gulls and puffins. The men pulled up the canoe upon an inclined plane of rock, into a cleft sheltered from observation, and crept along the narrow ledge cautiously. It wound upward, on the face of the cliff. Well might the climbers be cautious, for in some places it was no broader than a foot, and then, sheer into the water, without a chance of safety for any but the strongest swimmer. They entered a small dark aperture, crouching. Soon they had to go on all-fours, and presently, to drag themselves along, snail-like. They emerged on the other side of the island: before them spread the broad plain of the sea. Succession of ledges above, for fifty feet; succession of ledges below, for a hundred. "I defy all the Peelers in Munsther to find us here," said Scaulan, exultingly. They struck a light, and smoked: their conference was long; at the end they lay down and slept for some hours, in the opening of the tunnel, which was sufficiently capacious. Dawn roused the myriads of birds which dwelt around and above them. Screaming in the ecstasy of existence, as free-born of earth, air, and sea, these wild creatures flew, swam, dived, preened their white feathers on the rock, took their young ones for lessons of flight, arrived with breakfast in the shape of freshly-caught fish, and in all other bird-ways thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Soaring aloft in the newly-risen sunlight, balancing on their broad soft pinions in mid-air, visiting regions far inland with errant wing, rejoicing with the joy of the buoyant waves just freed from the despondent pressure of darkness-how happy were these creatures of the beneficent Author of Life! Truly "the Lord is good to all: his tender mercies are over all his works." 'THOU Openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing." 66 CHAPTER XXIV.-AN IRISH SCHOOL-HOUSE. ANY one who is acquainted with the social state of Ireland, as it existed twelve years since, will know that incidents like those I have narrated were no uncommon episodes in the lives of country gentlemen. Few but could tell of some hair-breadth escapes; for murderous attacks were the ordinary result of any attempt to exercise the rights of a landowner. Those were fearful times, when peaceful country houses were fortified as in an enemy's land, and weapons were the common requirement of a gentleman taking a ride; when many counties in Ireland had their score spots of murder, crying a voiceless cry for vengeance on criminals whom the law was powerless to discover. And awfully was the cry answered, in judgments tremendous as any that have ever befallen a nation. Famine and pestilence were the messengers of justice, who purged out two millions from the offending people. Multitudes of the innocent suffered in the punishment of a nation, it must ever be so; as in the minor dealings of Divine Providence with | individuals, each guilty one involves some guiltless in his vortex of ruin. And the mystery of such judgment, who may solve? "Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" | As years roll us farther from those times, we can see the supreme wisdom of that national scourging. No punishment less severe could have extirpated the social evils which were cankering the core of the people. From the bitter chastisement, Ireland has arisen ameliorated. No longer is agrarian outrage a virtue, nor the word of a demagogue stronger than the law. The depletion wrought by the double scourge has eventuated in health. At the period of my story, the clouds of judgment were lowering over the land. In the preceding autumn, the mysterious potato blight had destroyed thousands of acres of the staple food of the masses: a partial famine had been the result. Nevertheless, the spring-time saw great breadths of the country sown with the fated crop. The people were full of hope that this year, at least, might bring exemption from the blight, and forgot the ruin attendant on such baseless hope before. seemed a judicial blindness. It Yet now, in the height of the summer, all the potato fields were green and flourishing: a healthier crop had never been seen, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant. But the wise among the people waited with apprehension for the elapsing of July. Concerning these things was the conversation of the little party from Golden Hills, as they walked to church on the day after the events narrated in the preceding chapters. Mr. Kingston having kept the car at Castlebay, they had no means of driving. Lina, Alek, and Mr. Orme were the church-goers. Calm and bright was the morning: a slight easterly breeze swept the vault of heaven bare of clouds, which were piled out at sea in grand grey masses, awaiting the surely-coming west wind, to spread their vast vaporous pinions, and sail over the land till the strength of the hills wrested rain from them. Glorious west wind! which bestows upon poor Ireland her solitary distinction-investing her with the green ribbon of surpassing verdure, and giving her the name of "the emerald isle." In sea solitudes deep below yonder horizon, ships are beating about, expecting its advent, and are passed by others under a press of billowy sails, rejoicing in the counter breeze which buoys them towards the trackless heart of the ocean. As At Lissard Point was the school-house, where the converts and other Protestants of the district met for worship. A hamlet nestled on the beach-some dozen cabins, a few cottages inhabited by coastguards, and a great chapel presiding over all. they passed this building at noon, it was overflowing with the crowd attending mass: numbers kneeled in the space around; so as the tinkling of the little bell reached the farthest worshipper, he was satisfied. Many of the poor people had brought smooth stones to kneel upon-a primitive style of hassock, necessary when the ground is covered with rough gravel. The gathering was rich in colour; the graceful dark blue cloaks of the peasant women, with a foam of snowy caps a-top, diversified by occasional scarlet mantles; the bare heads of the men, children's faces here and there, all glinted upon by the sunlight, formed a picturesque mass of chiaro-oscuro. The school-house was a common cabin-earthen floor beneath, a step down from the road; blackened raters above-as veritable an open-worked roof as any vaulting cathedral, and through which the sods were visible which lined the thatch. A chimhey yawned at one end, in which a small turf fire smouldered to ashes; an errant breeze from the open door sometimes eddied the white particles about, till a thoughtful inmate built up a few peats as protective fender. Near this was spread a coarse piece of matting before a few rushen chairs, for the "quality." Desk and pulpit was an old wooden press, short enough for Mr. Brooke to rest his books on. The rest of the house was filled with benches for the congregation, which had chiefly assembled when the Golden Hills people appeared. They were all poor persons: three or four coastguards, in their neat blue coats and gilt buttons, were given precedence of front places for their respectable appearance. But the back-ground concealed many miserably clad men and women; the converts were an oppressed race, and their lives were hard. Those who had a mind to leave the Roman Catholic church must be prepared to suffer the loss of all things. It was verily a preferring of the next world to this: it was the Bible purchased with a sacrifice of all the common sweeteners of life-love, friendliness, comforts. Ah, dear reader! how many of us would be willing to pay the same price? The door was left open, for the sake of additional light and ventilation, during the service; and the surge of the sea, breaking on the pebbles of the strand a few yards away, sounded solemnly in the pauses of each prayer. Nor was it discord when the few worshippers sang a hymn: and Lina listened to most of the sermon with her eyes on the same blue waters, fluctuating with a thousand sparklings beneath the sunlight. Mr. Brooke preached shortly and simply-altogether of Christ and his work for the sinner, and of his sufficiency as a stay in the trials of this troublesome world. hearers needed some cordial for the week of persecution past, and the week of persecution to come: they had no force of position, nor any great strength of will, to bear up against the many daily insults offered them. The looking continually unto their Master, Christ, could be their only comfort; and Mr. Brooke believed that to set forth him was the end of all a preacher's duty. The poor He addressed them in Irish at the close, making plain to old ears his English meaning. Lina was pleased to find that she could comprehend more of this part of the service than usual; her toil over the Celtic grammar and dictionary would not be altogether fruitless. But indeed no labour is fruitless, though it may not compass the end which we propose to ourselves. By toil are developed muscles: by mental travail, strength active, and strength passive, which is patience; which is also the veritable Archimedean stand-point, whence a world may be moved. Lina was educating herself by the very effort of this plodding through a weary unknown tongue, distinct in its affinities from any with which she was acquainted. Though she never attained excellence, and an Irish manuscript remained an honoured mystery to her, the indirect results of the braindiscipline were strengthening to her character. After service, the congregation chiefly stayed to form classes of a Sunday-school. Mrs. Brooke and Lina had a few pleasant words together while the arrangements were being made. Mr. Orme said he would wish to help, if they accepted a volunteer ; and half-a-dozen men were sent with him to one corner of the apartment. Lina had all the girls, and some of the smaller boys. Among so many, all she could do was to plant the seed of a text in their memories, which might by and by spring up and bear fruit. They could repeat several, like parrots chattering over syllables unmeaning; but she wanted them also to comprehend; and she found that memory lay nearer the surface than understanding. She had their earnest attention, poor little beings! To them she was a creature from an unattainable height above them: her warm neat dress, and pretty rose-coloured ribbons, and kind smiling face, were admirable to them as a picture. Alek went to saunter about the beach. He had no sympathy with such work as his sister and friend were engaged in; he rather wondered at their taste; for his part, he found church quite long enough, without tacking on to it an hour's schooling. The real reason of his distaste he knew not. No spiritual vitality being in his own nature, there could be no heat nor light in his life; no love for the precious Saviour being existent in his heart, he did not seek to do the things that please Him. So he spent a tedious hour half asleep on the rocks under the sunshine, his tartan cap drawn over his face; and some of Alek's half waking reflections were not the most gratifying. When he met the others at the school-house door, an old man passed them, and turned back to look. He was crouching on a stick, and seemed lame, but vigorous for his apparent years. "Ye wouldn't be so lively in yerselfs, if yestherday's work was done," he muttered. He had the countenance of Scaulan; but then, the Ribandman was tall and red-headed, while this man was bent and grey. A MORNING'S RAMBLE NEAR THE Ir is a sunny day. I must wander forth. Who would stay in-doors, I should like to know, except under compulsion? Yet I don't mean to be lazy either; I am never lazy as the rule. A certain absence of mind, to which I am prone, was sadly unfavourable to my industrious aspirations in times gone by. I like this sunny weather to wander about in search of suggestions. The shop-windows, people I meet, conversations one hears, are all suggestive; and when I have wandered through the streets enough to satisfy my curiosity, it is a habit of mine to roam countryward, and settle myself down under some umbrageous tree. Then, what fine conceits and bright suggestions sometimes flit through one's brain, to be sure. How I would long, in times gone by, to commit them to memory, and set them down on paper. But all these fine notions, like cage-birds escaped, had such a pertinacious habit of flying away, that I devised a trap for them in the form of an exciseman's inkbottle secured to the buttonhole of my coat by a string-a trap, I may say, fatal to the liberty of any notion which chances to come heedlessly in my way; for down it goes into my common-place book at once, to be mine forthwith. Follow me if you like, but do not interrupt my vagaries. I claim the privilege of looking into as many shop-windows as I please; of wending my way through as many narrow alleys as I please. Assuredly I shall pass through the Seven Dials, for this is just the time of year when beasts, birds, and fishes, to say nothing of snakes, snails, and water-newts, do much abound there, and I like to look at them. Kirkman, the harpsichord-maker, (there were no pianos then,) stemmed the torrent of fashion and turned it back, to the discomfiture of the guitarplaying enthusiasts, in the following clever way. Having money at command, he bought up harpsichords at a small figure, and put them aside in readiness for better times. When the wily harpsichord-maker had accumulated as many of these instruments as he could afford to buy, or as he had room to store away, he began to set in motion a very sly scheme. Wandering about in remote corners of London--just as you or I may be doing now-Mr. Kirkman began to purchase a number of old English guitars. Now, what could Mr. Kirkman, the harpsichord manufacturer, want with so many guitars? He detested the instrument--that was 2 fact well known; then why did he buy them? You shall see. Time sped on, and the voice of the harpsichord had ceased at the harpsichord factory, but, in place of it, tinklings and twangings of the guitar were heard. This sort of re I hope no improving architect will ever take it into his head to demolish the classic streets round about the Seven Dials. Better far demolish that ugly eyesore Trafalgar Square, and give us something worth looking at in the place of it. What Mr. Jam-hearsal continued day after day, until at last the doors rach's establishment is in respect of foreign beasts, the St. Giles's menageries are in respect of native ones. Yet the distinction is not so fully maintained but that foreign creatures meet the eye at St. Giles's occasionally. Parrots and parroquets are, I find, the chief exceptions to "home-raised" creatures, if, indeed, the now long acclimated canary-birds be rated as naturalized citizens, which, all things considered, I am sure they ought to be. Here we are in the Seven Dials at last; here, amidst odds and ends of all sorts, which make one smile at the notion that such incongruous things should ever have come together. There, lying across the finger-board of a Spanish guitar, is a blunderbuss. Strange association of ideas the two beget, do they not? Yet the Spanish guitar, I have read, has before now, with its little twang, stimulated the courage of warriors on the field of battle. It is related of them in Menagiana, that when the Portuguese lost a certain battle, name left unmentioned, no less than fourteen thousand guitars were picked up on the field! Small wonder, I think, that soldiers should be beaten who sought their inspirations of martial daring from a band of tinkling guitars. Then see that funny-looking instrument lying next the Spanish guitar. What is it? Observe its shape: very much like a pair of bellows. Observe its strings: they are wholly of wire: not of silk and catgut, as is the case with the Spanish guitar. What is it? The instrument is one celebrated enough in its day as the "English guitar;" not that its use was restricted to England by any means. It was common enough in France and Italy; in point of fact, it was the guitar of Europe everywhere out of Spain. The English guitar is an insignificant thing, and playing it hurts the fingers. Yet, about ninety years ago there was such a rage for it, that English ladies would play nothing else. To such an extent had the guitar-playing mania proceeded, that ladies sold their harpsichords, to the discomfiture of the harpsichord makers, and still greater discomfiture of the teachers of that instrument, who began to fear their occupation was utterly gone. At length of the factory flew open one evening, and out sallied Fiddles and other musical instruments are thickly scattered about. What are we to infer? Is the public growing less musical than of yore? or is the public changing old instruments for new ones? Appearances may be consistent with either of these notions. There! of still life this is enough: the shop-keeper seems to fancy we ought not to have been looking at his wares so long without purchasing something at last. Let us move on to that other shop, where little birds and beasts are congregated. Parrots? No, I don't want them to-day. I consider parrots rather out of their place here. St. Giles's, in my estimation, should be held apart for real British produce; such as owls and hedgehogs, larks, thrushes, blackbirds, rabbits, jackdaws, snails, snakes, and such like. On the floor I perceive a small sieve. In it there is a little hay, rubbed soft, and moulded into the form of a nest. Observe that circular fringe of strange-looking woolly heads, terminated each with a hooked beak. Each woolly head I discover to be set on an equally woolly body. Now, I am not a stranger to birds; they are a sort of weakness of mine; yet I can't tell what sort of birds those woolly fellows are. "Hawks, sir, hawks," says the master, and sure enough hawks they are; the shape of the beak should have been enough to tell that fact to anybody properly observant, I fancy those hawks will grow up a little tame, not being so scared at the sight of a human face as all hawks that have come under my obser vation hitherto. There! see how they gape! Whatever shyness they may have for mankind hereafter, they have none of it at present. Each of the young accipiters takes the bit of proffered mest from the master, with just the same matter-offact complacency it might have shown if offered by the hawk mamma. I ask the price. "Eighteenpence each.” “Exactly, and a very fair profit too," say I to myself. "Perhaps you gave sixpence for the whole nest of hawks; and if they all grow up, the birds now eighteen-pence each will be about three-and-sixpence each." A very fair profit, my man, think. I to myself; but I don't consider more than you deserve, taking all things into consideration. Pigeons and turtle doves are there by dozens, all in good condition. A gay-plumaged starling is a veritable merry-andrew in his way, jumping over his cross-bar, crawling under it, hanging by the feet, going through all sorts of gymnastical feats and exercises. Squirrels there sre, by dozens too: I wonder people don't make pets of squirrels more frequently. To be successfal with these little animals, and tame them completely, they should be procured very young-directly from the nest, when possible. Once, when a boy, I had a squirrel so very tame that it would rum after me and caper about me, never more happy than when on my shoulder. In cold weather it would like to creep between my boot and the trouser, and there go to sleep. A felonious cat killed my pet at last. Here, indeed, lies one difficulty with uncaged squirrels-they fall a prey to cats. I have had many squirrel pets since, but never one quite so tame; and when they bite, they do it with a purpose. Their teeth, like those of other rodent or gnawing animals, are chisel-like. Through the thickest leather they go with a clean cut, so that gloves are no protection. Nay, it is surprising to see how easily a squirrel can bite through a thick plank of wood, or even a thin piece of metal, if only it can get a small edge into its mouth to begin upon. That is an indispensable condition; a squirrel cannot gnaw on a perfectly flat surface: hence the philosophy of binding the edges of a squirrel-cage with metal. I once had two squirrels, Dick and Peter by name. They had a round-about cage, into which they might go for their amusement when they pleased, but in which they were never confined. On the contrary, they used to run about my bedroom, just wherever they pleased; so what I am going to relate must have been done for sheer amusement. One morning, waking from my night's rest, I heard a strange grating noise, like that of a rat working on timber. Directing my eyes to the eage of Dick and Peter, I saw the table on which it rested covered with small wood chips, and a hole established in the wooden side of the cage, through which the two squirrels were briskly skipping. Having found out a rough surface on the timber, convenient to begin working upon, they had improved on the occasion, and perforated a hole. Here I may remark, that to be gnawing away hard substances is occasionally more than amusement or mischief either to a rodent animal. Unlike the teeth of you or me, their teeth are continually growing, and if not proportionately worn away by contact with hard bodies, the consequences would be injurious to the animal, perhaps fatal. In the anatomical museum of the Royal College of Surgeons there is a curious specimen, illustrative of what I write. The skull of a rodent animal is seen, in which, owing to the loss of an upper tooth, the corresponding lower tooth has grown, out of all proportion, long, having turned circularly over the animal's upper lip, and (if I truly remember) even begun to perforate the skull. Moral. Let your pet squirrels crack their own unts, my young squirrel fanciers, and don't, out of any presumed kindness, offer them the kernels. Nut-cracking does them good: their teeth would grow too long else. Give them a fig or a date now and then; they like that sort of food; but what is strange, they don't like any of the out-of-the-way sort of kernels, such as those of Brazil nuts, almonds, and so forth. Tea leaves they have a great partiality to. My poor Dick was clever enough to lift up the lid of a tea-pot with his paws, and help himself. Next to the squirrels I see a cage of guinea-pigs, clean and well-conditioned enough for London and a cage; but the guinea-pig is an animal which likes to be always nibbling, and that of the very freshest provender. Wherefore, though usually caged, they thrive far better if allowed to run loose on a bit of lawn, which they will save you the trouble of mowing. Attached to the small lawn spot of my back garden I have a guinea-pig, very fat, very industrious, and I should think, as far as a guineapig is susceptible of happiness, very happy. Its great delight is to hide away amongst the stalks of my raspberries, emerging now and then to nibble a blade or two of grass, then popping away again. When the weather is hot and dry, my guinea-pig never thinks of going under a roof, but it is funny to notice the trepidation a shower causes in his little heart. These little animals come from South America. They can neither stand cold nor wet. No sooner does my pig feel the first rain-drops than up he starts, and, uttering a plaintive, unquiet noise, he hastens away to the shelter of the coal, cellar-a place, by the way, which, being of very cleanly habits, he does not much affect. A curious thing in relation to my guinea-pig is the attachment he manifests to one particular spot in the garden. He never wanders farther from the raspberries than is absolutely necessary to the end of finding a meal. Hence it happens that if, instead of being allowed to wander at large, he were, like a Guernsey cow, tethered by a rope, he could not eat away the grassblades more evenly. To his credit, also, I must aver that, notwithstanding all I read in books concerning his fruit-eating propensities, I never yet discovered him to have appropriated to himself as much as a single strawberry. Next to the guinea-pigs I recognise some very old acquaintances of mine, hedgehogs. Rough-looking fellows as they seem, hedgehogs have far more. intelligence than guinea-pigs. They are capable of forming friendships, which the others are not. Their black-beetle eating habit is well known, and has led to their being domiciled occasionally in kitchens; they are terrible snail-eaters, moreover, and would be admirable fellows to have in a garden, were it not for some little drawbacks. They are decidedly fond of strawberries; I would look over that: but they are on the hunt for earth-worms all the night long, and they rummage the ground so deeply in quest of them, especially near the roots of flowers and plants, that the good done by them is, I fear, more than compensated by the harm. Wanderer! you and I must linger no longer amongst the menageries of the Seven Dials-at least not to-day. Nor matters that much; for we can return and jot down in the pages of our notebook certain other notabilia of this classic region. Going no farther than our present shop I see some fine aquariums, fresh-water and marine. The old clothes shops also merit the spilling of a little ink in their behalf; but for the time present it is almost enough. Let us not leave the bird and beast shop, however, without making our politest bow to the manager. He must have enough to do to consult so many tastes; and no one who regards his pets can doubt the excellence of the commissariat. Even the snails, at which those noisy thrushes lick their lips and look so knowing, even they are fat and in good condition. On reaching the door, my thoughts are turned to another channel, by over-hearing at my side a dialogue, which recals me to the stern facts of this work-a-day world. A kind, active-looking lady, whom I take to be a district-visitor, is telling a city missionary that "Thomas, poor fellow, is worse to-day," and that he had better look in upon him. The Seven Dials, I need not say, is one of those regions of poverty where such ministrations are much needed. I thought to myself that, while the pursuits of the naturalist or the philosopher are good and pleasant in their way, they are in dignity and usefulness far below the humble labours of benevolence and charity-humble, that is to say, in man's view, but honourable and great in the sight of Heaven. "God bless them!" I said, as these ministers of mercy passed on to their holy work. "God bless them and their work," let my readers also say, and help it on as they have opportunity. is very obliging," thus discourses the unhappy Lady Marlborough; "God knows we all need mending, and none more than myself. I have lived to see great changes in the world-have acted a conspicuous part myself-and now hope in my old age to obtain mercy from God, as I never expect any at the hands of my fellow-creatures. Good, alas! I do want; but where among the corrupt sons of Adam am I to find it? Your ladyship must direct me. But women of wit, beauty, and quality cannot bear too many humiliating truths; they shock our pride. Yet we must die; we must converse with earth and worms. I have no comfort in my own family, and when alone, my reflections almost kill me, so that I am forced to fly to the society of those whom I detest and abhor. Now, there is Lady Frances Sanderson's great rout to-morrow night; all the world will be there, and I must go. I do hate that woman as much as I hate a physician; but I must go, if for no other purpose but to mortify and spite her. This is very wicked, I know, but I confess my little peccadilloes to you; your goodness will lead you to be mild and forgiving." This, then, is the bitter experience of one who had been the companion of princesses and the ornament of courts; "vanity and vexation of spirit." It tears away the trappings of wealth and station, and startles us by a sight of the bad passions which lie cankering beneath. Let it be contrasted with the freshness and beauty of the believer's life. "What blessed effects does the love of God produce in the hearts of those who abide in him," writes Lady Huntingdon to Charles Wesley. "How solid is the peace and how divine the joy that springs from an assurance that we are united to the Saviour by a living faith. Blessed be his name. I have an abiding sense of his presence with me, notwithstanding the weakness and unworthiness I feel, and an intense desire that he may be glorified in the salvation of souls, especially those who lie nearest my heart." THE IONIAN ISLANDS. III. THEIR MODERN HISTORY. THE story of the seven islands, during the middle ages, is very largely a chronicle of the incursions of corsairs, freebooters, and adventurers of various nations. It need not detain us, except to record the fact, that about the time when the Norman Conqueror planted a dynasty on the banks of the LADY HUNTINGDON AND HER FRIENDS. BOTH the Earl of Huntingdon and his wife became frequent attendants upon the ministry of Wesley; and while Lady Huntingdon took great delight in the society of her new Christian friends, she did not neglect to urge upon her former associates the claims of that gospel which she had found so precious to her own soul. The rebuffs which she sometimes met with on these occasions form curious page in the chapter of human pride. "The doctrines of these preachers are most repulsive," writes the proud Duchess of Bucking-Thames, another chieftain of the race did the same ham, "and strongly tinctured with impertinence and disrespect towards their superiors, in perpetually endeavouring to level all ranks and do away with all distinctions. It is monstrous to be told that you have a heart as sinful as the common wretches that crawl upon the earth. This is highly offensive and insulting, and I cannot but wonder that your ladyship should relish any sentiments so much at variance with high rank and good breeding." "Your concern for my religious improvement on the Bay of Naples, and from thence aspired to reign on the shores of the Bosphorus, taking the place of the Greek emperors at Constantinople. This was Robert Guiscard, who, in pursuance of the latter object, led his band of rovers on their "sea-horses" and " ocean-skates," as they called their ships, to Corfu, and took possession of it without resistance. But passing to Cephalonia, he died there in his tent in the year 1085, and left his name attached to the north extremity of the island, which it still retains, under the Italianized form of |