Morgan knows all about it, and has put himself to a vast deal of trouble getting information of the subject. Then there is something about a flaw-a flaw, I think-in the title-deeds: at all events it is as clear as day-Mr. Morgan says it is as clear as day-that the Hall is, properly speaking, our own, and he advises me to take the Duke to law about it. Now, of course, I should not desire that, but-"5

But my dear sir," interposed Willie, "I should fancy that the very fact of your forefathers having paid rent to the Dukes of Brandilton for the Hall for so many generations" "I know what you are going to say. Mr. Morgan mentioned that too. But he has consulted legal authority, high legal authority, and it seems the Duke's claim has not, as Mr. Morgan says, the shadow of a leg to stand upon."

Then what steps do you mean to take, sir?" "I mean to instruct my lawyer to write to the Duke's lawyers, stating the case, and to desire them in the first place-let me see, what did Mr. Morgan say?—oh yes, to convey the property to me quietly, and perhaps to put in a slight hint of a probable lawsuit should they refuse, which of course they won't do."

"I fear you will get involved in much expense, "Oh, but Mr. Morgan has generously offered to furnish the money. Of course, when the estate comes back into our hands, I shall take care to refund him by lessening his rent."

"Have you spoken to my father on the subject, sir?"

No-and Willie, by-the-bye, I should not have mentioned it to you. Mr. Morgan was afraid your father, if told of the matter, might get involved in it, and lose favour with the Duke; so it will be as well not to tell him till the matter is over, and then I am sure no one will rejoice more to see us righted."

Miss Le Moyne and Virtue sat sorrowing silently, the former well aware that beneath all this was the evil spirit of Peter Morgan, urging upon the old man to draw down upon himself the Duke's displeasure. But she had already that afternoon expended in vain all her small force of reasoning upon him, and nothing now remained for her but to await the return of Mr. Hepburn from Glasburgh, and enlist his influence against the new proposition.

Before long sleep got the better of Mr. Le Moyne, and the rest of the day was uneventful not uneventful in one sense, for all Willie's adventures for the last few years were crowded into those few hours. Miss Le Moyne and Virtue seemed as if they would never tire of his stories; and when he came to the shipwreck, his narrow escape, and the terrible hardships he had suffered when wandering alone in a foreign, port, the tears of his audience were highly flattering to his powers of autobiography. When night came they would not hear of his returning to the schoolhouse, where there was no one to receive him but a new servant, whom he had never seen before, and who had at first refused him entrance.

Virtue insisted upon vacating Lady Lilburn's chamber, which she had now occupied for some years, and on sleeping for the night with her aunt. Willie felt shy at the idea; but when Miss Le Moyne handed Virtue the key of the napery-chest, and whispered something of which he caught only the words "well-aired," and when the latter ran off to make everything ready for him, he saw that resistance was vain.

"There are no ghosts now-a-days, Guildy," said Virtue, when she returned from her household task; "so you needn't be frightened. It is moonlight to-night, though; so you'll perhaps have some music."

Virtue thought this a decidedly jocular reference to the story she had often told Willie of her supernatural adventures. Willie thought it very funny too, and laughed like a Norse giant. But when he found himself in bed in Lady Lilburn's chamber, where all seemed so white in the summer moonlight, it seemed to him strange, that he, whom years of toil had taught to fall asleep at a moment's notice, should be lying hours and hours in unwonted, but not unhappy, wakefulness! All the events of the last few years, and the compensating joys of the previous day, passed rapidly through his mind; and at last, as the small morning hours drew nigh, his thoughts began to run on all those tales of the supernatural wherewith the old sailors had been wont to while away the tedious midnight watches. While in this state of mind, it was no wonder that his heart, brave as it was, should leap to his mouth (if any human heart ever did go through this proverbial proceeding) at hearing an unmistakeable knock at one of the windows of the chamber! Willie started up in his bed, and looked towards whence the sound had proceeded. A giant-beech of eld reared its stupendous height just outside of, and far above, that particular window and Willie's first distinct thought, when he looked towards it, was, that the wind had brought one of its branches into contact with the glass; but, as he looked, he saw that every twig, every leaf was motionless, and that there was not a breath of wind stirring. He had just persuaded himself that the branch was the work of the imagination, and had just closed his eyes for a determined sleep, when up he started, perfectly persuaded that he had heard it a second time. Same motionless, same universal moonlight stillness. But he resolved to watch this time, if it should be for an hour even. Hardly a minute, however, had elapsed, when he saw a long, leafless bough advance from the tree, seemingly spontaneously, and strike upon the window with more force and noise than on either of the two previous occasions. Had Willie thought it a case of burglary he would have risen at once, would have opened the window, and invited the assailing party to come in by all means. But partly from the previous direction of his thoughts, and partly from his prevailing consciousness that this was Lady Lilburn's chamber, and conse quently the legitimate theatre of eerie pranks, his accustomed promptitude to combat entirely

:

"Though the siller min is clear,

Peacefu' though the stars appear,
Wauken, wauken, ill is near!"

This was more than human nature could bear;
and Willie, leaping at last from his bed, rushed
to the window and threw it up, ready to defy
the fiercest demon of night to single combat!
"Is that you, Miss Virty?" said a voice from
below, which Willie at once recognized.

"No, it's I. And what do you want there at this time of night? Are you at your old tricks again? Go away home, Eppie, or I'll come down and shake you out of the tree!" "Gude Lord! if that's no Wullie Hebbrin!" exclaimed the being below. "Whaur hae ye cam frae?"

"From my bed: go away to yours. I declare you're dafter than ever! And did you really come to frighten Miss Virtue-eh?"

"Na, na, Wullie. Bit whisht! tell me"-and she lowered her voice almost to a whisper-" div ye like puir auld Maister Le Moyne, Wullie ?" "To be sure I do."

"Then pit on yer claes fur the love o' gudeness, and come awa doon!"

Why, what's the matter? Are you sure this isn't one of your tricks, Eppie?" "As share's ye'll be drooned yet, an' that's share aneuch, my man."

"Can't you tell me what you've got to say where you are?"

"Weel, Maister Le Moyne's in the Ludge wi' Maister Morgan. I kenna what they're aboot, bit there's something wrang. Come doon at yince."

If Willie had heard the call for "all hands," and "another reef," he could not have been more quickly at his post than now; for almost in an instant (or, as he would have said, "in the twinkling of a handspike!") he was at the hall-door, which, by the way, he found slightly ajar. Eppie Berry was already on the doorstep, waiting for him as composedly as if she had not a moment ago dropped from a height of beech enough to stop the breath of any unprehensile animal.

Just as they reached the Lodge the door was opened, and Mr. Le Moyne staggered out into the night, on which the harpy disappeared round the house, and Willie, was left alone to face whatever was "wrang."

"On second thoughts, Mr. Le Moyne," said a sharp, unmusical voice, proceeding from within the Lodge, "ye had better leave the letter with me. If it gets into the hands of the womenfolks, ye know, they'll persuade ye against it,

"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Morgan, to-to be sure. Here it is; but you'll be sure to p-p-post it ?"

And he held out the letter in question to Peter Morgan; but, ere it could pass from the one hand to the other, a third hand had dashed between them, had seized the letter, and had buried it in a jacket-pocket beside a large knife, a pocket-compass, a tobacco-pipe, and a bad halfpenny.

Willie, coaxingly, putting his arm round the old "Come away home, Mr. Le Moyne," said gentleman. Come away sir, do." "You're sore in need of rest, sir,

"Who the- (hot locality) are you?" shouted Morgan. "Oh, I guess who ye are. But come, come, deliver the letter at once! We havena' all turned bairns since ye left us."

Willie made no reply to this, but continued to coax the bewildered old man to accompany him home. But when he felt Morgan's hand upon him, and knew from the force cf the grasp that violence was intended, the old spirit of battle was roused, and at once Morgan became the victim of an optical illusion, and, lying on his back, had ample leisure to decide deliberately as to whether the lights he had seen dancing before his eyes were real constellations, or had been got up "for this night only !"

Mr. Hepburn returned from Glasburgh next day. As we passed over the sorrow of parting, we pass over the joy of meeting. When they all met in the Hall next night, the schoolmaster was able to prove, even to Mr. Le Moyne's feeble understanding, that he had been imposed upon, and that his claim "had not the shadow of also able to prove that the "high legal authoa leg to stand upon"; and in a few days he was rity" whose name had been used to sanction the matter had never been consulted at all.

And ah, ye loving hearts, love while yet ye may! While the sun yet shines, and your hearts yet beat, love, and love, and love again! For see! Oh, had I seen it then as I see it now, there is a wind rising in the far, far north; and years and years too late! It is in the heart of fires, around which are strong men forging a merry England, and that blaze is from furnacechain-cable, that seems as if it might hold a goodly vessel against all the storms of Time. How merrily they work, proud of their own strength and of the strength of what they form. They have come to the fatal flaw-they see it not. Oh, had I but seen it then as I see it now, years and years too late! They have passed it; and when all is over they test it with great weights, and it stands the test. Ah, could they but have tested it with the weight of woe that was to fall on so many bereaved hearts, when that cable would snap before the wind from the far north!

Never! The man may love in truer fashion,
And with a juster basis for his love;
But oh, the wild, sweet dream of pride and passion
(Though it may not a lasting feeling prove)
Can never thrill the pulses with the burning

Of Hope and Trust as they have thrilled of yore,
Nor flush the cheek with the old joy returning;
For it has died away for ever more-
Dying away as we read deeper of world-lore.

Better, far better, that high hopes should perish-
Hopes of attaining honour in the strife-
If to achieve them we must cease to cherish
Those old beliefs born of the dawn of life;
If we must stifle every lofty feeling,

And think of it as a trite tale oft told,
The recantation of our youth's thoughts sealing,
By striving only all our days for gold,

And blotting out the thousand dear remembrances of old.

W. R.

OLD ELM TREES.

BY ELEANOR F. COBBY.

Old elm trees! old elm trees! how oft have I seen Your branches arrayed in their tenderest green ! How oft have I watched ye in autumn look drear, When leaves from those branches fell withered and sere !

Ye drooped o'er the lane that I trod in past hours, The lane that was bright with the wildest of flowers, And the dreams that a child in its happiness weaves; Were blent with the sound of your murmuring leaves.

How oft the gay squirrel, in his haste, have I seen Dart up and away mid your sheltering green! How oft the red kine to the waters have strayed That gurgled along, 'neath your wavering shade!

Old elm trees! ye guarded, in days that a re flown, An old manor-house, that stood silent and lone; Whose gables had seen many sunsets decline; Whose chambers were dark with the growth of the vine.

To its chimneys the green glossy ivy had clung, And around it the silence of centuries hung; But I loved it, in spite of its age and decay;

I was happier there, than I have been away.

Old elm trees! how oft neath your boughs have I trod,

When my step was as light as a roe's o'er the sod! When my spirit was gay, and it cherished no fears To throw their dark shade o'er the swift-coming years!

And now, though a thousand times wiser than then,
I'd gladly give all to be happy again;

The wisdom we gather from sorrow and ruth
Can ne'er be so sweet as the joy of our youth.

LOVE ILL-BESTOWED.

BY F. LOUIS JAQUEROD.

By night, by day, cast down we mourn,
And, sorrowing, only wish to die:
To LOVE, ill-fated, still we turn,
Yet from its mem'ries fain would fly!
But TIME pursues its onward course,

'Mid sighs and tears of no avail, Until he charms the wounded source, And bids the heart forbear to wail.

Yes; night and day the suffering soul,
Low-laid by pain and wasting grief,
Prays, hopeless, for innate control,

And in seclusion seeks relief:
But Time pursues its onward course,
'Mid sighs and tears that vainly pour,
Till Heav'n recalls of life the source,
And the fond heart complains no more.

The long-billed birds, in which category are included the woodcock, the snipe, the jack snipe, the curlew, and many other of the order Grallatores, family Scolopacida, are all excellent eating, and, being unprotected by the Game-law, may be shot, or otherwise killed, by any one who chooses, without leave or licence. The long bills with which these birds are furnished fit them for the sort of land of which they are the denizens, by enabling them to penetrate deep into the marshy ground, or sandy shore, and thence to draw out the little worms, small crustaceans, insects, &c., on which they live.

This organ, the beak, is in the woodcock quite straight, and stands at an obtuse angle, slightly pointing upwards from the eye. In the snipe it is longer, and equally straight, but rather inclining downwards from the eye. In the godwit it is considerably longer and wider than in either of its before-named congeners, pointing very decidedly downwards; whilst in the curlew it is very much longer then even in the godwit, being gracefully curved and inclining to the earth.

The appearance of the woodcock, with thin short legs and pretty freckled plumage, is well known. They are migratory birds, which visit us in about October, and remain till March, when they return to their northern home in Sweden, Norway, &c., travelling in large flights, and occasionally making a halt on the way for food or rest; at which periods they are often taken in large numbers. A large flight of woodcocks has been observed arriving in Northumberland, from the sea, in a N.E. direction, just at daydawn. The noise of their wings drew the attention of the narrator to them, and he saw them descending in an almost perpendicular direction to the shore; when they reached it, they separated, and flew towards the interior. These were probably on their way from Norway, and had just crossed the German Ocean. The flights of woodcocks have been known to be so dense, that they almost equalled those of pigeons in America. It is recorded that in the Scilly Islands there fell such a flight of woodcocks within the walls of the garrison, that the gentleman, who reported the occurrence to Mr. White of Selborne, says, that he himself "shot and carried home twentysix couple, besides three couple which he wounded and did not care to retrieve." They are nocturnal birds, feeding by night, and resting by day. They are immense eaters. Daniels

describes their mode of feeding in an aviary at St. Ildephonso in Spain. "There was a fountain perpetually flowing, to keep the ground moist, and trees planted for the same purpose. Fresh sod was brought to them, the richest in worms that could be found: in vain did the worms seek concealment: when the woodcock was hungry it discovered them by the smell, stuck its beak into the ground, but never higher than the nostrils, drew them out singly, and raising its bill into the air, it extended upon it the whole length of the worm, and in this way swallowed it smoothly without any action of the jaws; this whole operation was performed in an instant, and the action of the woodcock was so equal and imperceptible, that it seemed doing nothing: it never missed its aim. For this reason, and because it never plunged its bill beyond the orifice of the nostrils, it was concluded that the bird was directed to its food by smell."

The woodcock occasionally breeds in England, though not usually. The hen lays her eggs, about four in number, in a nest composed of dead fern or other leaves, loosely put together; and on the ground, without any attempt at concealment. When the young are disturbed the parent birds are said to carry them off sometimes in their bills, sometimes in their claws. A high authority amongst Scandinavian sportsmen, says: "If in shooting you meet with a brood of woodcocks, and the young ones cannot fly, the old bird takes them separately between her feet, and flies from the dogs with a moaning cry."

The common snipe (Scolopax gallinago) is a British bird, and breeds in all the counties along the line of the southern coast, in small numbers; but its usual breeding ground is the northern counties. Sir Humphrey Davy says: "In the heather surrounding a small lake in the island of Hoy, in the Orkneys, I found, in the month of August, 1817, the nests of ten or twelve couple of snipes. I was grouse shooting, and my dog continually pointed them, and as there were sometimes three young ones, and two old in the nest, the scent was very powerful ...... The nest is very inartificial, the eggs large, and the young ones soon become of an enormous size, being often, before they can fly, larger than their parents. Two young are usually the number in a nest, but I have seen three. The old birds are exceedingly attached to their off