IT

was a cold bleak wintry day; all the fields were white with hoar frost; house roofs and church towers were covered with snow; the trees, stripped of all foliage, were clothed with rime and icicles instead of leaves and fruit. Along the road which leads from Melun to Orleans, in France, there travelled a poor boy-ragged, hungry, footsore, and shivering with the cold. It was not an easy journey, that from Melun to Orleans, for there was no railway as there is now; but even if there had been, the boy could not have paid the fare, so it would not have been much use to him.

The boy wished to reach Paris, but he was ignorant of the distance, and fancied he should reach that city before nightfall. He knew that the river Seine flowed from Melun to Paris, and he said to himself, "If the river reaches Paris, I can reach it too." Well, the night was coming, and he had not reached Paris yet. He was very cold, and very hungry, and the wind-oh, it was a bitter, biting wind! -chased him along the road, and met him sharply in unexpected places, and drove the snow-flakes, which now began to fall, under the collar of his little doublet, making him feel very, very wretched, as you may readily suppose. His beautiful white teeth chattered with the cold; his soft, delicate flesh shivered with the cold! his fair complexion turned purple with the cold; but he tried to keep a good heart within him, and to cheer himself by saying

'God will take care of me," and by repeating the names" God! God!-Mother! mother!" If you had heard him say this, and had known all, you would have been surprised that he should say "Mother! mother!" for he had quitted that mother in the morning without one farewell. Well, perhaps he could not help it: we shall see.

He was growing very, very weary, and as the night became darker and darker, his heart fluttered like a little bird in a cage; especially when he heard the tramp of horses on the road, and saw two mounted figures coming towards him.

"God! God!- Mother! mother!" whispered the child, and he tried to hide himself in the bushes.

When the two figures came closer, the child noticed that one was more richly dressed than the other, and that he rode a little in advance. This gentleman was a noble-looking person, and the moment he caught sight of the boy he reined in his steed, and called out to him

"What, ho! little one, is there a farrier hereabouts? for my horse has cast a shoe. I'll give thee a crown to tell me."

"An' it please you, sir," said the child, "I am a stranger here, and know nothing of the farriers; more still, know nothing of the town."

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A stranger ?" said the gentleman; "rather a young traveller-a gipsy, eh?"

"No gipsy, sir, but a poor boy travelling to Paris. How much farther shall I have to go?"

The gentleman laughed.

"You must wear the seven-league boots," he said, "to reach Paris to-night or to-morrow. How do you expect to find your way there ?" "The Seine finds its way to Paris, and why should not I ?"

The gentleman laughed again, and directed his follower to give the boy a cup of wine. The man dismounted, took from his saddlebag a leather bottle and a horn cup, which he filled with wine. The child hesitated to take it.

"If you have such a thing as a morsel of bread, I should be thankful," he said. "I have a spiced cake," the man answered; perhaps that will do as well."

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Thank you."

When the gentleman found the child refreshed, he offered to let him ride before his servant to Orleans, which offer the boy very readily accepted.

"But first you must tell me," said the gentleman, "your name, what brings you here, and why you wish to reach Paris."

"Oh, sir," the boy answered, ""tis a long story; Orleans, perhaps, is far away, and the time is short."

"The boy speaks wisely. Come, you shall ride before me, and tell me your story as we go along."

The gentleman lifted the child on to the horse, and so they pursued their journey. "Now," said the gentleman, "begin. Once upon a time—”

"Once upon a time," the boy repeated, "there was a child living with his mother and his father-in-law miles and miles away over the fields. His mother was very, very kind and good, and taught him to read a little Latin; but his father-in-law did not care about learning, and said books and boys were never meant for one another. He had to help in the shop, and work very hard at a business he did not like, and was never, never allowed, if his father knew it, to look into a book. One day a colporteur [a book-hawker] came in when everybody was away except this boy, and showed him such great, grand books, whereof he had never seen the like before, and, among the rest, the book of the Four Gospels in Latin, all full of the merciful doings of our Saviour, a book which would cost a crown to buy. But the boy had a crown. He had saved it up, sou by sou, and it had taken a long time to reach so large a sum. He had thought he would have a new coat with it some day. But the book, the book was better to him than the bravest garment that ever a tailor stitched. So he bought it, and read it, and his heart was full of gladness."

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What said the youngster's father ?" "I am afraid to tell. He missed the money, questioned the child about it; the boy did not dare tell him what he had done, for the precious book would have been taken from him. The father-in-law's anger was very great. He called his boy a thief, threatened to send him to gaol, and so in his terror the boy fled away.” And you are the boy?"

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"I am, sir."

"What said your mother?

"What will you do there?"

"God willing, sir, I will become a scholar." "A good resolution," said the gentleman, "but hard to accomplish; however, here we are at Orleans, and here is a piece of gold. Take my advice, child, and go back to your parents."

"May I take the one without the other? asked the boy.

"You may

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Then I'll take the money, thank you heartily for your advice, and-go to Paris." That night the boy slept in a stable at Orleans, and the next morning pursued his journey to Paris. He met with many strange adventures on the road, which we have not space to relate here. He read his book very carefully, and the lessons it taught sank into his heart. The thought of serving God, of being devoted to the service of Him who sent His Son into the world to save sinners, was fixed in his mind. And the thought of bringing honour and happiness to his mother, of making her proud of her runaway son, was a feeling which he fondly cherished.

Hard by a church in Paris there was a cobbler's stall, and two or three feet distant was a wide niche in the wall, where a poor blind beggar and his dog took shelter in rainy weather. The boy soon grew familiar with the cobbler and the blind beggar, and they were both very kind to him. He was always ready to do a good turn; so sharp and clever also that he was sure to be a favourite. By obtaining odd jobs, he earned a few sous every day, and he studied hard and fared hard and slept hard, on a heap of straw outside the cobbler's stall. One day a lady who was taking her two boys

ON SEEING CHILDREN AT PLAY. I LOVE to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And it makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye.

I have walked the world for fourscore years,
And they say that I am old;

And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death,
And my years are well nigh told.
It is very true-it is very true,

I am old, and I "bide my time!"
But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on, play on, I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can fell the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing,
I hide with you in the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smothered call,
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor,
And I care not for the fall.

She was at once interested in him, and his replies to her questions were so honest and open that she offered to pay for his schooling and help him forward, if he would come and take her boys to school every morning, and wait on them in the day. You may be sure he was ready enough to accept her office, and as soon as ever he was admitted to the school, and taken into the lady's service, he wrote to his mother, begging her forgiveness, and telling her how he was occupied.

"Well, from that day he rose rapidly. He diligently devoted himself to study, and his steady application was rewarded with success. At a public examination which took place before the king, his knowledge of the Greek and Latin was the theme of universal praise, and the king rightly predicted that he would be one of the brightest ornaments of his native country.

On that happy occasion a poor man and woman, very humbly dressed, stood amongst the crowd of spectators, and by their eagerness to approach close to the students, excited the indignation of some of the officers on duty.

"For the twentieth time, woman, I tell you to stand back," said a moustached soldier. "Pardon me, Captain," said the woman; "but he is my son-my only son

دو

At that voice the young student leapt from the platform on which he stood, and the next moment was clasped in a fond embrace;

Forgive me," he said, “forgive me, I have tried, I will try to be worthy of you— WORTHY OF MY MOTHER-ZEALOUS FOR MY GOD!"

Jacques Aymot was the name of that boy, and he rose to be one of the best and wisest men of his time. B. K. C.

I am willing to die when my time shall come,
And I shall be glad to go;

For the world, at best, is a weary place,
And my pulse is getting low;

But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail
In treading its gloomy way;
Yet it wiles my heart from its dreariness,
To see the young so gay.
WILLIS.

LIFE'S GUIDING STAR.
THE youth whose bark is guided o'er
A summer stream by zephyr's breath,
With idle gaze, delights to pore

On imaged skies that glow beneath;
But should a fleeting storm arise,

To shade awhile the watery way,
Quick lifts to heaven his anxious eyes,
And speeds to reach some sheltering bay.
'Tis thus down Time's eventful tide,
While prosperous breezes gentle blow,
In Life's frail bark we gaily ride,
Our hopes, our thoughts, all fix'd below;
But let one cloud the prospect dim-
The wind its quiet stillness mar,

At once we raise our cry to Him
Whose light is life's best guiding star.

T

FEEDING.

HERE is a great diversity of opinion as to the best mode of feeding rabbits. Mr. Young thinks that carrots and parsley are what the rabbits are most fond of, but that oats and hay should always be given along with as much green food as they can possibly consume. By adopting this system he declares that at the age of five or six months they may easily be brought to the weight of a full-sized hare-that is, to a weight of five or six pounds. Mowbray says, "I killed a buck which weighed three pounds, fit for the spit; it was put up in good case, and was only one month in feeding, consuming not quite four quarts of oats, with hay, cabbage, lucerne, and chicory."

It should be remembered "that the rabbit is naturally an animal of nocturnal, or we ought rather to say of crepuscular, that is, twilight habits. It is, therefore, an error to believe that it is requisite to give them a substantial meal at noon; on the contrary, nature and observation indicate that they ought to be left in quiet at that hour, when they are almost always in a state of repose, especially during summer. The best feeding times are very early indeed in the morning, and about sunset in the evening. They usually eat with the greatest appetite during the night."

The author of "British Husbandry" gives the following testimony relative to the expediency of feeding rabbits chiefly on oats:Having heard that a full-grown rabbit of four or five months old will eat a quart of oats in eight days, we resolved on trying the experiment. We therefore purchased a fine buck of that age, and had him fed entirely upon oats, with only a little green vegetables just to improve his appetite, and found that in six weeks he ate six quarts of good oats, weighing at least forty pounds to the bushel. He was then killed and dressed in the manner

of a brown fricasse; but though of remarkably fine flavour, he only weighed, when trussed, three pounds two ounces. With regard to the expense of this sort of feeding, assuming that a rabbit is to be fed with both garden-stuff and corn after being weaned, little more than half the above quantity of oats will be sufficient; and if continued at that rate for four months from his being weaned, the quantity of oats which he will consume will perhaps not exceed ten pounds, the cost of which, if bought at three-and-sixpence per bushel, will only be a shilling and a penny; and as the gardenstuff will be merely refuse, the only additional expense will be a trifle for hay: so that the whole amount may probably be about one shilling and fourpence; and a well-fed rabbit will generally weigh from two to three pounds when trussed for the table, for which the poulterer will charge at least two shillings, besides keeping the skin, which, if in seasonthat is to say, in winter-is usually worth a few pence."

Turning from the author of "British Husbandry" to Mr. Cobbett, we find that renowned authority thus expressing himself on the subject:

"Abundant food is the main thing; and what is there that rabbits will not eat? I know of nothing green that they will not eat; and if hard pushed, they will eat bark, and even wood. A variety of food is a great thing; and, surely, the fields and gardens and hedges furnish this variety-all sorts of grasses, strawberry-leaves, and ivy. They should have oats once a day. When the doe has young ones, feed her most abundantly with all sorts of greens and herbage, and with carrots, and the other things mentioned before, besides giving her a few oats once a day. This is the way to have fine healthy young ones, which, if they come from the mother in good case, will

very seldom die. But do not think that, because she is a small animal, a little feeding, or a little care, is sufficient. To those gentlemen who keep rabbits for the use of their family (and a very useful and convenient article they are), I would observe, that when they find their rabbits die, they may depend on it that, ninety-nine times out of the hundred, starvation is the malady. And particularly short feeding of the doe while and before she has young ones; that is to say, short feeding of her at all times; for, if she be poor, the young ones will be good for nothing. She will live, being poor, but she will not, and cannot, breed up fine young ones."

There can be no doubt that Cobbett is right when he says, that variety of food is of the utmost importance as affecting the rabbit's bill of fare. There is scarcely a green thing that grows that may not be given them at certain times and in moderation. Let it be borne in mind, that if rabbits be supplied with as much corn as they can eat, you need have no reluctance in giving them vegetables. The great harm is to give them greenmeat as victuals, instead of as medicine. When I say corn, I mean dry corn, such as oats, peas, wheat, indian-corn or buck-wheat-and not grains. To give rabbits grains, as well as green-meat, is to condemn them to certain scouring, and probably to death. Their green food should consist chiefly of carrots, turnips, artichokes, the stumps and ribs of cabbage, cooked potatoes (better baked than any other way), grass, strawberry-leaves, cow-parsley, and dandelion. Some folks seriously recommend wild parsnip or hog-weed for rabbits; but hear what Mr. Mowbray says on the subject:

"On moving out of Middlesex to Hants, I took with me a favourite stock of rabbits in the highest condition. Being particularly engaged for the first fortnight I scarcely bestowed a look on my rabbits. When I saw them, instead of the well-fed, merry, gamesome creatures, as they formerly were, I beheld a parcel of moping, pot-bellied, and scouring creatures, which had lost all the fine solid flesh put upon them by former high keeping. On demanding the cause of this unfavourable change, I discovered it to be in the quantity of hog-weed with which they had been daily supplied. This being discontinued, they soon recovered their pristine condition."

On the subject of feeding, a clever writer remarks, "Too much food at a time is as bad as too little. Twice a day is often enough to supply them with food, except in the case of breeding does, whose trough should be replenished just as often as she empties it. To a breeding doe of full size may be given in the morning a handful of sweet, dry hay, and half a pound of wholesome vegetables; at noon a pint of good oats should be put into her trough, and the last thing at night a piece of carrot or parsnip, and a handful of clover, or a cold baked potato and some beans. Grey peas may be given them occasionally instead of corn, and if the peas be old, soak them in water for a quarter of an hour. Tea-leaves and such kind of victual should scarcely be reckoned, serving, as they do, rather to amuse the animal than to stanch his hunger. I have heard it asserted

that no food is more highly relished by the rabbit than brewery grains and tea-leaves, yet I have always found that, when corn and these things have together been placed in his house, the rabbit, like a sensible fellow, no more deigned to notice the soft messes than an hungry Englishman would desert English beef for French kickshaws.

It would seem, then, that the advice concerning rabbit-feeding as given by both ancient and modern keepers may be summed up as follows:

There can be no doubt that a judicious supply of vegetable diet not only improves the health of rabbits, but also adds to the juiciness of their flesh. Both extremes must be avoided. Rabbits fed largely on green-meat become flabby and soft-fleshed, while, on the other hand, those that are fed entirely on dry foodcorn and hay become unpalatable on account of the closeness and dryness of the flesh. Let corn be the standard diet, and green-meat the corrective of this last-mentioned objectionable in rabbit meat.

DISEASES OF THE RABBIT AND HOW TO CURE THEM.

IT is a wholesome maxim, and one that as well applies to four as to two-legged animals, that diseases are more easily avoided than cured. There is no such thing as running in debt with nature and shirking payment. So surely as seeds fructify in the earth will the seeds of disease, planted in living creatureswhether wantonly, carelessly, or with brute obstinacy-grow up apace and flourish. If we can stave off the grim reaper, so much the better.

If I had as many guineas as there are rabbits brought to an untimely end in a single year through sheer neglect of their keepers, I should be as rich as a Jew-as rich as that golden Hebrew, Baron Rothschild. I'm sure I should be half as rich if I had but the hides of the sacrificed animals, and sold the sheared fleece to the hatters and to the bedmakers, and the skins to the makers of fine glue.

The disease called the "rot" is the rabbit's greatest enemy, and he who delights to feed his rabbits on decaying green-stuff is the best patron of the disease in question. You will know that your animals have this malady by their growing lean, and by unsightly sores appearing on them, especially on their noses and ears. If you set vigorously to work as soon as you observe these symptoms you may effect a cure. Feed them entirely on food of a dry and absorbent nature. Ground malt is a good thing, as is ship biscuit, toasted bread, crushed beans, oak-leaves, split peas, and oatmeal. Sweet herbs are excellent, marjoram, sage, &c. Morning and evening let them have a quarter of á gill of water that has been boiled and got cold.

Unless, however, the malady is detected at its outset, it will be worse than useless to attempt to cure it; for if the scabbiness of the ears and nose be allowed to get fast hold on the poor creature, cure is hopeless. Worse still, it becomes contagious, and your rabbit-hutch will assume the character of a pest-house. So irradicable is this disease that I have known

scabbiness to lie dormant in the progeny of a doe so afflicted for two and even three years, and then suddenly break out most virulently. Pot-belly dropsy is occasioned by wet vegetable diet. The importance of this subject is my excuse for again alluding to it. Arsenic is hardly more inimical to human life than is wet green stuff to rabbit life. It is a wellauthenticated fact that even in a wild state an indulgence in such food is fatal to these animals, for in very wet seasons they may be found lying dead in all directions in the neighbourhood of their warrens.

Pot-belly is incurable. You may patch up an animal for a month or so, but you may depend on the disease again making its appearance. The best plan, therefore, is to get rid of animals so afflicted.

Liver complaint is another ill to which rabbit flesh is heir. You may know when an animal is so affected by its breathing hard and short. It in no way interferes with a rabbit's good looks, and hardly with its chance of longevity. It would be folly, however, to breed from a liver-diseased doe, as the certain result would be unhealthy little ones. A rabbit with this disease will eat as hearty as any, and his flesh

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will be not a bit the worse. If I had an animal so circumstanced, I should fatten him for killing, bearing in mind, however, that if I loaded him extravagantly with fat, he would be sure to die suddenly.

Snuffles is to the rabbit pretty much what a cold in the head is to us, and arises from the same causes-cold, wet, or draught. Make the sick rabbit as comfortable as you can, by covering him in snug, and providing him with warm food, such as aromatic herbs, oats, and bran. Some keepers recommend the use of hempseed in such cases, but really I have lost so many pets-furred and feathered-by the use of this heating and oleaginous seed, that I am loth to indorse the recommendation.

For

For "red-water" (occasioned chiefly by sour food), the best remedy is mild mucilaginous food, such as dandelion and endive. diarrhoea, sound dry corn, ship biscuit, and baked potato skins.

As soon as the animal evinces symptoms of any disease, part it from the rest and keep it alone, till the clearness of its eye, the brightness of its coat, and its dry and well-pelleted dung convince you that it is restored to perfect health.

DEAR MR. EDITOR,-There is often a good deal of talk at ours" as to what we shall be in what particular department of life we shall. figure. When I was a kid about so high,* I used to think the jolliest life on earth would be to drive a water-cart: many a spree I have had in playing at it, with Bob (that's my brother) for a horse, and a chair for a cart. One day we did it prime by nobbling the waterpot, filling it with water, tying it at the back of the chair, and making a horrid mess, on account of which we got into such a shine with old Jane, who used to like to be called Mrs. Nicholls, that we never dittoed the experiment. At a later period I took a fancy to organ-grinding, and was accustomed to sling a box round my neck, work an imaginary handle; a live cat, with her tail for a handle, was considered very cheesy, but the brute scratched, and did not hold with it, and a horrid noise we made over the house, a row calculated to drive roaring mad Mr. What's-his-name-you know, I mean the calculating boy. Some time after this I thought of going into the church, having a notion I should cut a shine in the pulpit, and firmly resolved to shy the cushion at the head

* Doubtful stature!

of the first party I caught napping. I remember very well ascending a pair of steps inadvertently left behind by the upholsterer's young man, and delivering an extempore address to Bob, who, I am sorry to say, grew vicious, stormed the pulpit stairs, upset the rostrum, broke a pane of glass, got us into an awful shindy, and cut short my ministerial prospects. After that I had a notion of going in for the stage, and Bob and I got up a small playhouse, painted our pinafores and scenery elaborately with vermilion and gamboge. In these scenic efforts the taste of gamboge was never absent from my mouth: this may probably have arisen from the fact of my lubricating my brush in that receptacle. The playhouse was a failure: I had forty thieves, all weak in the ankles (this, by the way, was an affliction common to most of my company), and a headless Morgiana with a tambourine; Bob had undertaken to cut her out, and he did it. Well, after these repeated failures, I gave up all notion of selecting a profession. "What's the odds ?" I said; "we must be something,-tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, gentleman, farmer, ploughboy, 'pothecary, thief." Time will show,-Dum deliberamus quando incipiendum insipere jam serum fit.

And, most potent and grave Editor, is not