approached her, and clasped her darling more closely to her breast.

But Harry was a boy, and, being a boy, he delighted in the dismay he occasioned. A last rush and leap brought him face to face with Amy and Eglantine, his arms loaded with faggots piled up to his chin, which he flung down beside a rustic gate, and went on making and flinging down yet more, while he repeated the words of the song. Ah, Amy! why had not you the wit and presence of mind to run away as fast as your little legs could carry you when you heard that terrible song in the distance? Why did you stand there appalled, with white cheeks and staring eyes, till the tormentor was upon you, and you had no chance of escape? for what could those poor little legs of yours do matched against his long ones?

"Now then," said Harry, "all's ready. Give us the witch over here."

He had driven a long, high stake into the earth behind the gate, in the very midst of all the faggots, and he now made a snatch at Eglantine as she lay still softly asleep in Amy's arms, ignorant of her approaching fate, or the anguish awakened by it in her "little mother's" heart.

"If you burn her you shall burn me too," the child cried in her misery, "for I won't let her go!"

And she clasped her tightly in her arms, and then turned to run away.

Of course, she was the next moment gripped by Harry.

"Fair and softly, young lady," said he; "fair and softly goes far in a day. It will be fine fun. It is a pity you should lose it by being burned too. We'll tie the witch up on the top of the stake, and then you and I will lie here on the grass at our ease, and watch the flames rising and rising, till they devour her. Ha ha! ha!"

"We won't! they shan't! she's not a witch! She is my own dear, dear little dolly, Eglantine! You wicked, cruel boy!" cried Amy, trembling with anger and grief, and clasping her Eglantine more tightly than ever.

Alas! poor Eglantine and poor Amy, what chance had they against Harry? And you know, "boys will be boys."

Harry, with his strong arms and big hands, seized hold of Eglantine's head, and what could Amy do against all his force when she was whisked from her kind protectress, and all she kept of her was the edge of her pretty white frock? She might have caught her by her legs, to be sure; but then, Amy knew that Eglantine's legs were not her strong point. Harry had once before pulled one of them nearly off, and rivers of bran had flowed from the

gaping wound. With her small plump hands she held fast on to the skirt of the dress; but what hope was there that these little hands could wage equal war with his, that were all bone, muscle, and sinew?

She pulled and he pulled, and he pulled and she pulled, when lo! an ominous creak at his end: some stitch had given way that secured the waxen head to the body, made of bran, sewn up in fair linen, and that creak, that little sound, sent a thrill into Amy's heart. She knew her darling's danger, and the hands that would have gladly hurt themselves for her sake now equally for her sake relaxed their hold, and left her helpless and powerless in a con. queror's grasp.

And in the grasp of such a triumphant conqueror, too! Harry waved her over his head in the air, shouting out, "Jolly old witch!" and then he waved her again, till Amy feared she might fly to pieces before her eyes. What a fate for her darling! and yet, if she escaped the present danger a yet more terrible one awaited her. There was the stake, and there were the faggots all round it. She had no confidence in Harry's mercy when a doll was concerned. The next moment she might see her tied up to await that dreadful death. She sank on her knees, and hiding her face in both her hands, cried bitterly. The sky was just as blue over her head, the branches of the trees waved softly to and fro, the birds sang their joyful hymns, the wild wood flowers clustered and blossomed round her: all was as gay and as peaceful as when, a few minutes ago, she stood the happiest of children, tenderly cooing a lullaby to her sleeping Eglantine; and now, robbed of her darling, and with greater terrors before her, she knelt there, weeping in wild despair.

Loud shouts burst in her ears—and was there?— yes, there was a slight, as yet scarce perceptible, smell of burning wood. Her hands dropped from her face, she opened her eyes, and half blinded as they were by tears, they beheld Eglantine tied aloft to the stake, and Harry on the post of the gate, where he had jumped up to perform the cruel deed, having first lighted the faggots that lay round it, which had begun to smoulder, while pretty blue smoke rose in light and graceful clouds from them.

"Ha! ha ha!" laughed Harry as he sprang to the ground

Full of sorrow and anger, she rushed forward, and placing herself with her back to the gate, she tore off her sash and the ribbon from her hat, and as well as she could manage it with her own hands, she tied herself to the bars and posts. And even as she did so the wood burned cheerily with a crackling noise, and set fire to the dry grass and withered leaves, and the flames rose, mingling with the pretty blue smoke.

Despair and rage were in her heart, and her little fair face was full of them, while Eglantine hung there far above her, her features undisturbed by any emotions, their expression calm and serene.

"But they will melt! they will melt!" cried Amy, and she wept aloud.

Meantime Harry, little dreaming the mad action that her despair had driven his sister to commit, had run away in order to add to her fears. He did not -let us do the mischievous boy justice—he did not intend to really burn the doll; he would tease little Amy for a while. Why do boys delight in teasing? And then he would come back, and cut down the calm and placid victim before even her pretty blue shoes had been singed, and restore her to the tender arms from which he had snatched her.

But he had reckoned without his host, never calculating on the rashness to which Amy's rage and grief would drive her.

The father of the children was walking in the garden, and saw the curling smoke rise from the plantations. Afraid for his trees, he went there in a great hurry, and I will ask you to imagine his feelings at the sight he beheld. A blazing fire, and his little daughter tied to the gate around which it was arising.

He was not the only person who observed the smoke.

Naughty Harry, who had run off in an opposite direction, suddenly became aware that matters were assuming a more serious appearance than he had intended.

"There is never smoke without fire," is a proverb we all know, and here was so much smoke that the fire must be in proportion. His conscience smote him. He was not really cruel, he was not absolutely without mercy. If Eglantine were destroyed, and in that dreadful way, he knew how her "little mother" would suffer. Back he ran, to behold the same sight almost at the same moment as his father.

Man and boy rushed into the flames, which had not yet injured her, to rescue the darling of the house, the one little girl that God had given them. They bore her out before even her dress had been

which had only begun to reach the gate, were darting high around the stake, and Eglantine was in imminent danger. Amy's head was thrown back, her eyes fixed on her doll. She wrung her hands, she almost struggled to escape from her father's arms. "Oh, Eglantine! Eglantine!" was all she said. "Oh, Eglantine! Eglantine!" Full of remorse, and for the first time understanding how intense Amy's affection was for what to him was only a silly thing made up of wax and bran, Harry dashed into the very heart of the flames, again jumped on to the top of the gate-post, and, flinging his arms up, tore Eglantine from her perilous position. Unfortunately for him, he had thrown off his jacket, having become heated in his play, and his shirt-sleeve caught fire as he did this, and at the same moment he somehow lost his balance where he stood, and came down with a great crash on the ground. But he did not mind the pain, the fall, or the shock; he did not even know that his sleeve was on fire; he only held out the doll to his little sister, crying, "Here, Amy, here! she is just as jolly as ever!" and then, for the first time in his life, he did what few boys have any experience of: he fainted away, for he had hit his head against a stone as he fell.

And so you see Harry had brought his own punishment by his folly. His shirt burned away, and his father had some difficulty in extinguishing the fire, and did not succeed in doing so before his arm had been rather badly burnt also; and what with the burn and the blow on his head, a whole week of his holidays was spent in bed, and during most of the time he was in pain and ill; and last, not least, had to take disagreeable physic three times every day. Amy would sit by his bedside, with Eglantine on her knee, and chatter to him and amuse him, and she felt a sweet assurance that since he had risked his own life to save that of the doll, her darling was safe from any danger at his hands for ever after. Harry was very much ashamed of himself, especially when his father said that to tease a child was "unmanly;" but having punished himself so severely, he escaped without any further punishment than some good advice and a lecture; and as he confessed his fault and his contrition frankly, his father forgave him, though not as quickly as Amy had done. And little Amy received good advice and a small lecture also, as she was tenderly taught the lesson that children must learn to control their feelings as well as their tempers, and that, though an affectionate child may love her doll, a good little daughter ought to have reflected on the grief she would have caused if she had really burned herself with her doll.

HEN the bushman or settler in New South Wales wakes from his night's rest, among the first sounds that fall upon his ear are the discordant notes of a species of kingfisher, popularly known in Australia, from the character of its cry, as the "laughing jackass," or, from its habit of rousing sleepers ere daybreak, as the "bushman's clock." It begins to screech about an hour before sunrise, and soon sets other birds a-chattering too; the unearthly shrieks are heard again at noon, and once again at sunset the peals ring out to the sky. Its extraordinary notes have been described by one traveller as a "chorus of wild spirits," while another naturalist feelingly likens them to the hideous noises of a "troop of fiends, shouting, whooping, and laughing." The nåtives call it Gogobera, which is supposed to be an attempt to render its singular sounds into human speech; but as the aboriginal Australian's reputation for cleverness stands by no means high, it may be doubted whether the translation is very successful. Perhaps it is only in accordance with the "fitness of things" that such "laughter" should proceed from a somewhat clumsy, ugly-looking bird. For the "jackass," though a kingfisherand the largest of the family-is not adorned with the brilliant plumage of its British cousin. Its coat is of a rich chestnut brown and dirty white colour (hence the title of Great Brown Kingfisher applied to it by some writers on natural history), the wings being slightly marked with light blue. It has a large mouth, a long, pointed, formidable beak, and a sort of crest which it raises when angry or alarmed-three "points" that may help to explain the ferocity of appearance which has been ascribed to it by several observers.

Yet we would not excite any prejudice against the "bushman's clock," for it possesses sterling qualities which far more than compensate for the want of beauty or good looks. In the first place, our feathered hero is thoroughly companionable. Its disposition is the reverse of shy, and it examines objects that are novel to it with an industry and inquisitiveness that Mr. Paul Pry might have envied. Moreover, this habit of "curiosity" is by no means offensive, for circumstances (as you know) alter cases, and when a lonely settler in the Australian wilds-remote, possibly, from civilisation-discovers that his doings are watched by this strange bird, with an apparently intelligent interest, he inclines to welcome it as a friend. Perched on

a tree, the jackass closely observes the pitching of the tent, or the lighting of the fire, or the cooking of food, as if it thought it very good fun. It is still further recommended to the indulgence of wayfarers in the bush by its unrelenting hostility towards snakes, with which it wages war to the death; thus, like the secretary bird, affording an example of birds destroying snakes instead of-as is too commonly the case by "fascination" and otherwise-being destroyed by them. They get very excited over the killing of the loathsome reptile, which, armed with its poison-fangs, is indeed a formidable foe, and makes a bold bid for victory against its nimble and plucky adversary. In such contests the bill of the jackass plays a prominent part, for this weapon is so powerful as to crush the heads of snakes. A couple of these birds, that had been noticed to disable a carpet-snake, perched themselves upon a gum-tree, and every now and then flew down at the enemy and pecked at it in a business-like way, keeping up an incessant chatter the while.

But it is not only in respect of its free-and easy habits that the jackass offers a marked contrast to the British species of kingfisher. The latter loves solitude, and is almost invariably found near water; the "bushman's clock," on the other hand, is as much at home on dry plains or in thinly-wooded forests as on the sea-coast or river-banks, patronising all situations alike, though it is nowhere numerous. Its food consists mainly of reptiles (with perhaps a decided preference for small lizards), insects, and crabs. It is supposed to dine occasionally on cold snake; but, as a rule, it is satisfied with the luxury of killing it.

It need hardly be said that the "laughing jackass" has a home of its own, despite its constant attendance at the settler's tent, and it usually selects for this purpose a hole in a large gum-treein which, however, it constructs no nest, merely laying its lovely pearl-white eggs on the rotten wood at the bottom of the hole. One more good point has yet to be mentioned on behalf of our hero with the queer name, for the parent protects its young with the utmost bravery, pouncing upon any one who dares climb the tree and inflicting serious wounds.

Mr. Gould asserts that the laughing jackass bears confinement "remarkably well," and is the most amusing bird for an aviary with which he is acquainted. This statement is borne out by the experience of those who have actually kept the "bushman's clock" in their gardens, from which it has not made the smallest effort to escape. The