THE TEAL.

'Where, as to shame the temples deckedBy skill of earthly architect,Nature herself it seemed would raiseA Minster to her Maker's praise.'

Certainly no service that human tongues could utter could surpass in impressiveness the strains raised to the glory of the Creator by the waves as they enter this temple of His own building, and toss aloft their offerings of glistening water and snowy foam.

Fingal, the hero from whom the cave takes its name, was a mighty man of renown in the legendary days of both Scotland and Ireland. He figures in the poems of Ossian, as well as in Gaelic ballads as Fion or Fion na Gael, and no other lore has ever been so dear to the peasants of these countries as the record of the marvellous deeds of Fingal.

Another remarkable cave in Staffa is 'Clam-shell Cave,' which is of immense size. It is really a huge fissure in the cliff, of which one side is wonderfully like the ribs of a ship or the markings on a clam-shell. This appearance is the result of immense pillars of basalt crossing the rock in even lines.

A rough iron stairway has been put up the cliff to enable visitors to look into the cave from above.

The 'Boat Cave' is smaller than that of Fingal, but the basaltic formation is even more regular: this cavern runs for one hundred and fifty feet, and is about twelve feet broad.

Indeed the whole coast of Staffa is studded with caves, into some of which a boat can enter when the water is smooth, but this is not of very frequent occurrence on this storm-beaten coast.

Helena Heath.

The Teal.The Teal.

What is the Teal? It is a bird once plentiful in many parts of Britain from which it has now vanished, owing to the draining of marshes and the cultivation of coast-lands, for it loves watery places. Being a notable species of the duck tribe, it is a prize to the hunter of wild-fowl. Not only is the bird thought a delicacy, but when the hunter comes upon a party of them he can generally manage to secure several. It is a shy bird, avoiding the abodes of mankind and large ponds or rivers. What it likes is a still, rushy pool, or some sluggish brook overhung with vegetation. About the South ofEngland it is seldom observed except in winter; occasionally it keeps company with other wild ducks when the weather is severe. Should one of them be alarmed by the approach of a possible enemy, while it is on a brook, it usually flies up and skims just above the water for some distance, when it will quietly settle near the bank, or it may drop into the water and swim away rapidly.

In their appearance the male and female birds are very different. The male teal is particularly handsome; the head is chestnut brown, having a glossy patch on each side; the neck and back are black, pencilled with grey; the wings exhibit a green spot, set in velvety black, and underneath, the colours are black and buff. But his female companion has no bright tints; she is attired in dull black and grey, which is an advantage to her, helping to her concealment at the period of nesting. About July the old teals moult, and, losing for a time their quill feathers, they are unable to fly, though able to walk and swim. Thus deprived of their fine feathers, the male birds are less handsome, and resemble the females till spring comes. Often in September and October teals assemble to migrate, flocks of them flying hundreds of miles to some winter resort, which they quit when the wonderful instinct given them by Providence tells them to journey elsewhere to make their nests.

Teals do not like to place the nest flat on the earth, and it is generally put on the ground rather above the marshes or streamlets, a hollow being scraped under a small bush. One or other of the parents lines the nest, perhaps with heather, or perhaps with fragments of grass. Eight, nine, or ten creamy-white eggs are laid, and then the hen-bird plucks from her body the soft down underlying the feathers, which is put round the eggs, making a soft bed for the young when hatched. They soon swim and run well, following their mother about as she goes insect-hunting.

J. R. S. C.

he haystack seemed to be cut exactly for my purpose, and, mounting step by step, I found a terrace more than sufficiently large to allow me to lie at full length. The scent was warm and sweet, and when I had said my prayers, I lay staring up at the sky, watching as the stars came out one by one. For a while, sleep would not visit me, although my head went round and round, as it were, and I seemed to be conscious of nothing but the tramp pursuing me along the white, dusty road. Yet I must have fallen asleep before long, because I was suddenly awakened by the barking of a dog.

'Heel, Tiger,' said a man's voice. 'Good dog, heel!' I still heard the dog growl in a painfully threatening manner, then the man's voice again. It was a somewhat rough voice, yet with a kindly note in it. 'Now,' it said, 'whoever you are, I advise you to show yourself. I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't show up in another minute, I shall set my dog on to you.'

As it was, I felt in mortal dread lest Tiger should spring at me during my descent; still, I rose to my feet, feeling still a little giddy and confused, climbed down to the foot of the haystack, and walked a little timidly towards the gate, where I could distinctly see the tall, stoutly-built figure of a middle-aged man in the light of the rising moon.

'What were you doing there?' he demanded.

'I was only asleep,' I answered.

'Think my hayrick is a proper place to sleep on?'

'I had nowhere else,' I cried.

'Well,' he said, 'come along with me, and we will have a better look at you.'

As I walked by his side, with Tiger, a large retriever, sniffing suspiciously at my heels, I realised that we were going in the direction of the cosy-looking farm-house. The possibility of being offered a comfortable bed, with a chance of taking off my clothes, and of something to eat, seemed delightful, and, before we came within sight of the red blind again, I had lost all fear of my companion, although he had not opened his lips during our short walk.

He came to a standstill in front of a five-barred gate beyond the barn, in which I could hear the cows chewing. 'Now, then,' he said, and, without any second bidding, I entered the farmyard. 'This way,' he continued, and the next minute he was tapping the door of the house with his stick. It was opened by a short woman, who wore a white apron over a dark dress, and had one of the ugliest and pleasantest faces I have ever seen.

'Who is that?' she asked, stepping back in surprise on seeing that the farmer was not alone.

'I went to see if the calves were all right,' was the answer, 'and the youngster was asleep on the rick. Tiger found him out—didn't you, Tiger?'

'Well,' said the woman, 'he looks as if something to eat would do him good, anyhow.'

'Take him to the kitchen, Eliza,' cried the farmer, and, opening a door to the left of the passage, she bade me enter and sit down; whereupon I suppose I must have again fallen asleep, for I was conscious of nothing farther until I opened my eyes, and saw Eliza in the act of placing a tray on the deal table; on the tray I rejoiced to see a large pork chop, a cup of hot cocoa, and a thick slice of bread.

My spirits seemed to rise with every mouthful of food, and I felt that I had at last reached a haven after all the unfortunate turmoils of this first day. Although the evening was hot, the kitchen fire seemed only to add to the sense of comfort, and although there were no looking-glasses, there were many things so bright that I could easily have seen my face in them.

Eliza, who was Mr. Baker's housekeeper, watched me with evident enjoyment, and before the plate was empty she rose to replenish it. I felt thankfulthat Providence had guided me to Mr. Baker's door, and devoutly hoped that I should not be turned away that night. I realised instinctively that these were the sort of people who would not turn a dog from their door if he needed succour, and by the time I had finished my meat, and had begun to eat a large portion of apple tart with a great many cloves in it, it appeared certain that there was shelter for one night, at least. At last I finished the last piece of thick and rather heavy piecrust, and sat waiting to see what would happen next.

'Now,' said Eliza, 'I should think the next thing ought to be to clean yourself.'

'I should like it immensely,' I answered.

So she led me to a wash-house behind the kitchen, and brought a large bowl of enamelled iron, filling it with very hot water. A cake of yellow soap and a jack-towel were provided, and taking off my jacket and waistcoat, I enjoyed a thoroughly good wash.

'Let me see what I can do with those,' said Eliza, taking my jacket and waistcoat, and when she brought them back as I dried my hands they certainly looked a little less dusty. She lent me a hard brush to brush my knickerbockers, stockings, and boots, and although there were several rents in my jacket, I began to feel something like a respectable member of society again.

'Now,' cried Eliza, regarding me with evident approval, 'suppose you come and see Mr. Baker.'

She led me to the room where I had seen her, earlier in the evening, draw down the red blind, and he was seated in an arm-chair with a wooden pipe in his mouth.

'Sit down,' he said, and nothing loth, for my legs still ached painfully, I took a chair by the door. 'Now,' he continued, 'how did you get yourself into such a state, and how is it you are wandering about the country alone?'

'I ran away,' I answered, and Mr. Baker looked towards the door, which Eliza had left half open.

'Eliza,' he exclaimed with a kind of chuckle, which seemed to confirm the assurance that I had found a sympathetic listener—'Eliza,' he shouted, 'the youngster's run away.'

'Has he, though?' said Eliza, coming to the threshold, where she remained standing.

'From school?' he asked, and sliding down farther into his chair, evidently prepared to enjoy my story, while Eliza stood in the doorway with her arms folded. I told it from the beginning. Every now and then Eliza would interrupt with an expression of sympathy, and Mr. Baker slapped his knee when I told him how I had thrown the hair-brush at Augustus. When I came to the end, having described the day's adventures, the sale of my watch and chain, with the theft of the fifteen shillings by the tramp, Mr. Baker shook his head, and looked into Eliza's pleasant, plain face.

'Now,' he said, 'the question is what's to be done with the youngster?'

'Supposing you got to London,' she suggested, turning to me, 'what did you think of doing?'

'I know I could do something,' I answered confidently.

'Still,' said Mr. Baker, 'you have not done much good for yourself to-day now, have you?'

'No,' I was compelled to admit, 'not to-day.'

'And you have no money left?' cried Eliza.

'When I get to London I am going to find some work to do,' I assured her; but she shook her head, and smiled a little sadly.

'Come to think of it,' said Mr. Baker, 'this Turton is about your only friend.'

'I don't call him a friend,' I answered.

'Anyhow,' exclaimed Eliza, 'it is too late to do anything to-night.'

'I suppose you can make the boy up a bed somewhere?' said Mr. Baker.

'If you ask my opinion,' she replied, 'the sooner he's inside it the better.'

'Yes; and directly after breakfast to-morrow morning,' he said, 'I shall drive the youngster back to Castlemore.'

'Not to Mr. Turton's!' I cried.

'What else do you think I can do with you?' he asked, as Eliza went away to prepare my bed.

'I would sooner do anything—anything,' I said, 'than go back.'

'I dare say you would,' he answered. 'Only you see there is nothing else to be done. I can't say I believe in boys running away, but still you seem to have been badly treated, and if you had a home, I don't say that in the circumstances I would not see you to it safe and sound. But you have not; and the consequence is that it is my duty to take you back. And,' he added, solemnly, 'however severely he treats you it won't be half so bad as what you would meet with if I let you go your own way.'

I could find nothing to answer. With all his kindness, Mr. Baker seemed to mean what he said, and I realised that a remonstrance would be only waste of words. Besides, I am afraid I was become cunning in my efforts at self-preservation, and if I said nothing, I certainly thought the more. My sleepiness seemed to have left me, and all my wits were at work. If I could prevent him, I determined that Mr. Baker should not take me back to Ascot House, although as yet I had not the remotest notion how to hinder his purpose.

One thing appeared certain. He was only to be defeated by strategy, and not by force. As I looked at his large fist resting on his arm-chair, I knew that if I attempted to resist I should be as powerless in his arms as I had been in those of the tramp. Presently Eliza re-entered the room to say the bed was ready, and when I arose Mr. Baker held out his arm to shake hands, causing me to feel not a little shamefaced. My friend seemed to have become an enemy. He had treated me kindly, and, indeed, still intended to do what he considered best for me, while my chief aim was to oppose him. But to have said right out that I would not go back to Castlemore would have defeated my own ends, so that I put my hand in his, received a cordial shake, and then followed Eliza upstairs. She carried a candle, which she set down on the washing-stand, and I saw that I was in a small room, extremely cool and clean, with one window, in front of which stood a muslin-covered dressing-table.

'Now tumble in quick,' she cried, 'and I will come to take the candle.'

(Continued on page 58.)

"I felt in mortal dread lest Tiger should spring at me during my descent.""I felt in mortal dread lest Tiger should spring at me during my descent."

"The other passengers thought him mad.""The other passengers thought him mad."

ne day, some years ago, a number of people were travelling in Ireland by coach. The day turned wet, and threatened to continue so till night. The moment the coach stopped, one of the outside passengers, who was without an umbrella, rushed into an ironmonger's shop and came out with a grid-iron in his hand. All the other outside passengers thought he was mad, but he wrapped himself in a large cloak, which covered his cap and most of his face and came down to his feet, and seated himself on his gridiron in the middle of his seat. In a couple of hours it was seen what he meant.

While the other passengers were sitting in pools of water from the dripping of the umbrellas, he was sitting high and dry above the seat on his gridiron; all the water ran under it, and when they got to their destination, the man on the gridiron was as dry as a bone, whilst the other outside passengers were soaked to the skin.

W. Yarwood.

C. J. B.

To gently walk, to move with ease;An edge, or margin, if you please:Combine the two, and you will findThe home of persons great in mind.A spot of northern English groundNear which a mighty poet foundA still retreat: a teacher sage,And lady honoured in her age,Were dwellers in this district too,And all its wondrous beauties knew.

C. J. B.

[Answers on page 98.]

I hurried out of my clothes as soon as Eliza had closed my bedroom door, although I did not turn into the inviting bed until I had bathed my feet, which were already slightly blistered. Then I lay down, having a difficult task to keep my eyes open until she came to take away the candle. To my surprise, Eliza bent over the pillow and kissed my forehead, thus making me feel more guilty than ever. It seemed a poor way to repay the kindness I had met with at her hands and Mr. Baker's, to run away during the night, although unless I did this it appeared certain that I should be taken back to Turton's the first thing after breakfast the next morning. Concerning such a calamity I felt desperate, and I believe there were few things I would not have done to secure freedom.

It was not that I feared any tremendous punishment, for I had never known Mr. Turton raise his hand to a boy, and my treatment could scarcely be worse than that which I had met with to-day. But it was the idea of the shame and degradation of being hauled back, of the jeers of Augustus, and his telling the other fellows on their return. Indeed, I was incapable of reasoning; I simply felt that any fate would be preferable to a return to Castlemore, and the only alternative seemed to be flight for the second time.

At present I could not tell whether even this would be practicable, although at the best I perceived that there would be many difficulties to overcome—Tiger not being the least. I had no idea whether Mr. Baker gave him the run of the premises at night, although this appeared extremely probable, or whether he was on the chain, and, if so, where. Whatever I did must be under cover of darkness, and the nights were short at this season. I knew that a farmer's household would be early risers, and that in fact there was little time to spare.

As I lay in bed, I could hear voices downstairs, and guessed that my own affairs were under discussion. I remembered a tale I had read of some travellers who were lost on a mountain, and in spite of their terrible weariness, feared to lie down in the snow, knowing that if they once fell asleep they would never again awaken in this world. My case seemed rather like theirs, although I lay in a comfortable feather bed. How delightful it was, how cool and fresh the linen sheets, how willingly I could have closed my tired eyes and fallen asleep! But in that case I feared that I should be lost. I certainly could not feel sure of waking before daylight; indeed, I felt I could sleep for a week, whereas, long before dawn, I had to put a considerable distance between myself and Mr. Baker's farm.

Afraid of closing my eyes in spite of myself, I sat up in bed, anxiously waiting for the voices to cease, for until it became safe to open my window, and ascertain what was underneath it, I could not tell even whether escape were possible. The windowwas the only hope! The house was so small that I could not imagine myself opening the door, going downstairs, and finding a way out without disturbing its inmates. If the window was not too high, and the ground was fairly clear beneath it, I might be able to get away, but otherwise there seemed no alternative to an ignominious return to Castlemore to-morrow morning.

At last the voices became silent. I heard a key turned and bolts shot home into their sockets, heavy footsteps on the stairs, the shutting of first one door, then of another, followed by total silence. Getting out of bed about a quarter of an hour later, I walked about the room, and going to the washstand, sluiced my face in the basin to make myself more wakeful. Again I sat on the bed for what seemed a long time, until a clock downstairs struck the hour of midnight. Now, I thought, Mr. Baker and Eliza must be asleep, and groping for my clothes, I began to dress with all possible speed. As I rose from lacing my boots I trod on a loose board, which creaked so loudly that I felt certain it must be heard throughout the house. Lest any one should be aroused, I got quickly into bed again, dressed as I was, but although I lay there some time I heard no sound. Creeping cautiously across the room, I moved the dressing-table, and then, with the utmost care, drew up the green cotton blind. The moon shone brightly, almost at the full, but this might be either an advantage or a drawback. At least, it served to show my surroundings, and, before opening the window, I stared through the panes for some minutes. The house consisted of only one story above the ground floor, and the rooms were by no means lofty. My window overlooked what was evidently a fair-sized kitchen-garden, surrounded by a low hedge, beyond which I could see nothing but fields.

Now, if it happened that Tiger was chained, and I could succeed in reaching the garden, I determined to give up for the present every thought of gaining the road to London or anywhere else. I would simply get through the hedge at the earliest moment lest any one should detect me in the bright moonlight, then make a straight dash across country. By this means it promised to be far easier to avoid pursuit than if I followed any kind of road. Being fully dressed, with the exception of a hat, which did not seem to matter, I cautiously pushed up the lower half of the window and leaned forward to survey the ground. Immediately below me lay a bed about two feet wide, with flowers growing in it and one or two standard roses. I saw that the distance would not be too great to drop, and, anxious to lose no more time, I climbed out to the sill, crouching there a minute with alarming thoughts of Tiger. But all was perfectly still; one or two birds began to rustle in the leaves of the ivy which seemed to cover the back of the house, that was all, until turning round on the narrow sill, I heard the jangling of a chain. Peering forth once more, however, I could see no sign of a kennel, so that it seemed probable that Tiger was secured at the side of the house or in the front. Placing my hands on the sill, I gradually lowered myself until I hung by the fingers, then the next moment I dropped all of a heap, but without making much noise, on to the bed, the only damage being a scratch on the left cheek from a thorn on one of the standard roses.

Finding my feet at once, I made for the hedge, scrambling through it as Tiger began to give tongue. Turning to the left on the other side, I ran with all my might until I floundered into a wet ditch. Over a second hedge I scrambled, across a meadow with sleeping cows and calves, which rose at my approach, looking rather ghostly as they crowded together in a bunch. I clambered over gates, floundered into other ditches, and presently found myself entering the completer darkness of a wood, on the other side of which came a park, then more fields, until I began to pant, and to think that Mr. Baker's farm was sufficiently far behind for safety.

How long I had been running I have no idea, but the moon was fast sinking towards the horizon, and, before it disappeared altogether, it seemed advisable to find a place where I might secure some much-needed sleep. In a large field I espied a wooden shelter—intended, no doubt, for cattle—and open at one side. This being empty I entered, and was fortunate enough to find a goodly heap of dry clover in a corner. Spreading this out over the ground, without more ado I threw myself, just as I was, at full length upon it, too weary to think or to do anything but fall at once asleep.

I must have slept for many hours in the shed, for, when I opened my eyes, the sun was high in the sky. I think it must have been past ten o'clock, and it took some minutes before I could succeed in determining which of my recent experiences were real, and which the result of dreams. Little by little I began to put together the circumstances, which had occurred since yesterday morning, in their proper order, and my cheeks tingled with shame as I tried to imagine the feelings of Mr. Baker and Eliza when they discovered my flight. They had treated me with genuine kindness, and it must appear that I had repaid them with the basest ingratitude; while yet I cannot pretend to have repented of my flight from the farm-house, for I knew that, in similar circumstances, I should act in the same way.

At first I felt tempted to lie down and go to sleep again, but this might be to run no little risk. It was impossible to decide whether I was still on Mr. Baker's land or not, for, although I had covered some miles last night, there was no proof that I had run in a straight line, and it seemed quite likely that I had described something resembling a circle.

So I rose and stood gazing down at my legs, which now bore no traces of the brush which Eliza had lent me after supper. My boots were completely coated with mud as the result of the ditches into which I had floundered in my headlong flight, my stockings were splashed, and even my knickerbockers were freely covered with dry mud.

On stepping out from the shelter of the hut, the sun shining full in my eyes reminded me that I had not put on my hat, and, entering again, I lookedabout for it for a few seconds before remembering that it had, of course, been left behind at the farm-house.

"The first person I saw that morning was a young man, mending a puncture.""The first person I saw that morning was a young man, mending a puncture."

As I crossed the field, the situation seemed peculiarly depressing, and it was impossible not to contrast it with my circumstances at the same hour yesterday. It was one consolation that nobody could rob me to-day, for I had not a penny in my pocket. Every one of my limbs seemed to have a separate ache, and although I had not been accustomed to very luxurious fare of late, I felt a great longing for breakfast.

Although my confidence in the good fortune awaiting me in London had been somewhat shaken since I left Castlemore, I still determined to set my face in that direction. Where else could I go unless I returned to Mr. Turton? An unthinkable proposition. Making my way towards a black five-barred gate, I rejoiced to see a lane on the other side of it,and, without a notion of my locality, I thought it better to turn to the left. The lane, a mere cart-track, led to a wider road, prettily undulated, and, for half a mile or so, entirely deserted. The first person I saw that morning (it must have been about half-past eleven) was a young man of about three-and-twenty years of age, engaged in mending a puncture in his bicycle-tyre. The machine was turned wheels upwards, while he stood pressing the punctured portion of the collapsed tyre between two pennies. From curiosity, and the desire, perhaps, to be near some one for a few minutes, I stopped, while he chalked the patch, stooped to replace the outer covering, and then, turning the bicycle right way up again, took off the pump.

(Continued on page 69.)

"One bolder than the rest stabbed it with a pitchfork.""One bolder than the rest stabbed it with a pitchfork."

ews, like sound, travels fast; and the applause which greeted the ascent of the Montgolfier balloon at Annonay had hardly ceased when it seemed to reach the ears of the people in Paris, and put the whole town in quite a flutter of excitement. Some of those who had been present at the great experiment wrote an account of it to their friends in Paris, who at once began to make arrangements for inviting the Montgolfiers to send up another balloon from the capital. But these arrangements took too long to satisfy the impatience of the people of Paris, and they were better pleased when M. de Saint-Fond opened a subscription to pay expenses for a separate experiment.

No one in all France had heard of the event at Annonay with more interest and delight than a certain M. James Alexander Cæsar Charles, a young and clever scientist who took great pleasure in showing people the wonderful things he had discovered. When Franklin brought lightning out of the clouds with a kite, M. Charles followed the road thus pointed out to him, and soon found new wonders which he had a great talent for explaining. Thus, though he might not be a great original discoverer, he was quick to see in what direction truth lay, and was able to lead those who were less learned than himself. What wonder, then, that the people of Paris were full of expectation when they heard that M. Charles had put away his electrical studies to devote his attention to balloons? Sufficient money having been collected he set to work with the assistance of two brothers named Robert, and constructed an 'envelope' of silk, which, when filled, would make a balloon twelve feet two inches in diameter. This was very small when compared with the giant of Annonay, but the gas that M. Charles was going to use would make it thirteen times stronger. 'You see,' said he, 'the air that the Montgolfiers use is twice as light as the atmosphere. I shall use inflammable gas' (as hydrogen was then called), 'which is fourteen times lighter; though to retain this it will be necessary to paint the silk with rubber dissolved in turpentine.'

But if the gentlemen who sat around the platform at Annonay had gathered to see this baby balloon inflated they would have grown very weary, for it took nearly four days. Every morning outside Charles's house a notice was hung up to inform the eager crowds how the wonderful little giant was growing; and at last it became necessary for mounted police to protect his door, so great was the crush. Then, on the twenty-sixth of August, though the balloon was not quite full, it was decided to carry it to the Champs de Mars, the open space from which the ascent was to be made. There the filling could be completed. But as not even a king, travelling in state, would be likely to draw such excited throngs as this balloon, arrangements were made for moving the silk bag in the middle of the night. First, all the tools which would be required at the launching were sent in advance; then, at two o'clock in the morning, the procession set out. A strong body of mounted soldiers accompanied the waggon on which the half-filled balloon was placed, while in front of it marched a body of men carrying torches. The journey was only two miles long, yet in that short distance the cavalcade was greeted with enough applause to satisfy the most ambitious. All vehicles encountereden routewere drawn aside, and the drivers doffed their caps as they watched it pass. As the balloon swayed solemnly from side to side, an imaginative on-looker might have fancied that it was acknowledging these respectful salutations.

In due course the scene of action was safely reached and the filling process continued. As the gas had to be made from sulphuric acid and iron filings, it naturally took some time, but when the clocks of Paris were striking five on the evening of August 27th, 1783, Charles's cloud-cruiser was ready for the voyage. The bells had hardly done chiming when a cannon-shot was heard. It was the signal for departure. The thousands of spectators heard it with a thrill of interest, and as its echoes reverberated over Paris, the watchers of the high towers of Notre Dame, and the military school, directed their telescopes to the Champs de Mars. One of the guests was Stephen Montgolfier, for though Charles might add improvements to others' inventions, he always acknowledged to whom the first honour belonged.

In spite of the heavy rain that was falling, the balloon shot into the air with great rapidity, and in the space of a minute or two disappeared behind a cloud. The moment it vanished another cannon was fired as though in farewell, but the watchers (richly dressed gentlemen and fine ladies) regardless of the weather, continued to keep their eyes upon the clouds, and were surprised to see it once more, far above them, sailing in the direction of Gonesse, fifteen miles away. Here in a field it settled, three-quarters of an hour after leaving Paris, and—met its doom. The country people, imagining it to be a large and unknown bird, approached in fear, until one, bolder than the rest, stabbed it with a pitchfork, when the sighing sound, made by the out-rushing gas, only confirmed their conviction that it was endowed with life. In vain did the villagecurétry to dissuade them, and when at last the silk bag lay flat and 'lifeless' on the ground, they tied it to a horse's tail and set him galloping through the field. With wild excitement they followed in chase, till hardly a shred of poor M. Charles's carefully-built balloon remained to be trodden on.

When the country folk were so ignorant as this, we can hardly be surprised to read that the Government soon found it advisable to make Montgolfier's discovery widely known, so as to allay 'the terror which it might otherwise excite among the people.'

John Lea.

Ihear a splendid concert in my garden every day,When the breezes find by grove and lawn some instrument to play;They shake the shiny laurel with the clatter of the 'bones,'And from the lofty sycamore draw deeper 'cello tones,And giving thus the signal that the concert should begin,The brook beside the pebbled path strikes up its mandoline.Then all the garden wakes to sound, for not a bird is mute:The robin pipes the piccolo; the blackbird plays the flute;While high upon a cedar-top a thrush with bubbling throatLifts up to this accompaniment her clear soprano note.Then by-and-by there softly sounds, beside some flowering treeThe oboe of the dancing gnat, the cornet of the bee.Such tiny notes—and yet with ease their cadence I can trace,While over-head some passing rook puts in his noisy bass,Or from a green and shady copse, a daisied field away,I hear the jarring discords of a magpie and a jay.The Wind conducts the orchestra, and as he beats the timeThe flood of music sinks and swells in melody sublime;Till, when the darkness deepens and the sun sets in the West,They all put up their instruments and settle down to rest;And when I seek my slumber, like the daisy or the bird,My rest is all the better for the concert I have heard.

Then all the garden wakes to sound, for not a bird is mute:The robin pipes the piccolo; the blackbird plays the flute;While high upon a cedar-top a thrush with bubbling throatLifts up to this accompaniment her clear soprano note.

Then by-and-by there softly sounds, beside some flowering treeThe oboe of the dancing gnat, the cornet of the bee.Such tiny notes—and yet with ease their cadence I can trace,While over-head some passing rook puts in his noisy bass,Or from a green and shady copse, a daisied field away,I hear the jarring discords of a magpie and a jay.

The Wind conducts the orchestra, and as he beats the timeThe flood of music sinks and swells in melody sublime;Till, when the darkness deepens and the sun sets in the West,They all put up their instruments and settle down to rest;And when I seek my slumber, like the daisy or the bird,My rest is all the better for the concert I have heard.

In former times there ruled at Olmütz, in Moravia, a Duke who allowed himself, when in anger, to do many cruel things. One day, Bruno, his falconer, came trembling before his master and announced to him that the finest of the falcons was dead. When the Duke heard this, he flew into a passion, and commanded his servants to chastise the man severely. Bruno, however, succeeded in escaping the intended punishment, and hid himself in the thick forest which extends from Olmütz to the Oder valley. There he lived by hunting, and occupied himself with charcoal-burning.

It happened one day that as Bruno, armed with bow and arrow and battle-axe, was going through the forest, he suddenly heard the well-known hunting-cry of the Duke. He quickly hid himself behind an oak-tree, in order that his master should not discover him, and saw, to his horror, that his master was pursued by a wild bison. The Duke would have lost his life, if Bruno, with his battle-axe, had not courageously attacked the furious animal and given it a mortal wound. Deeply touched, the Duke thanked the deliverer of his life for his proved fidelity, and bade him ask any favour he pleased.

Bruno did so. He asked to be allowed to possess as much land as he could encircle with the skin of the dead bison. Smilingly, the Duke promised to grant the request.

The falconer began to cut the skin into small strips, and with them encircled the whole hill upon which he had saved his prince's life. The Duke was highly pleased with this proof of Bruno's cleverness as well as courage, made him into a knight, and put him in a position of honour at his court. Bruno became dearer to his master every day, and rendered him many and great services. In later times he built a castle on the hill, which, in memory of the Duke's deliverance, he called Helfenstein.

W. Y.

Seagulls are a very distinct tribe of birds, mostly lovers of the sea, yet from time to time showing themselves inland. They look larger than they really are, owing to their having a quantity of down and feathers, the wings being also long and the head large. They are equipped with a strong and straight bill, by means of which they devour a great variety of food. They will occasionally go out to sea hundreds of miles from land, but they are not welcome sights to the mariner, for he usually regards them as signs that bad weather is approaching. The most familiar species is the common seagull, white and grey, with greenish legs.

One of the peculiarities of the seagull is its habit of dashing in parties after any object that attracts its notice. This now and then furnishes amusement to men and boys who are strolling along the Thames banks or bridges. Supplying themselves with bits of bread or fragments of meat, they fling these upon the river, and watch the birds eagerly pursue the food.

Seagulls will also give chase to birds of other species they may come across. Not long ago the Cunard steamerCampania, from New York, was nearly due south of Nova Scotia, when the look-out observed a bird close at hand flying rapidly. In fact, it went faster than the ship, which was then moving twenty-four statute miles an hour. A great number of seagulls were chasing the fugitive, but could not make enough speed to catch it. At length the bird settled upon the deck, wearied, and proved to be a fine specimen of the snowy owl.

The snowy owl is a species chiefly found in the Arctic Circle, especially about Greenland and Iceland. It is a hardy bird, and has its nest among the rocks. The bill is hooked like a hawk's, having round the base a few stiff feathers. Its plumage is snowy white touched with some brown.

J. R. S. C.

"A great number of seagulls were chasing the fugitive.""A great number of seagulls were chasing the fugitive."

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