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HALF AN HOUR AMONG THE MOTHS. WHEN we looked at the two quarto volumes of Westwood and Humphreys on the British moths, and remembered the vast multitude of brilliant foreigners which claim acquaintance with the same tribe, we were well-nigh lost in despair. How was an accurate and comprehensive outline of a book so vast to be given in a couple of pages? Having this redundancy to contend with, this article must be taken only as a bird's-eye view of a wide field of study, the more prominent features of which alone can be brought under notice. That the moths are a well-known family every furrier and every fair reader will testify with dismay; and the furs and blankets of each will, with their half consumed fabrics, bear witness to their destructive capacities. In these instances they will probably be considered more annoying than interesting; but this is the error of ignorance. Few consider that the little insect which pokes its troublesome way through articles of this kind under the too familiar title of the clothes moth,' and looks so povertystruck in his powdery garb of pale brown, has relatives of whom it may be said, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.' A large number of curious and interesting facts connect themselves with different portions of our subject, particularly with the transformations of these insects. To each of these we shall in turn briefly address ourselves.

Linnæus named the natural order to which the moths belong, together with the butterflies, Lepidoptera, that is, scale-winged insects. The peculiarity to which this alludes is that the wings are covered on both sides with delicate imbricated scales, so small as to appear like fine powder. In such numbers do these minute scales exist, that Lewenhoek calculated there were at least 400,000 on the wings of the silk-worm moth. The general figure of the scales is oval or wedge-shaped. They are often of the most intenselybrilliant colours, some of them glistening with a vivid metallic splendour, on which, in bright sunlight, the eye is altogether unable to rest. They consist anatomically of two or three fine lamello, on the surface of which the granulations containing the colouring matter are found. The body of the very tiniest moth is either clothed with a warm robe of these scales or with a mantle of hair. The insect's mouth is greatly modified and formed into a beautiful little organ called the proboscis, which is kept close to the body of the insect in a convoluted shape when out of use. This organ consists of two pieces, and is the instrument by means of which the insect pumps up the sweet juices of the flowers it visits. A curious and peculiar pair of appendages will be found at each side of the chest, consisting of two delicate scales somewhat like tippets in ap pearance, and are so called by Messrs Kirby and Spence. Such is an outline of the form of the perfect insect. If we revert to the dawn of its life, we shall find in the eggs a remarkable peculiarity of form. We are so accustomed to consider the smoothness and ovoid form, the all-prevalent characteristics of an egg, that it is difficult to believe there can be eggs in which these features are greatly modified or lost. No other oviparous creatures produce eggs so curiously sculptured as the lepidoptera, including the tribes of the butterflies as well as the moths. A good lens will reveal the most curious appearances in these eggs. Some times they are covered, as it were, with wrinkles, sometimes grotesquely carved all over, and occasionally they exhibit a beautiful appearance of reticulations on their surface. Many of them are little note-worthy, as far as beauty of colour is concerned; but the eggs of one species afford a striking exception to this rule. The egg of a rare and beautiful moth is at first of a pale greenish yellow, then it becomes quite green, then changes to a beautiful rose, and lastly deepens into black. A few are prettily speckled, or banded in divers colours. In their deposition the parent moth frequently displays all the sedulity and care of a superior being. In particular, the proceedings of the gipsy moth are strictly analogous to those of the eider duck. This little creature prepares the softest and warmest of beds for her future progeny in the following

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manner. She is provided with a sort of tweezers, shaped somewhat like the end of a fire-tongs, at her tail. With these she plucks off the downy scales which thickly clothe the hinder part of her body. She then forms a little bed of the down, and drops a gluten-covered egg into its midst. The egg becomes coated over with the down, and another and another is added to the number until the work is completed. Then, as a further security, she piles a beautiful covering, somewhat like the roof of a house, over them all, the conical disposition of which enables it effectually to cast off rain, while the non-conducting properties of the down obviate the risk of injury from the severest cold of winter. Another curious nest must often have met the eye in the orchard or hedgerow. It is somewhat in the form of a bracelet clasping around a slender twig, and is possessed of a most remarkable degree of strength and solidity. This is the work of the lackey moth. The number of eggs comprising the nests of the moths is very large. The silk worm moth produces about 500, the great-goat moth 1000, and the tiger moth 1600.

The winter, with its cold and gloom, hurries by; the uncertain smile and tear of spring return and vanish; the genial summer at length arrives, to give life to countless multitudes of these eggs. The long-dormant spark kindles, the egg opens, and out emerges a stately caterpillar, with the sharpest of sharp appetites. It is one of the oddest amusements to see these gentlemen walk abroad decked in glorious attire. Elongating his soft, annular body to its extreme limits, he draws himself up into a loop, and, by a repetition of stretchings and loop-formings, makes, if need be, pretty rapid progress. Others communicate a strange sensation to the beholder, as they seem to flow in animate waves along the surface. Others are complete eccentricities in their way, for they may be seen sticking bolt upright for hours, as stiff and immoveable as the twigs they seem ambitious to emulate; and to their extraordinary resemblance to the latter they doubtless ought to ascribe their personal safety a thousand times over. Wonder and mirth die of repletion in half an hour among the caterpillars; pen and ink fail of expression. Take, for example, quaint Izaak Walton's description of the caterpillar of the press moth. His lips and mouth are somewhat yellow, his eyes black as jet, his forehead purple, his feet and hinder parts green, his tail two-forked and black, the whole body stained with red spots, which run along its neck and shoulderblade, not unlike the form of St Andrew's cross, and a white line is drawn down his neck to his tail.' The truly hideous aspect of this spectral being can scarcely be conceived, and, lifting its head from the willow-branch, on which it delights to rest, it is no stretch of the imagination to compare it to a newly-awakened Egyptian mummy. The country folk have often been alarmed by it, and it has been described in the country newspapers as an unheard-of monster, having a head like a lion, jaws like a shark, a horn like a unicorn, and two tremendous stings in its tail! This caterpillar uses its tail, in a singular manner, like a lash, with which it whips away the ichneumons, its deadly enemies. It is also provided with a most curious kind of squirt, having a mouth like the rose of a watering-pot, by which means it discharges several jets of a painful fluid against its enemies. Others belonging to this genus are like tiny alligators, with biped tails, only caparisoned in the most gorgeous manner. The stauropus, or lobster caterpillar, is another extraordinary creature, the end of its body being recurved and somewhat resemblant to the tail of a fish. Others are armed with horns of different kinds and differing degrees of awfulness, contributing something indefinably marvel-exciting to their appearance. The caterpillar of the celebrated emperor moth strongly resembles a diminutive cactus, being of a lovely green colour, and all bestudded with tubercles, each of which bristles with a whorl of six hairs, like so many stars. The colours of many caterpillars belonging to this family of insects are most splendid. The great entomologist, M. Reaumur, says that they exhibit examples of every known colour, besides an infinite variety of shades which cannot be elsewhere discovered. Frequently, indeed, the caterpillar possesses

far more splendour of appearance than the imago, or perfect insect, can lay claim to. Many of them are magnificently striped in parti-colours; some appear as if set with many precious stones, others are crossed in various directions with lines and streaks of the loveliest colours, shading imperceptibly into one another. A scarce species of the lappet moth produces caterpillar which is a gem of beauty. It is marked with beautiful streaks of soft blue, contrasting with a brilliant white and rich brown, and is infinitely more lovely than the parent or perfect insect. Some vie in richness with the regal ermine, or are living bits of glittering mosaic work, or are clothed in quaint suits of armorial devices, or appear to have stolen the cast-off slashed doublets of our ancestry.

What grave reason have we to dwell upon the appetites of the caterpillars of the moth family! It has been stated that if no cause existed, by the over-ruling wisdom of Divine Providence, to destroy them, the caterpillars of one species of moth alone would be more than equal to the utter destruction of all the vegetation of our kingdom. In the memorable year 1782, the caterpillars of the brown-tail moth committed tremendous havoc in many parts of England. For some cause, inscrutable wisdom appeared in that year to be exercised in punishment, and the counteracting forces of this pest, in addition to others, seem to have been temporarily withdrawn. At the time, it was considered quite a national visitation; the produce of the orchards and gardens was annihilated, and the trees were stripped of their leaves. In the churches public prayers were offered up with great earnestness for the removal of the plague, and fears were entertained of the whole produce of the fields being consumed by these formidable de stroyers. The poor were set in large numbers to collect them; one shilling was paid by the parish authorities for every bushel collected, and they were then publicly burned. Some idea may be formed of their amazing numbers when it is stated, that for some time as many as eighty bushels a-day were collected and burned. The caterpillars of the gamma (Y) moth have frequently devastated many districts of France. Not only do the caterpillars of this family attack vegetation, but, with an omnivorous appetite, they feast upon wool, feathers, furs, and hair.

The habitations of the caterpillars are often singular and exceedingly ingenious. Very frequently the creatures encase themselves in fragments of stone, which they agglutinate together into little conical edifices like minute nightcaps in shape. They are hence called the stone-mason caterpillars. Others have been beautifully described by -M. Reaumur as cutting out with their sharp mandibles, used scissors-fashion, little tents out of the substance of a leaf, and, when completed, carry their elegant homes on their backs, leaving a vacant space in the leaf corresponding to the size of the piece thus removed. These caterpildars, with their vegetable homes, may often be found, if they are carefully looked for, upon the leaves of the pear, elm, hawthorn, and other trees, Our common enemy, the clothes "moth, displays remarkable ingenuity in the construction of his warm dwelling. It consists of a somewhat cylindrical tube, composed externally of wool and silk, but lined inside with pure silk. This cosey mantle is often parti-coloured, according as the colour of the fabric in which the little destroyer lives. The habits of the leafrolling caterpillars yield to none in ingenuity or in interest. Selecting a suitable leaf, the caterpillar attaches silken cords to its sides, and then hauls it together, until, after much patience and no little amount of toil, the leaf rolls round, and the little operative enjoys at once a shelter, a home, and a larder in its interior. Sometimes the same operation is more rapidly accomplished by the insect wrapping around the leaf a coil of silk, and thus drawbing it together; but as the growing shoot would burst asunder this habitation, it is given as a remarkable example of creative foresight, that the caterpillar gnaws it off, and thus effectually puts a stop to danger in that direction. Many caterpillars meulate some varieties of the human race, and live in one large common habitation. A colony of this kind having fixed upon a leaf, roll it gradually to

gether, and weave for it a beautiful external canopy of the finest silk, and in this pleasant arbour live all the summer long. As winter approaches, they set about constructing a more durable edifice, which they fabricate out of leaves and silk, and form so that the interior is full of labyrinths. | This structure is of sufficient solidity to withstand any storm. Others live in silken hammocks, and when their 1 days of toil are ended, swing in lazy luxury from the appletree twigs. A beautiful variety of habitation is the cocoon, the familiar and valuable abode of the silk-worm. In some cases, the cocoons are constructed partly of silk and partly of papier maché, and are often highly varnished. The cocoon of the silk-worm is generally formed of a single continuous thread wound in a zig-zag direction, from whence it often happens that a cocoon can be entirely unwound unbroken. What vast interests are concerned in the la bours of a humble caterpillar. For how large a portion of wealth, luxury, comfort, or even existence, is a great number of our race indebted to those

Millions of spinning worms,

That in their green shops weave the smooth-hair'd silk!* In the year 1840, the average importation of silk into Great Britain equalled 4,993,791 lbs., or, in round num bers, 5,000,000 lbs. An interesting calculation has been made, which shows the enormous number of silk-worm caterpillars which must bury themselves to meet the demand of our kingdom alone upon their manufacture. Each cocoon, on the average, weighs about 3 or 31 grains, and in length will probably contain 300 yards of silk. Now, to produce the yearly sum above mentioned, it will be found we require about 18,000,000.000 worms, which will consume in its production about 96,000,000 lbs. of leaves, grown upon about 9,600.000 trees.

The insect has not yet arrived at maturity. The cater pillar form is only a transition stage from a lower wa higher point of development. With all its glories it is ti pass away, and the imago condition will succeed. To escape from the cocoon, its prison-house, the insect gene rally loosens the texture of its enclosure by some solvent fluid, for which purpose it is frequently provided with a bag which secretes it. Sometimes it emerges by mere dis ruption, and, in the case of the emperor moth, the coooo is especially contrived so that the insect emerges, as it were, out of an inverted mouse-trap, which served to keep ' out all intruders, but offered no resistance to the exit of the lawful teuant. In the perfect state the moths, taking the generality, can hardly bear a comparison with their magnificent relatives, the butterflies. Some of the tiniest have, however, been called by the well-known author of the Contemplation de Nature, little miracles of nature,' vying with the humming-birds, and even with the diamond beetles of the tropics, in the splendour of their metallic colours. All the London collectors of moths have their favourites, which, for the beauty of their apparel, are called by several fancy titles, such as emperor moths, Kentish glory, nonpareil, Richmond beauty, &c. A very curiously marked moth is the death's-head-hawk moth. On its back the most unimaginative eye in the world can discern a dismal representation of a skull, and cross-bones beneath. What adds to the awe inspired by the insect is that when caught it utters a peculiarly touching, plaintive cry. In Poland it is called the wandering death-bird and its appearance is considered to foretell war, pest lence, hunger, death, and everything else that is dreadful The gamma moth has the Greek letter of that name inscribed on its wings. Others are clothed in ghostly robes of white. A beautiful variety, from its resemblance on the wing to a sweet pea, is called the peas-blossom. Sometimes the very curious phenomenon, technically known as gynandromorphism, takes place in these insects, and one will be seen which in one half of its body represents a male insect, possessing a wing of that colour, and on the other the half of the opposite sex, with a wing of a different hue. The exotic moths are far more splendid in lustre than the British, but they are too numerous and too beautiful to be placed at the tail of an article. It is the peculiarity of the moths that the greater number of them are nocturnal in

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sects. Their splendid hues, when they exist, are not displayed to the eye of day, but flit about in the dim twilight, or are carried unheeded by in the darker shades of night. It is a remarkable fact that they have their regular hours of appearing and disappearing at eventide. So much is this the case that it has been proposed that, after the example of Linnæus with flowers, a clock of moths might be arranged, in which the hours would be designated by the appearance of different moths. The Rev. C. S. Bird states that, at his residence in the country, he has sat up until three in the morning, and all the time different species of moths continued to arrive and depart with the greatest regularity.

The collection of moths is made by some quite a profession. It is said that some of the London collectors, in order to capture a handsome species, will frequently take a female of that species in a cage into the woods, and, suspending her in the branches, she is soon surrounded by a crowd of giddy flutterers, who are taken captive without a struggle to get free. Others are successful by securing them in the larva state, and with this view they search for larvæ in the woods in the months of April, June, July, and September. To those who feel anxious to form a collection of them, we cannot do a better service than by extracting the method pursued by the Rev. C. S. Bird, communicated to the Entomological Magazine.' By placing several good lamps on a table near an open widow, especially if the window looks towards the woods, as the evening draws on, crowds of moths will make their appearance, attracted by the delusive glare. Some will come tumbling in, playing all sorts of vagaries and kicking up a tremendous noise; others will come like snowflakes, falling with a scarcely audible tap on the table. A book and an inverted tumbler are the captor's best apparatus. With a little manoeuvring the giddy insect is caught. In what merciful manner can it now be destroyed? Light a small piece of German tinder, and, drawing the edge of the glass a little over that of the book, allow the smoke to fill it. The poor insect is speedily stupified, and lies as if dead. Quick'y now, before it has time to revive, kill it, while still insensible, by a pin dipped in a strong solution of oxalic acid; this extinguishes the feeble spark of life, and the insect may be removed to the cabinet. We believe every reader will agree with us that there is a tender merey in this method which should recommend it to all to whom it is pain to cause pain, even in an insect. Mr Doubleday strongly recommends brushing the branches of a tree with a solution of sugar and water, to which the moths are rapidly attracted, and he states that many rare and beautiful specimens have been thus caught. A good collection of moths becomes a very pleasing and interesting study; and we are justified in assuring our readers that if the opportunity for forming it presents, they will derive much instructive matter from the occupation.

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from do MELLICENT MAGUIRE.

WHERE is the land that can compare with England for green hedgerows, and fairy cottages, and tall, stately trees, and verdant uplands, and fertile valleys? Is it thou, poor Erin, where even neglected nature sleeps in weedy, ragged patches, and ruined cottages paint the solitary landscape? or thou, Caledonia, sweetheart of winter, mother of bleak hills, and cradle of storms? No, loved lands! you are hture's children, as England is, but you have your own peculiar features, and hers, although least grand, are still most beautiful.

On one of the most beautiful evenings that ever smiled en England's smiling, summery face, and before one of the sweetest cottages that ever wore a robe of English jessamine and rose-trees, sat two women and a man. The sun was setting behind the distant green fells, that broke the outline of the horizon, and he blushed through his veil of clouds, as the eyes of the silent cottagers watched his slow dec ine. Sometimes stray sunbeams would steal through heaven's windows, and would dance upon the cottage panes, and then they would kiss the blushing roses, and

nestle in the bosoms of the clumpy jessamine; and, stealing to the pale brow of the man, and to the withered cheek of the elder woman, and then to the rosy lips and soft eyes of the maiden, they would dart away and bury themselves again amongst the snowy drapery of the clouds of evening.

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I wonder if the sun shines as brightly anywhere as in England?' said Mrs Maguire with a smile, as, breaking the silence, she turned to Charles Hensely, and laid her hand upon his arm.

Or sets as soon?' cried the youthful, blushing Mellicent, whose lips were still warm with the sunbeam's kiss. Charles Hensely was young, and his face and head were beautiful as Hyperion's. His hair of glossy brown clustered round a high, broad forehead, that was as pure and polished as ivory. His eyes of intense, wavy blue, reposed beneath his ample brow, or shone from their deep recesses, like stars from the over-canopied heavens. They were soft, as the amethyst burdened with dew, when his soul held converse with its inner world, and bright as the dew that spangles the sandals of the morning, when he looked poetically upon nature. His features were irregular, but massive and manly, and mobile as the strings of a harp. They were tale tellers, who declared their magter's feelings as fluently as if he spoke them. Genius and heart had alternately played with the lineaments of Charles Hensely, and they had left, each, an impression of beauty and gentleness upon them. Nobody could have looked upon him without being struck with him; and no one could have perceived him move along the smooth gravel walks without sighing, because that he was lame. Charles Hensely shook his head, as if he did not know what to answer to the questions of Mellicent and her mother, and then with a voice, soft and tremulous as a woman's, he repeated the words, I wonder if the sun shines as brightly anywhere as in England?'

Charles and mother are into their poetics, now,' said Mellicent, as she arose from the green, rustic seat on which she sat, and, tripping along the lovely flower borders, culled some carnations and piccottees, and lopped two creepers from the vine that clustered over the porch of the cottage. I shall crown you king and queen of June,' she cried, 'for being so sun-struck and so absent.'

The mother kissed the cheek of the lovely girl, as she twined the vine and ruby-bordered flowers round her widow's bonnet; and Charles Hensely sighed for a like privilege, as she playfully bound his brow with the poetic corona. Ah! it was a pleasant thing to look in the face of Mellicent Maguire. Nineteen suns had added to, and expanded, the beauties of that lovely countenance, since it had first smiled in infantile innocence in the eyes of her mother. Slowly and delicately had the immaculate artificer touched the delicate roseate of her cheeks, and the deep cerulean of her eyes, and the ruby of her lips, and the laughing dimples on her cheeks and chin, until a face lovely as Hebe's was that which now shone on Charles Hensely. And slowly, too, had the unseen finger of God modelled, in its process of years, from the tiny form of an infant, that lovely, graceful maiden, whose unstudied attitudes and liquid motions were beautiful and light as Ariel's. Mellicent Maguire was strikingly beautiful, because she did not study to strike. Her simple dresses were lowly toned in colour, and of the simplest fashion; they were exquisitely unpretending, and borrowed all their grace from the form on which they hung. It was Mellicent's face that first attracted notice when you first saw her, and then her faultless form, and then you never thought if she was fashionable.

Mellicent Maguire was the daughter of a man of letters, who, after he had poured the treasures of his fancy and experience into the public reservoir of knowledge, had died. A life insurance, a small annuity purchased by the ten best years of his manhood, and a public subscription, had placed his widow and daughter beyond the reach of want; and they had left the great metropolis, when the mould of Highgate Cemetery closed over his coffin, and had settled in their present sweet provincial abode, where few

came to visit them save Charles Hensely, who taught the little school at Volney Grove, and who wrote the letters and petitions of all who could not do so themselves in Volney. Mrs Maguire and her daughter did not feel at all hurt, that neither the squire, nor the parson, nor the doctor's wife in her flaming ribbons, nor any of the daughters of the Snubbses and Bubbses, who were striving to forget that their fathers once sold pork and treacle, did not call upon them. They had companions in their flowers, and birds, and books; and they had Charles Hensely to lean on and sympathise with them, when they spoke of him who hat left them thus alone, and so they did not feel themselves neglected. And there the three friends sat on the green, quaint, old garden-seat that had been made of twisted limbs of trees; and the sun was blushing from behind the tall, spinated poplars, as it looked at them, for Mellicent was decking the brow of Volney Grove's Homer, and he was trembling, and blushing, as her soft white fingers touched his hair and cheeks.

See, mother, he quite looks Anacreon with his wreath of vine,' cried the innocent girl, as receding a few footsteps from the youth, in order to observe the effect of her decoration, she clapped her hands and laughed, as the innocent only can laugh,

Olive, only olive or palm for Charles,' said Mrs Maguire, playfully, leave the vine and the ivy for wreathes to the new come captain at Volney. He loves wine and galas, I fancy; but Charles is a man of peace.'

'It is your profession to destroy,' replied Hensely, mildly. I can scarcely blame you for exercising the first principle of your life and the first lesson of your education." I am sorry that I have destroyed your equanimity, sir," continued the officer in the same subdued tone of well-bred sarcasm, and I am sorry that I have intruded where may presence must be disagreeable; but allow me, ladies, to make all the reparation I can for this unwitting slaughter, and, as he spoke, he presented to Mrs Maguire a brace of beautiful pheasants, bowed with a look of marked admiration to Mellicent; and then, whistling off his dog, withdrew as precipitately as he had appeared.

Captain Bresant, of the Royal Bengal Infantry, had come to spend a few months with a relation in Volney, and to repair the innovations which a season in London had made upon his fortune. He was a man of the world, and, of course, an enemy to its peace and purity. He was accomplished, handsome, high-born, high-bred, and a man of honour. Indeed, he would not have scrupled to have cut the throat, according to the fashion, of any one who had for a hair's-breadth impugned his honour. He had always paid his bets, although his unpaid laundress might starve. He maintained his horses and dogs at the expense of tailors and shoemakers; but the code of honour allowed that, and so he was an honourable man. His features were very handsome; his hair was very dark, and glossy; and study had not only taught him to completely regulate the motions of his face, but to curl his locks in Charles bowed, and smiled; and Mellicent, whose eyes the most fascinating manner. Captain Bresant was cersparkled with innocent joy, plucked a few palm leaves tainly a man of fashion; had he been only a witless cor from a favourite little tree, and, placing them in the hair comb, however, he could have been tolerated; but he was of her friend, exclaimed, 'I crown Charles hero of Volney, as heartless as a fool, with all the determination and cool and, hark! the thrush in the poplar-tree hails him so also.' | ness of a philosopher. His passions maintained a stern 'Mysterious are the sympathies of nature,' said Charles supremacy over all his better sentiments, and his will su Hensely, smiling softly. I was just thinking of that bird monarch over his conquering propensities. He was a which sings so sweetly in that tree, each morning and voluptuary by nature, and education had rendered hin a evening, and of the peace that humble hearts can find in most accomplished one. Captain Bresant had never, darflowery solitude, when I came up the lane this afternoon. ing his life, thought of stealing a purse from any one; Do you know,' he added, as he laid his hand gently on the but he never had hesitated to steal even the basest m widow's arm, I believe that we are happier in this little, mentary gratification, at the expense of twenty agonised rustic village, than the queen of England is in her great souls, and the ruin of peaceful homes. He had begun his palace? We know less of men, less of the world, than your conventional studies upon the models of Rochefoucault and busy citizens do, it is true; but then we know more of na- Chesterfield, and had pursued them with a too successful ture, and are more what men should be.' devotion, having only the Epicurean's end in view, and endorsing only the Epicurean's faith. Captain Bresant, however, was gladly admitted to the noblest saloons. Rich, aristocratic mothers did not fear him, for aristocratic maidens were exempted, by the code of honour, from his seductions. He was smiled upon, eulogised, lionised, and courted, because Captain Bresant was the son of a barotel and the nephew of a duke. The cottage homes of England, however, are beyond the ancestral pale, and the cottage maidens of England are beneath the protection of lordry honour. Oh, God, that innocence should be esteemed so cheaply that humble peace, and holy purity, and house hold hopes, and guileless love, should be reckoned but the sport of conventionally high estate! Oh, God, that the Marys and Marthas who dwell in the Bethany-like homes of rural England, should be looked upon by the Dives of a lordly hall, as flowers that he may pluck and then cast contumeliously away! Yet it is so-the boasted chivalry of England looks upon the maidens of lowly life only that it may wither them with its baleful contagion.

See, Mellicent-see, Mrs Maguire,' he cried, at the same time pointing to a pair of white doves, that wheeled and gambolled amongst the golden radiance of the evening, for all the wealth and elegance that even great London compasses, its poisoned sky and dingy twilight have no pictures of love like that. See how they float, like purified foam, in the glowing ocean of heaven! See how they fan each other with their sparkling wings, as the lingering rays of twilight kiss them!'

The admiring eyes of the mother and her child were instantly directed towards the lovely birds, when, in a moment, one of them fell panting and bleeding at their feet, and the report of the murderous musket had scarcely died away, when a military officer sprung over the low hedge that separated the little garden from the adjacent field, and, accompanied by a beautiful spaniel, rushed towards his prey. He was upon the startled inmates of Volney Cottage before he perceived them; and when he did, it did not much disturb him, for with the most consummate self-possession, and with an air of high-bred ease, he apologised for the unintentional affright which he had caused to the ladies, and hoped that he had not much disturbed the gentleman by his intrusion.

I should lie did I not tell you that you have not only disturbed us but hurt our feelings,' said Charles Hensely, as his fine face flushed, and his eyes sparkled with an instinctive repugnance towards the self-confident intruder. 'We so love our pigeons here, in Volney, that we never shoot

them.'

I am sorry for your sake, sir, that I have destroyed the bird,' replied the officer, with a low bow; perhaps the ladies will forgive me, however. I did not know that the gentlemen of Volney were so pigeon-hearted.'

Captain Bresant passed Volney Cottage on the morrow, and, perceiving Mellicent Maguire and her mother in the garden, he entered politely, made some inquiries concern ing their health, assisted them, with the most familiar kindness, yet reserved deference, to arrange some flower pots; and then, as if suddenly recollecting himself, begged pardon with a smile, and withdrew.

There is nothing so grateful to a woman as respectful attention; and nothing so likely to win the confidence of an innocent nature, as frankness. The captain cable again and again to Volney Cottage, and every time that he came, he was more and more attentive to Mellicent and her mother. He could repeat with fine effect the poetry of Moore, and selected scraps from Shakspeare, although

he neither felt the beauty of the one, nor perceived the excellence of the other. He talked about his own home in Somerset, and about the trees, and lawns, and lakes around it; and he told Mellicent that it was just such a home as she could love and adorn, and then he spoke about his mother, and sighed.

Charles Hensely came to Volney Cottage again and again, too; but, somehow or other, his heart beat less joyously at his visits than it was wont to do. The same kind welcome met him, the same friendly interest was manifested in his welfare, but the humble youth was too sensitive and acute not to feel and see that he was less the object of attention than his specious rival. Perhaps Mellicent and her mother did not know it; but Charles Hensely was really of less consideration to them than he had formerly been, and Captain Bresant had rendered him so. Mrs Maguire and Mellicent had never before particularly observed the lameness of their friend; but the adroit, invidious, and constantly repeated pity of the captain had now magnified the infirmity, and the mother and daughter had come to regard it as a pitiable weakness in the strong-souled Charles Hensely.

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The poor young man might have been passably handsome for a rustic,' the captain would whisper in Mellicent's ear, and might have made a pretty enough ensign.' When Mellicent would naively reply that Charles believed war to be a sinful profession, the captain would smile, and say that it was a comfortable belief for a pigeonheart, and would assuredly solace the vanity of one whose infirmities incapacitated him from even walking without pain; and then Mellicent would say, 'Poor Charles!' and the captain would smile, for we never express pity to a rival for those we fondly love.

When the yellow fields of autumn were bare, and the wind came howling along, scattering the withered leaves that he had swept from the tall, trembling old poplars, the weeds were creeping over the borders of Volney Cottage garden; and along the gravel walks where the fair young innocent Mellicent Maguire but a few months ago had trip ped, the vines hung untrimmed from the broken porch. The withered jessamine and rose-trees looked like mourning suit on the widowed cottage. The rusty nails that supported the wall-trees had lost their hold upon the crumbling plaster; and the long straw of the house-sparrow's nest fluttered from the eaves. The window-shutters were closed, and the window-glass was shattered; the wicket was locked up, and all was deserted and desolate. Mellicent Maguire left her home one night, and next day Captain Bresant was missed from his accustomed walks about Volney. The ci-devant chandlers' families, and the doctor's wife, and Squire Turf's household, and even the vicar's groom, giggled when they heard that the widow's only daughter had eloped with the high-born captain; but the guileless poor who were untainted with fashion or envy, pitied the bereft mother, and sighed when they thought of Charles Hensely.

Mellicent had left her home voluntarily, but not without a struggle. Oh, you who have never passed the portals of prudence, judge the poor maiden gently. You who know what it is to resist the tempter's wiles, from the depths of your experience call up pity for the fallen. Christians, the Master condemned not, and neither can you. On the table of her little room were all her little souvenirs, and they were stained and wet with her tears. Her father's portrait, a ring which her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday, and a curiously bound old Bible, the present of Charles Hensely, lay on her work-table, and a letter addressed to him was beside them. She could not take these treasures with her, she said, because they were memorials of days and things which now she dared not look back upon. She told Charles that once she felt proud of his attentions and love-yes love, she knew that he had loved her--and now she said that her greatest grief was that she was not worthy of a love so pure as his. Sue bade him be a son to her mother, and to try to forget her; for that her destiny was now fixed, and those of Volney Cottage would see and hear of her no more.

Two months of loneliness and suffering cured the sorrows of her mother's poor bleeding heart; for, when August came, widow Maguire slept soundly beneath the green turf of Volney churchyard. But to Charles Hensely, years brought no surcease of sorrow. His pale face had grown paler, his eyes more dovelike, and his smile more sweetly pensive, his hair had become silvered, and his whole countenance more spiritual; but the world soon forgot that he suffered. Volney Grove had long ceased to be to him the fairyland of his dreams; his eye had sought more intensely the paradise of the soul, since the spoiler had blighted the paradise of his senses; and his love for humankind had become more purified and heavenly, as it beamed through the medium of his suffering love. Charles Hensely had no longer a home on earth, he lived with Christ alone now; and so when the London City Mission gave him the purlieus of Westminster as a field of labour, he gladly accepted the call, and left the scenes of his sorrows. Down in those dark alleys leading to the Thames, there lived a darker world than ever Charles Hensely had dreamt of in his philosophy. Misery hung its murky mantle over that Aceldama of dark, ruinous houses, that laid their roofs together across the alleys in gaunt decrepitude, as if to keep one another from falling down, and to hide from the blue eye of heaven and the searching glance of the sun the sin, and shame, and poverty that nursed up and fostered typhus and cholera, till churchyards grew fat upon the human offal which they left in their daintiness, as they went on sapping, without surfeit, the life from haggard mothers and fatherless babes. See, crouching over the embers of a scanty fire, that scarce could warm a cricket, sits a woman and a child. There are moulded clumps upon the damp, black walls, like rats in embryo; the raindrops fall with splashy, dreary precision from the broken roof; and the wind moans as it enters the cold dark room from twenty crevices, and tremblingly rustles the strawthe bed-that lies huddled in a corner. A woman sitting here-a woman dwelling here! Eden was not too beautiful for her primeval home; the odours and flowers of Paradise were not too sweet for her airs and adornment! A woman here, and a child! Oh, this is too cold, and dark, and gloomy for a corpse's tomb! and yet it is, in truth, the palace of life, the only home that ever a young immortal knew, the garden of a heart, the nursery of a soul. Charles Hensely looked round him, and his bosom swelled to bursting; he looked down upon the hearth, and his eyes filled with tears. May the love of God and the communion of holy spirits be here!' said the missionary, in a voice choking with emotion. A scream, wild and startling as a maniac's, gave back to the Christian's prayer a frenzied amen.

In a week after this, a pale, thin woman, with eyes that ever seemed to read strange mysteries on the ground and had no wish to look on heaven, walked, at morning and evening, around the suburbs of Winchester, leading a little child by the hand. The simple country people would give her respectful greeting as they passed her on the road, for they soon saw that she suffered, and then they would turn and look after her with a sad interest as she flitted along; but she never lifted up her pale face to notice them, nor spoke to any one, however kindly said might be the

Good day, madam,' A lame gentleman, whose countenance seemed beaming with apostolic love, blended with exquisite sorrow, had brought the mother and her child to Winchester, and, after a fortnight, he had come and taken them away again. It was in vain that Charles Hensely, as trustee, had treasured up the little fortune of Mrs Macguire, in half-anticipation of this dark day. Mellicent seemed neither to know him nor feel his delicate attentions. The darkness of Westminster's darkest den overclouded her soul, and neither the sun nor flowers of Volney could awaken it to light again.

On a summer's evening, beautiful as that on which Mellicent, her mother, and Charles, had sat and watched the setting sun and the flight of the white doves, Charles Hensely, now grown a sadder man, sat beside the speechless Mellicent in her own old room, while her little girl lay

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