rather astonished at seeing before him on the water a little boat, moored, and apparently deserted by its owner. But a glance around showed him upon the wall the shoes and stockings, and farther on, the just visible heads of the two boys among the flags. Fortunately for them, he was a good-natured man, who had boys of his own at home.

"Hollo!" he cried. "Skipper ahoy. Boat loose, and a whale coming!"

John and Stephen began to scramble back over the stones at a rate of speed that threatened a wetting.

"Take it easy!" cried out the man in the waggon. "Whale's inclined to be quiet, and boat's safe enough, if he don't happen to drink it up."

As they reached the road, shoes and stockings in hand, and hastened round to secure the boat, the village close struck one.

"Dinner-time!" cried Stephen. "We'd better make haste home!"

"Jump up, if you're going my way," said the man in the waggon, "and I'll take you along."

Nevertheless, John was late at dinner.

He was somewhat surprised, on coming into the house, at its improved and orderly aspect. A great deal had been done in this long, busy morning; and already to his inexperienced eyes, it looked as if really nothing remained to do now but to go on living comfortably.

"Why, mother!" he exclaimed, as he crashed into the dining-room, boy-fashion, with his lilies in one hand and his dismasted boat in the other-"you've got all finished, haven't you? Here's a lot of blue lilies I got for you down at the brook."

And depositing lilies and boat upon the sideboard, he was sliding into his seat at the table, with a very hungry, eager look, and utterly oblivious of his toilet.

"Johnnie! Johnnie!" expostulated Mrs. Osburn," you know you can't possibly come to the table in that plight!"

Go, Johnnie," she added, with decision, after a pause.

I am sorry to have to record the first symptom of ill-humour in Johnnie; but I must confess that the funny look upon his face, feeling itself useless, changed to an equally useless and far less becoming expression; and that he didn't shut the door after him quite as gently as it might have been done, or proceed up-stairs with the quietest possible footstep; and even, that his mother, if her ears had been as fine as ours, might have caught a muttered something as he retreated, which sounded like

"Catch me bringing you any more lilies!" But mothers' ears have a peculiar anatomical construction of their own, I suppose. It must be a sort of little valve that opens and shuts at will, for I have known them look as placid and unconscious as possible, sometimes, when, if they had heard all that I did, I think they must have worn a very different expression; and then, again, at night, perhaps, when all the house beside was sound asleep, I have known the first little moaning, "Mother!" from a restless and wakeful child, call the mother in an instant to her feet and to the bedside. It must be she is most especially careful to set the little valve wide open when she kisses her children the last "Good-night," and lays her head on her own pillow.

In the afternoon John had a new and wonderful achievement to carry out. Nothing less than an inquisitorial visit to the swallows' nests under the eaves of the barn. This idea had come into his head early in the morning, during the few moments that he had stood watching the curious little settlements of mudhouses, built so cosily all along in a block, and pouring out of every aperture their busy inhabitants. A long ladder lay upon the ground beside the building, and with a mental "putting of this and that together," the suggestion was not slow in coming to the brain of a boy of ten.

So, with the help of Jacob, his father's man, he raised the ladder, and climbed carefully to the top, Jacob standing beneath and holding it firmly for him.

When he got there, he didn't see exactly

what he expected, but he saw in the end something better. The openings into the nests were small and round, and the nests deep, built against each other in clusters. Their interior arrangements, therefore, still remained rather a mystery, after all. He

could only discover that every little housekeeper evidently had a feather bed of her own, laid carefully above a straw one; and from one and another protruded anxiously little restless black heads-one or two-or sometimes, where the family had been longer established, four or five, in a huddle together.

John stood very quietly, partly for his own safety, and partly that he might not frighten the birds, and presently,-whir! close past his head a little pair of wings went suddenly, and a bird, with a beak full of mud, alighted at about a yard's distance upon an unfinished nest. She laid the morsel of mud upon its wall as a masou might do with a trowel; and then, poising herself on her little fluttering wings, she beat it down with rapid strokes of her round black head.

John was amazed. He felt the thrill that comes with the first observation or discovery of a new fact that one has chanced upon for himself. Just as if he were the first boy and this the first swallow in the world, he was absorbed — elated with a new knowledge and a near approach to a great mystery.

When the bird flew away again, he came softly down the ladder, without speaking a word till he reached the ground; and then, eagerly, like any other discoverer, proceeded to publish the matter and claim his glory.

"Jacob!" said he, with wide-open eyes and emphatic utterance, "I've fonnd out how they do it!"

At the back of the new part of the barn building, as I described it to you in the last chapter, were two windows, one on each side, looking out at right angles to the long barn, and high enough up to come nearly on a level with the swallows' nests; the new frout being somewhat higher than the rest. To the one of these which commanded a view of the spot he had just quitted, John quickly betook himself, and thence watched for a longer time than he was aware, and longer than most of my little friends would believe, the progress of the zealous little architect. He saw her

come and go in ceaseless flights, to and from her little house-never stopping to chatter with her neighbours—and, in fact, each one of them was all the while steadily minding her own business-building up, little by little, with persevering labour, the brown walls in which she was already on one side shaping the aperture for her door. He didn't see, though, all that I can tell you about it. He didn't know that this was the third time she had patiently gone through all this toil; that last week, in a gust of rain, her house, that was just completed, had come down about her ears, because of a loose shingle that happened to be left lying upon the roof, and which came clattering down just above her. He was rather puzzled to make out how such a busy, industrious little creature as she seemed to be should have been so behindhand in her work. Well,-we don't all know each other's hindrances, that's very certain.

And so the shadows grew longer, and John sat and watched. I suppose he had hardly ever had in his life a much happier two hours than those. Yet there was one queer thing about it. That, observing and admiring as he was the thrift and activity of bird, he altogether forgot that there was anything in the world that he himself, at that very time, ought to have been doing.

When five o'clock came, John went down with Jacob, driving Blackbird, to meet his father at the train; and he was very talkative all the way back, giving him an account o the varied excitements and enterprises of the day; but he was a little abashed when Mr. Osburn asked him at last, "how he liked his own little room?" and whether the new wardrobe was all right.

"Oh, yes, it's first-rate," he replied; "only I haven't had time to get the things fixed yet."

Not had time, Johnnie? Are you sure that's it? You have had as long a day as your mother, haven't you? And you tell me that she has arranged the whole house already, so that it seems like home and not like moving.' I think you might have taken time."

"Well, so I did, father; or, at least, I began; but mother called me just when I was in the midst of it, and sent me to the village

Was Johnnie quite true and entire in his statement? Don't you begin to see how faults hang together in links, and one draws another along after it? Ill-humour, and shuffling excuses-don't these almost always accompany untidy habits?

Not that he really wished to deceive, or could have done so in this. Mr. Osburn, of course, knew quite well how it all was; but Johnnie made a half statement-a one-sided representation-nevertheless. He didn't set things quite straight in his mind, any more than in his surroundings. Thoroughness and truth are pretty much the same thing in their essential element; and people who allow themselves to shuffle away anyhow, and smooth over hastily to the eye, in outside matters, had better take heed to this indication of what they will be easily tempted do in things graver and greater.

John's day-beginning with a neglectended, as such days are very apt to do, with a disappointment.

"I am going," said his father, as they drove down the avenue to the house on their arrival home, "to see Farmer Simmons, at the foot of the lane, about a nice little cow I think I shall buy of him. Perhaps, if you come too, Johnnie, you may have the pleasure of driving her home and seeing Jacob milk her."

"That's agreed!" cried Johnnie, joyfully. But his mother met them on the piazza, and looked with a very grave face at John.

"I have been to your room, Johnnie," she said, "and I have seen what I really did not

Go directly up, and put things in proper order. Jane is too tired to be called on for anything more to-night."

"Oh, mother!" pleaded John, “just wait till I come home with the cow. We sha'n't be long, shall we, father ?”

"I'm afraid your chance is lost, John," replied Mr. Osborn. Things that are not done at the right time are nearly sure to force themselves upon us when we can least bear the trouble of them. Do as your mother wishes, first, and then, if you are ready, come and meet me afterward."

John squeezed back a tear, for he knew it was no use. Up-stairs he went; but in his heart he was wrongly and unreasonably angry with his mother. To this last evil of all his morning negligence had brought him.

It was tedious work, picking up the scraps that littered the floor, and gathering up the odds and ends that he had thrown from his trunk. And when this was done, he no longer felt interested in arranging all his belongings to the very best aspect and advantage. His whole mind was intent on getting through his unavoidable task, and being in time for Jacob and the new cow. Wherefore his garments were hastily placed in the nearest drawers; his toys and traps were stowed away in a heap upon the floor beside his toolbox: and so it came to pass that, while the room outwardly was restored to a tolerable appearance of tidiness, the cunning and wearisome elf, Disorder, crept into the new wardrobe, and took possession, and laughed triumphantly at Johnnie out of all its corners.

I WILL hope, I will hope, Though my pathway be set With the darkest of sorrows, And deepest regret.

I will hope, I will hope,
Though youth's visions may flee;
I'll believe there is something
In future for me.

I will launch my frail bark,
I will breast every gale,
Though my rudder be riven,
And shattered my sail.

Hope's anchor shall guide me,
And bring me aright,

When the world's fleeting shadows
Shall fade from my sight.

BITZER, your definition of a horse!"

Quadruped, graminivorous. Forty teeth; namely, twenty-four grinders, four eye teeth, and twelve incisive. Sheds coat in the spring; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs too. Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod with iron. Age known by marks in mouth. These and much more-Bitzer."

Now we know what a horse is. Do we? I have loved horses all my life, and yet I know nothing about them, and I would not call them such hard names as graminivorous quadrupeds on any account. My earlier recollections belong to going cock-horse to Banbury Cross, to see an old woman upon a white horse. I was introduced to the living specimens, not as the Equidæ, but as gee-gees." I was the owner of a horse that had his harness nailed on to him, and was remarkable for very straight legs, and a mane that looked exceedingly like rabbit-skin. Once I was presented with a horse made of sheet copper, that galloped very beautifully, and could look as much like a real racer as Flying Scud, whose carte-de-visite (horse and cart-joke!) I see upon the walls. I never had a real rocking horse of my own, but I have ridden themand, by the way, it is not so bad to ride other people's horses: it is positively cheaper than riding your own! Rocking horses seem to me all built on one model. They are not like our horses; they look more like the stout geldings of the Stuart days; but I ken jolly well most youngsters like them. Vive-labagatelle-may we all get what we want! By the way, when we played at forfeits, did not we also ask about the number of horses in the stables

Horses! An immense array of horses spring up before me at the word; everything seems to turn to horses, as the Lancashire witches changed men or mopsticks into horseflesh when they wanted to keep Saturnalia (Satan alia-query) on Pendle Hill. They seem to rush before my mind's eye as the herds of Russian horses, overtaken by a snow-storm, rush over the frozen sur

face of the Black Sea. Horses! Here is our dear old friend Pegasus, winged horse of poetry, chosen steed of Apollo-Pegasus who, when he was put into harness, rose superior to his circumstances, and dashed the farmer's cart to pieces. Beautiful sample of true genius, that feels it ought to be everywhere honoured and revered, but kicks at hard work! There is the Centaur-man and horse gone into partnership and putting up at the sign of the Sagittarius, where there is good entertainment for man and beast. Then I see the famous wooden horse of Troy, and call to mind my classics, and think of parsing and construing, and of that sort of borsing of which every school-boy knows. There is old Nero's horse, who was made a senator; there is the horse of Nicomedes, who died of grief for loss of his master; there is the horse on whom Hadrian wrote a sweet elegy; there is Bucephalus, tamed by Alexander; there is the avenger of the Scythian Prince, who trampled to death his master's murderer; there is Theocritus comparing Helen to a horse, and Solomon likening his love to "a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots." What a splendid horse was that on which Seuthes the Thracian rode, on his retreat from Babylon! Were not horses so general in Persia that the Persians were counted as a nation of horsemen, and their land was hence called Percsh-corrupted into Persia-on account thereof ? Did not 150,000 horses graze on the plain by the Caspian Gate?

Horses! What a figure they cut in plays and stories and poetry. There is Duke Lancaster entering London, "mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, which his aspiring rider seemed to know." There is Crookback Richard