spared me until now.' Then he begged them to try to cure him. A draught was prepared for him. The English, according to the etiquette of the court, would have tasted it before he swallowed it, but the monarch touchingly showed his confidence in them.

6

"My children,' he cried, forbear. Do I not know that you would administer to Sahela Selasse nothing that would do him harm?'

"He did recover.

Then was the moment that

Major Harris and his companions thought fit to propose to him a deed of justice and mercy. It is the cruel custom of this country that when a monarch ascends the throne, his brothers shall be immediately cast into prison, there to pine away the remainder of their days. Seven brothers and uncles of Sahela Selasse had languished in prison during the thirty years that he had reigned; the English explained to him the wickedness and cruelty of this custom, and called upon him to set them free. For a moment he paused; what might they

not do, he thought. Would they not overturn his throne and take a deep revenge?

"It is your duty to release them,' the British

urged, and nothing can better show your thankfulness to Heaven for your recovery than your abolishing this guilty custom.'

"And I will release them,' he replied. 'By the Holy Eucharist I swear, and by the church of the Holy Trinity in Koora Gadel, that if Sahela Selasse rises from this bed of sickness, he will restore to liberty those for whom you plead.'

"He kept his promise. Soon after that, the British left Abyssinia."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MOON'S ACCOUNT OF A COMMUNITY OF ANTS ON THE BANKS OF THE TIBER.

"I AM come from the banks of the Tiber, not far from the eternal city,"" said the Moon, one evening, when she presented to us her clear disk; "there I have seen life in its utmost activity, a population of millions, dwelling within the compass of a square yard! I have made intimate acquaintance with that community of late, and so interesting are their proceedings, that I wish to give you some relations concerning them.

"It was on a fine day, in the month of April, that I first saw a movement in an ant hill of last year. During the winter, the snow had rested on that tiny hillock, or the frost had penetrated it, and not a sign of life had it presented; so that

although I had seen in the preceding summer, an important and industrious population employed, first in its erection, and then in carrying on many other labours, I had, from the long continued winter stillness, almost forgotten that many thousands of living creatures lay concealed within its sheltering tower. Now, however, my memory was refreshed.

"The sun was bright and warm, lambs gambolled in the fields around; in one field I saw five young foals, sporting and capering about in all the joy of new existence; flowers carpeted the earth, the wild hyacinth in the wood, and the gorse on the common, spread their almost sickly sweetness on the breeze, while the peach and almond, the primrose, and the early violet, sent their more delicate perfume from the gardens near.

"In a copse on the river's brink, some children gathered the flowers that gemmed the ground, chased the first butterfly that they had seen in the year, and were as full of glee as it was possible for the dear, gay, young creatures to be.

"The same sun which called forth the butterfly,

and gladdened the children, and led the lambs and foals to gambol in the fields, and opened the buds of the flowerets, and drew forth their scents, was busy in waking up inspiration in a painter's breast. A landscape painter was sauntering near the Tiber on that bright April day; he was drinking in the very soul of the landscape, and revelling in the beauties around him; he at once, sighed to think of the impotence of his brush, and learned to use it with greater power, as he looked, and gazed, and gazed again, on the everchanging light, and its ever varying effects on the objects of the scene. It was the habit of that painter to take his lessons direct from the original of things. Nature was his mistress in his noble art; to her he proposed his questions, and she gave him her replies.

"Many a truth she whispered, not into his ear, but into the very essence of his perception, which he would never have thought to ask her, and which a master, if he had known it himself, could have found no words to teach. "Yes," said the Moon; "if a man would truly paint, let him not despise