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troubled about or cultivated or noticed daffodils under foot, filling the orchard throve joyously beneath the trees- with their songs of exultation, joyously daffodils thrusting their spears through seeking out the sheep from among the the grass, crocuses peeping out enquir- goats. Of course, I was a sheep, and ingly, snowdrops uncovering their

my governess and the head gardener small cold faces when the first shiver. goats, so that the results could not fail ing spring days came. Only my piece to be in every way satisfactory. But that I so loved was perpetually ugly looking up at the slope and rememberand empty. And I sat in it thinking of ing my visions, I laughed at the smallthese things on that radiant day, and ness of the field I had supposed would wept aloud.

hold all heaven. Then an apprentice came by, a youth Here, again, the cousins had been at who had often seen me busily digging, work. The site of my garden was ocand noticing the unusual tears, and cupied by a rockery, and the orchard struck perhaps by the difference be- grass with all its treasures had been tween my garden and the profusion of dug up, and the spaces between the splendor all around, paused with his trees planted with currant bushes and barrow on the path in front of me, and celery in admirable rows, so that no remarked that nobody could expect to future little cousins will be able to get blood out of a stone. The apparent dream of celestial hosts coming towards irrelevance of this statement made me them across the fields of daffodils, and weep still louder, the bitter tears of in- will perhaps be the better for being sulted sorrow; but he stuck to his free from visions of the kind, for as I point, and harangued me from the path, grew older,' uncomfortable doubts laid explaining the connection between hold of my heart with cold fingers, dim north walls and tulips and blood and uncertainties as to the exact ultimate stones till my tears all dried up again position of the gardener and the govand I listened attentively, for the con- erness, anxious questionings as to how clusion to be drawn from his remarks it would be if it were they who turned was plainly that I had been shamefully out after all to be sheep, and I who—? taken in by the head gardener, who For that we all three might be gathered was an unprincipled person, thencefor- into the same fold at the last, never, in ward to be forever mistrusted and those days, struck me as possible, and shunned. Standing on the path from if it had I should not have liked it. which the kindly apprentice had expounded his proverb, this scene rose be- “Now what sort of person can that fore me as clearly as though it had be," I asked myself, shaking my head, taken place that very day; but how as I contemplated the changes before different everything looked, and how me, “who could put a rockery among it had shrunk! Was this the wide vegetables and currant bushes ? A orchard that had seemed to stretch rockery, of all things in the gardening away, it and the sloping field beyond, world, needs consummate tact in its up to the gates of heaven? I believe treatment. It is easier to make misnearly every child who is much alone takes in forming a rockery than in any goes through a certain time of hourly other garden scheme. Either it is a expecting the Day of Judgment, and I great success, or it is a great failure; had made up my mind that on that either it is very charming, or it is very Day the heavenly host would enter the absurd. There is no state between the world by that very field, coming down sublime and the ridiculous possible in the slope in shining ranks, treading the a rockery." I stood shaking my head

disapprovingly at the rockery before It was clear that the time had come me, lost in these reflections, when a for me to get down to the gate at the sudden quick pattering of feet coming end of the garden as quickly as posalong in a 'great hurry made me turn sible, and I began to move away in round with a start, just in time to re- that direction. The little girl at once ceive the shock of a body tumbling out stopped capering and planted herself of the mist and knocking violently squarely in front of me. "Who are against me.

you?” she said, examining me from my It was a little girl of about twelve hat to my boots with the keenest inyears old.

terest. "Hullo!" said the little girl in excel- I considered this ungarnished manlent English; and then we stared at ner of asking questions impertinent, each other in astonishment.

and, trying to look lofty, made an at"I thought you were Miss Robinson," tempt to pass at the side. said the little girl, offering no apology The little girl, with a quick, corkfor having nearly knocked me down. like movement, was there before me. “Who are you?”

"Who are you?" she repeated, her “Miss Robinson? Miss Robinson?” I expression friendly but firm. repeated, my eyes fixed on the little “Oh, I–I'm a pilgrim," I said in desgirl's face, and a host of memories peration. stirring within me. "Why, didn't she “A pilgrim!" echoed the little girl. marry a missionary and go out to some She seemed struck, and while she was place where they ate him?"

struck I slipped past her and began The little girl stared harder. “Ate to walk quickly towards the door in the him? Marry? What, has she been mar- wall. “A pilgrim!” said the little girl ried all this time to somebody who's again, keeping close beside me, and been eaten and never let on? Oh, I looking me up and down attentively. "I say, what a game!" And she threw don't like pilgrims. Aren't they people back her head and laughed till the who are always walking about, and garden rang again.

have things the matter with their feet? "O hush, you dreadful little girl!" I Have you got anything the matter with implored, catching her by the arm, and your feet?" terrified beyond measure by the loud- "Certainly not," I replied indignantly, ness of her mirth. “Don't make that walking still faster. horrid noise we are certain to be “And they never wash, Miss Robincaught if you don't stop"

son says. You don't either, do you?" The little girl broke off a shriek of “Not wash? Oh, I'm afraid you are laughter in the middle and shut her a very badly brought-up little girl-oh, mouth with a snap. Her eyes, round leave me alone I must run-" and black and shiny like boot buttons, "So must I," said the little girl, came still farther out of her head. cheerfully, "for Miss Robinson must "Caught?" she said eagerly. “What, be close behind us. She nearly had me are you afraid of being caught too? just before I found you." And she Well, this is a game!" And with her started running by my side. hands plunged deep in the pockets of The thought of Miss Robinson close her coat she capered in front of me in behind us gave wings to my feet, and, the excess of her enjoyment, remind- casting my dignity, of which, indeed, ing me of a very fat black lamb frisk. there was but little left, to the winds, I ing round the dazed and passive sheep fairly flew down the path. The little its mother.

girl was not to be outrun, and, though

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she panted and turned weird colors, kept by my side and even talked. Oh, I was tired, tired in body and mind, tired by the different shocks I had received, tired by the journey, tired by the want of food; and here I was being forced to run because this very naughty little girl chose to hide instead of going in to her lessons.

"I say-this is jolly," she jerked out.

“But why need we run to the same place?” I breathlessly asked, in the vain hope of getting rid of her.

"Oh, yes—that's just-the fun. We'd get on-together you and 12"

"No, no," said I, decided this point, bewildered though I was.

"I can't stand washing-either-its awful-in winter-and makes one have -chaps.”

"But I don't mind it in the least," I protested faintly, not having any ener


gy left.

“Oh, I say!" said the little girl, looking at my face and making the sound known as a guffaw. The familiarity of this little girl was wholly revolting.

We had got safely through the door, round the corner past the radishes, and were in the shrubbery. I knew from experience how easy it was to hide in the tangle of little paths, and stopped a moment to look round and listen. The little girl opened her mouth to speak. With great presence of mind I instantly put my muff in front of it and held it there tight, while I listened. Dead silence, except for the labored breathing and struggles of the little girl.

“I don't hear a sound " I whispered, letting her go again. “Now, what did you want to say?" I added, eyeing her severely.

"I wanted to say,” she panted, “that it's no good pretending you wash with a nose like that."

“A nose like that! A nose like what?" I exclaimed, greatly offended; and though I put up my hand and very tenderly and carefully felt it, I could

find no difference in it. "I am afraid poor Miss Robinson must have wretched life," I said, in tones of deep disgust.

The little girl smiled fatuously, as though I were paying her compliments. "It's all green and brown," she said, pointing. “Is it always like that?":

Then I remembered the wet fir tree near the gate, and the enraptured kiss it had received, and blushed.

“Won't it come off?" persisted the little girl.

Of course it will come off," I answered, frowning.

"Why don't you rub it off ?”

Then I remembered the throwing away of the handkerchief and blushed again.

"Please lend me your handkerchief," I said humbly, “I-I have lost mine."

There was a great fumbling in six different pockets, and then a handker. chief that made me young again merely to look at it was produced. I took it thankfully and rubbed with energy, the little girl, intensely interested, watching the operation and giving me advice. “There-it's all right now-a little more on the right-there-now it's all off.”

"Are you sure? No green left?” I anxiously asked.

No, it's red all over now," she replied cheerfully. “Let me get home," thought I, very much upset by this in. formation, "let me get home to my dear, uncritical, admiring babies, who accept my nose as an example of what a nose should be and whatever its col. or think it beautiful.” And thrusting the handkerchief back into the little girl's hands I hurried away down the path. She packed it into her pocket hastily, but it took some seconds, for it was of the size of a small sheet, and then came running after me. "Where are you going?" she asked, surprised, as I turned down the path leading to the gate.

“Through this gate," I replied with decision.

“But you mustn't-we're not allowed to go through there”

So strong was the force of old habits in that place that at the words not allowed my hand dropped of itself from the latch; and at that instant a voice calling quite close to us through the mist struck me rigid.

“Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" called the voice. “Come in at once to your lessons --Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

It's Miss Robinson," whispered the little girl, twinkling with excitement; then, catching sight of my face, she said once more with eager insistence, “Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm a ghost!" I cried with conviction, pressing my hands to my fore. head and looking round fearfully.

Pooh," said the little girl.

It was the last remark I heard her make, for there was a creaking of approaching boots in the bushes, and seized by a frightful panic I pulled the gate open with one desperate pull, flung it to behind me, and fled out and away down the wide, misty fields.

The “Gotha Almanach” says that the reigning cousin married the daughter of a Mr. Johnstone, an Englishman, in 1885, and that in 1886 their only child was born, Elizabeth.

The National Review.


Tell me, brother, what's a cuckoo, but a roguish chatfing bird ?
Not a nest's his own, no bough-rest's his own, and he's nerer

good man's word;
But his call is musical and rings pleasant on the ear,
And the spring would scarce be spring
If the cuckoo did not sing
In the leafy months o' the year.

Tell me, brother, what's a gipsy, but a roguish chafing chap?
Not a cot's his own, not a man would groan
For a gipsy's worst mishap;
But his tent looks quaint when bent
On the sidesward of a lane,
And you'd deem the rain more dreary
And the long, white road more weary
If we never came again.

Would your May-days seem more fair
Were we chaps deep read in books,
Were we cuckoos, cawing rooks,
All the world cathedral closes,
Where the very sunlight dozes,
Were the sounds all organ-pealing, psalm and song and

Ford M. Hueffer.


England is richer in the possession of songs of the sea than any other country under heaven. The Dutchman and the Teuton have a few, of no conspicuous merit. Norway can boast of at least one fine specimen, a nautical song in every sense of the word, beginning “Mens Nordhavet bruser mod fieldbygt strand;" while the Danish “Sang for Flaaden" is terse and spirited to a degree, with a genuine salt-water smack about its half-dozen stanzas. But these stand alone among the sea rhymes of the North, and serve only to point the truth of our assertion.

That it should be so is not surprising, when we remember the love of most Englishmen for the sea, and the extent to which expressions drawn from things nautical have found their way into the common daily speech of our people. Here is a handful gleaned at random. "To keep aloof," i.e., to keep your luff when sailing to the wind, has been a term in common use on land since the days of Matthew Paris; to be “taken aback," i.e., by a sudden change of wind; to “lose one's ballast," or in other words, to grow topheavy with conceit when the centre of gravity has sunk too low; to "bear a hand;" to bring a man to his “bearings;" to have a snug "berth;" to give a man “a wide berth;" to "chop about in shifting winds of perplexity; to "cut and run;" to "run the gauntlet” (prop. gantlope), once a well-known ordeal on ship-board; to be “half-seas over," used by writers from Swift downwards as expressive of too much drinking; to leave a comrade “in the lurch;" to be "hard up" or to "bear up for Poverty Bay;” to recognize a man by the "cut of his jib;" to "look out for squalls;" to be left "high and dry;" to “tell it to the marines;" to "go to Old Nick," or


St Nicholas, the patron of sailors; to follow a thing to the “bitter end," i.e., to pay out cable till there is no more left at the bitts; to "steer a middle course;" to "steer clear" of a man; to hold on “till all's blue," i.e., till the ship has made her offing; to be ready "in a brace of shakes," i.e., before the sail has flapped three times; to “kick up a breeze;" to put things “ship-shape;" — these are but a few out of many, that show how the life and familiar speech of every Englishman are salted by the briny breath of the four seas that wash his island home.

It is in the same natural environments of the British Isles that we find the origin of those incomparable sea ditties, which have been familiar as household words to our sailors since the days of Anson and the Nile, the days when line-of-battle-ships were built at Deptford Cattle Market, when for a shilling a wherry would carry you from the Pool into the midst of the Royal Navy, and Whitechapel swarmed with crimps, and press-gangs harried every tavern

From Richmond town To Horselydown.

Who ever heard of a French sea song worthy the name? Insipid and devoid of verve, mere jingles, not fit to be put side by side with the weakest of our own; their savor is of the Seine, not of the sea, their philosophie that of a boulevard gamin rather than a blue water tar. A Frenchman can no more sing of the sea, as an English sailor knows it, than could that enfant de Paris who sang

La vie est un voyage Tâchons de l'embellir! Jetons sur son passage Les roses du plaisir!

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