voice.id te balle 57

"Miss Mabel, Nan's dead, and we're burying her this morning; and she bade me say, if I ever see you again, that she thought, and thought, and talked to Jesus, till He took her to live with Him, 'cause she was so lonely." The lad wiped his tears away with his smutty hand as he told me this in a boy's shamefaced way.ooy bea

"Nan dead, and going to be buried?" Tears rushed to my own eyes.

"Yes. Will ye see the last of her? Come and see us put her in her grave," craved Jem, and he looked at me so pleadingly. od d

"Yes; I will come," I told him, and ran and put on my hat and cloak. I told my sisters, and they accompanied me. We all crowded round the. grave, and wept our childish tears over poor Nan,: whom Jesus had taken home from the old cart "because she was so lonely." To souce and m

The sun shone then, but in the afternoon came a down-pouring of rain-drenching rain, which plashed against the window, and made the sullen mill-river murmur and roar. Somehow, I chose to be alone, and stole away from the general chatter going on in the dining-room, to sit in the drawing-room with little Smut. I could but think of poor Nan, and the message which she had sent me.

Hark! what was that? Smut heard it, andi pricked up her ears. A something tapping against the window-a shadowy figure standing like a blot outside.

"Miss Mabel," it said in a whisper; and somehow, I heard the softly-spoken words amid all