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"Whilst | where the gardener's art had produced a concentration of floral beauties. Seated on a mosscovered block of timber, part of the materials of some rural design, we have mused with pleasure upon the nascent promise of the scene, fancied we could see the vital energy diffusing itself through the channels of vegetation, and pictured the change which would take place when the warm hand of summer should impart the rosy hues of ripeness to the luxuriant productions of the spring. A day or two after, we have visited the place again, but now how forlorn its appearance! The trees looked lifeless, the buds were all withered on the outside, and many would evidently die unopened, while the ground was whitened with countless blossoms. The fact was plain: the east had sent here one of its strong blasts, and had strewn the garden with the relics of death.

passenger is aware of their presence. plodding forward," says a settler, "now watching the strangely-ornamented birds which were flitting about, or talking over our plans, one of my companions, observing at the side of his path a thick piece of stick, struck at it as he walked by; judge of his surprise as the fancied stick reared itself with an angry hiss and threatening eye; before it could spring, however, he struck it down, but without killing it; in another moment, therefore, the three saplings descended upon and destroyed it; even in dying, however, the reptile snapped at and fixed its fangs in the stick I held; finding it dead, I allowed it to remain clinging to the stick, and carried it on with me to the end of our day's journey. Before this we had not given one thought to the possibility of meeting any poisonous reptiles, but our fright made us sufficiently careful, and a wide berth was given to anything that looked suspicious, either in our path or by the side of it." Caution is required when camping out in the bush at night. The unpleasant adventure has occurred of using a saddle for a pillow, and finding in the morning a large black snake, one of the most deadly, coiled under the saddle-cloth, close to the ear of the slumberer. The warmth of the log-fire had attracted the unwelcome visitor to become the traveller's bedfellow. Frogs abound, resembling in form and size those with which we are familiar, but superbly coloured. The general hue is a vivid yellow-green, but this is pencilled with other shades, emerald, olive, and blue greens, with a few delicate markings of bright yellow, like an embroidery of threads of gold on velvet.

wasp;

Insect life is intensely prolific, and abundantly annoying in various districts. In the summer, mosquitoes swarm in low situations near water, and in the neighbourhood of thick woods-newcomers being specially exposed to their attacks. Flies are also everywhere a perfect pest, and fleas are often a special torment. There are stingless bees, living in hollow trees, yielding a fine honey; giant ants, called "colonial bulldogs," from their ferocity, which inflict a sting as sharp as that of a and marsh leeches, insatiably drawing blood as opportunity offers. To guard against these annoyances, strong leathern leggings are commonly worn in travelling on foot through unfrequented parts of the country. The coasts of Australia abound with fish, denominated by names with which we are familiar, as cod, bream, mullet, whiting, and mackerel, though of different species. Rock and bed oysters, lobsters, crayfish, and prawns, are also found in various places. The rivers and lagoons have plenty of perch and eels, with fresh-water shrimps in abundance. The "Murray cod" of the colonists, a beautiful and well-flavoured fish of large size, is caught in considerable quantities at certain seasons in that

river.

INFANT LIFE.

In early spring time, when the bare gaunt branches which had lifted for many months their skeleton arms in the wrinkled face of winter, were covering themselves with leaves, and a thousand buds were about to expand into flowers, we have often wandered-who has not?—in some delicious inclosure

But let us be sparing of our emotion; it is more imperatively required elsewhere. What is matter to mind? What are the blossoms of an appletree to the immortal offspring of man? Our cemeteries also are strewn with affecting relics. Come and see them. Not only the old and greyheaded are laid here, but these sepulchres are almost the first earthly home of thousands. We stand within the hum of a huge city; men are thronging hither and thither; wherever we turn we see crowds in the prime of life, earnestly bent on schemes of business or pleasure. What a catastrophe would it be if the earth were to open and swallow them up! How the world would ring with it! What brilliant cenotaphs would the historian's pen raise over them! It would command, along with Pompeii and Herculaneum, the wonder and sympathy of all succeeding time. And yet this vast population above-ground is only the counterpart of one whose dust reposes beneath, and who found this resting-place before they had tasted the fatigues of toil. They died in infancy, or, at least, before they had emerged from the walks of childhood, and this is the fate of nearly one half of all who are born within the limits of this civilized land. As soon as they begin to inhale the breath of life, the spoiler marks them for his victims, and in the course of a few short years as many have been consigned to the grave as are left to people the world and carry out its enterprises.

We cannot help feeling that such a condition of matters is unnatural. It cannot be what God intended. This is demonstrated by the fact that the more we act in accordance with his natural laws, the greater progress we make in right conduct, the longer becomes the term of human life. Cleanliness and sobriety are doubtless virtues, but these invariably issue in increased longevity. But if this mortality is not inevitable, if it may be traced directly or indirectly to our neglect, how prodigious is our criminality! If to forbear doing what will save life is equal in turpitude to the wilful destruction of it, what can measure our guilt in permitting the existence of causes which result in such wholesale fatality? A notion has been sometimes entertained that the death of an infant is better than its life, and many heathen nations, as is well known, practise the diabolical custom of infanticide with the view of preventing the undue increase of the population. Such a notion is false as well as murderous. Popu

lation is a source of wealth. Provide a man with work and he will be able to produce much more than is sufficient for his own support, the surplus going to increase the well-being of the whole. In the multitude of councillors there is wisdom. Add to the aggregate intelligence of the world, and the fruits of intelligence will be more plentiful. How many tears have been shed over the memory of Kirke White, and others who, like him, have hid their face in death before midday! How many unavailing lamentations have been uttered at the sudden dissipation of the golden visions which hovered in their fancy, and might have added so much to the literary treasures of the world, if they had not perished with the earthly existence of the mind which framed them! But who can tell how many have died in infancy who, had they lived, might have won a place by the side of our Bacons and our Newtons, and extended immeasurably the boundaries of science? Had all reached the average period of human life, what an accession would have been made to our material and intellectual wealth, and what additional energy would have been in fused into the progressive movements of mankind!

But it is useless to deplore, if we are not willing to mend. Here is a deplorable evil; shall it be allowed to go on unmolested? shall society make no efforts to remove it? this is the question. But what can be done? Very much, if only we are willing to do it. Not that we expect to see a sudden change. Evils of every kind, when suffered to grow to a certain height, can only be removed slowly. This is part of the punishment we have to bear for having permitted them to exist at all. One of the first steps to be taken in endeavouring to arrest the wholesale destruction of infant life at present going on, is to improve those localities in our large towns which are inhabited by the lower classes. Municipal authority ought here to be absolute. Expense is a trivial matter when weighed against the health and morals of the community. We pay enough in the shape of direct assessment and benevolent contributions; society pays no small sum in the mere interment of such infantine crowds, not to speak of the loss experienced in the withdrawal of so much intelligent energy from the future labour market, and the moral influences, themselves expensive in the long-run, which spring from the sad frequency of death. Magnificent works can be undertaken where the interests of trade and commerce are concerned. What large town can we enter without being struck with the appearance of some stately pile, which attests the princely opulence of the place? Many millions have been lavished in some of our largest cities in improvements of this nature, while the condition of their back streets is a disgrace to any civilized community. In Liverpool a magnificent structure has lately been reared. One's heart swells with patriotic emotion in contemplating such a glorious monument, erected, according to its own motto, Artibus, Legibus, Consiliis." Yet while standing in front of St. George's Hall, and giving way to this enthusiasm, is there nothing chilling in the thought that of all who are born beneath its stately shadow, 53 per cent. are consigned to the grave within five years of their birth? Do we not catch a glimpse, in fancy, of some other, and yet more

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glorious achievement of civic opulence? Might not more lowly, but more useful labours, undertaken, not on the conspicuous brow of another Mars hill, but in those back-slums and alleys where every breath of air is pestilential, and where fever has taken up its fixed abode, have reflected, if not more of that tinsel splendour which answers no higher end than that of inflating vanity, at least more of that benevolence which should animate a professedly Christian people? Why cannot low and insalubrious situations be exchanged for others more healthy? Why cannot improper modes of constructing houses be forbidden? Why cannot those crazy piles of filth, which are assailed within by vermin and without by heaps of refuse, be pulled down and carted into the sea? Why cannot low lodging-houses be closed and the demand attracted to other and more convenient dwellings? Why cannot the advantages of complete drainage, streets well paved and well lighted, water in abundance, with baths and washhouses and public schools, each having its own spacious gymnasium attached, be carried into the lowest haunts of our large towns? If expense is any object, let every work of inferior utility stand still, and not a farthing be expended upon mere display, till the imperative claims of justice and philanthropy have been fulfilled.

A DAY AT CHATSWORTH. AMONG the many visits which it has been my privilege to make to this noble mansion, there is one which stands out in special prominence, and a few jottings concerning which may interest the readers of the "Leisure Hour." It was in a beautiful autumnal season, and the occasion was one on which the hospitality of its renowned host, lavish as it always is, bore even a more princely character than usual. This was owing to the reception given to the Grand Duke Michael, the brother of the emperor of Russia, and commander-in-chief of the Rus sian army. In the approach to Chatsworth, through the picturesque village of Rowsley, its beauties are displayed to the greatest advantage. Scarcely have you left that very pretty spot, before one romantic scene after another unfolds itself to the wondering gaze. From the summit of a gently rising ground you perceive the old hunting tower, from which floats the flag that proclaims the duke's presence in his beautiful abode, just visible above the luxuriant woods that form the background to Chatsworth, and very soon after a portion of the noble edifice itself becomes visible. It is difficult to find words sufficiently expressive to describe the glory of the prospect as it thus bursts upon the visitor. Before you is the exquisitely varied park, watered by the river Derwent, and combining in itself every variety of picturesque scenery-fruitful meadows, majestic woods, and the wild and desolate moor with its dark and sombre outline, contrasting finely with the richer and more luxuriant beauties that form the foreground of the picture. The ground, look which way you may, is picturesquely formed; sometimes rising into bold and abrupt hills, or sloping away in the distance into innumerable dells and ravines; while immediately on the left rises the hill that separates the vales of Haddon and Chatsworth.

Whoever would see Chatsworth to advantage should endeavour to visit this captivating spot on one of those delightful days so common in our early autumn, when nature, as if prospectively to make amends for the long and dreary slumber into which she is about to fall, seems to appear before us with more than wonted beauty and brilliancy; when the richest and most glowing tints are displayed in the woodland scenery, and the horizon is so clear that you can trace all the leading points of view even at a great distance off; when vegetation, though in its decline, arrays itself in its most variegated robes, as if to mock the coming hour of decay and death; when the bright rays of the sun, just enough softened towards its setting to prevent any dazzling glare, repose in soft and quiet glory on the green and velvet lawns, or on the ornamental trees standing either in picturesque groups, or each one in its solitary dignity on the undulating ground; when the silvery river flashes refreshingly on the eye, as it meanders onward, broken here and there by rough ledges into a succession of falls, or glides peacefully along, reflecting on its clear and placid bosom all the charms by which it is surrounded; when the deer in the park are to be seen lying down, or standing in all the graceful attitudes that so peculiarly belong to them, or darting off at speed as the sound of approaching wheels disturbs them from their dreamy state of enjoyment; the glistening fountains meanwhile throwing up their shining showers of clear transparent water, and looking almost as if transformed to gold dust by the sunbeams, as they flash and sparkle against the clear blue sky; and when, lastly, the gem of all this setting, the splendid edifice itself, with its terraces, its Italian garden, its balustrades and pillars, may be seen standing out in such clear and bold relief amid the strong light of that glorious season! Any one, I again repeat, who has gazed on this entrancing sight as I did, would agree with me that it was one not easily to be forgotten, and that fitly to describe it we must almost resort to the high-flown phrases of poetry, for mere prose seems here sadly cold and out of place.

windows an enchanting prospect of the gardens on one side, embracing also some fine water-works and beautiful wooded banks that rise up immediately from the pleasure-grounds. From this point, too, may be seen the broad terrace which conducts to what, until the erection of the Crystal Palace, was reckoned one of the wonders of modern art, namely, the great conservatory, the description of which I reserve for a separate paper.

From this library, through a small ante-room, where the party always assembles before dinner, I sauntered into the dining-room, already fully prepared for the expected guests. The tables were profusely adorned with an exquisite service of old Dresden china, the examination of each specimen of which would have engaged a connoisseur for hours. The vases were filled with the rarest flowers. Besides this, there was a glittering display of fine silver plate. Truly, that dinner-table would itself have made a beauteous picture, with its groups of tempting fruit heaped together in rich profusion, and glowing as it did with nearly every colour of the rainbow; its fairy edifices of spun-glass, too, looked as if a breath would dissolve them. These, together with some wonderful creations of the confectioner's art, enveloped in transparent and glittering draperies, altogether formed an Arabian Night kind of scene; and I could not help picturing to myself the added brilliancy that the light of a thousand wax tapers would shed upon it.

Onward, beyond this room, was the statue gallery, unrivalled perhaps as a private collection of art; but I had scarcely time afforded me just to glance at its treasures, before one of the servants came hurrying in to summon me to the entrance of the mansion, that I might see the arrival of the distinguished visitor.

The carriages were driving up as I reached the front. In the first the grand duke himself was seated-a very fine soldier-like looking man, uncommonly tall, and with a very stern, commanding expression of countenance. The Duke of Devonshire, who had gone to meet him, occupied the place by his side, while in front of them lay extended the most magnificent specimen of the canine species that I had ever seen, in the shape of an Irish staghound-a breed that is almost extinct. This dog, I afterwards learnt, was always accustomed to sleep just in front of the grand duke's bed-room door to guard his slumbers -a precaution often very necessary in his own country. The carriage containing the illustrious personages was drawn by four beautiful horses, their harness and all the appointments being in admirable taste; while the postilions were habited in the duke's full-dress livery, which, though very peculiar-being composed of yellow, silver, and dark blue-has on state occasions a very striking

But to continue the sketch of my visit. While awaiting the arrival of the illustrious party referred to, I beguiled the time by wandering about the gorgeous reception-rooms, beginning with the beautiful drawing-room, which is adorned in the Louis Quatorze style, everything being in consummate taste; indeed, as the ornaments are all white and gold, there can be no approach to gaudiness. The music-room, and a lovely apartment adjoining it, were each, in their own peculiar style, models of the perfection at which the art of decoration has arrived in the present day. Leaving these rooms, which open one into the other, you are ushered into the library. This is not only a beautiful apart-effect. ment, but one admirably adapted for comfort. The library of course is very valuable, containing as it does one of the finest private collections of books in the kingdom. The lover of rare works may here enjoy a precious treat, as there is a gallery winding all round the top of the apartment, which is reached by ornamented steps, and there the studiously inclined may withdraw, and remain entirely unmolested by the throng of visitors below. This charming room commands from all its plate-glass

A second carriage was filled with Russian officers belonging to his highness's suite. Numerous servants, all out of livery-for no others are allowed to attend when any royal personages are present-were in waiting, and nothing could be better sustained than the whole ceremony of the reception. The courteous refinement of the various details, and the high-bred attempt to make the grand duke quite feel at home, seemed to be eminently successful. I waited till I had seen him escorted to the luxurious suite of rooms prepared

for him, and then availed myself of the hour yet remaining, and the glowing sunshine still resting on all around, to enjoy a walk in the pleasuregrounds immediately adjacent to the house.

Any one who may have rambled through these grounds before the skilful efforts and fertile imagination of Sir Joseph Paxton had been expended upon them, would now almost fail to recognise, them, so striking and beautiful are the alterations. Stretching away up the hill just in front of the orangery is a conservatory wall, entirely covered with the rarest and most beautiful exotics. The visitor is struck with the strange contrast that presents itself between the brown extent of dreary moors, covered with their heathery vegetation and telling of the severity of our northern climes, that may be observed at no great distance, and the luxuriant and brilliant products of tropical regions so close at hand. The latter dazzle the eye with their gorgeous colours, while they delight us at the same time with their delicious and highlyaromatic scents. Of course all sorts of precautions are taken to preserve them from the climate, but so skilfully that the result only is made visible to you.

The water-works were in full play; and a lovely sight it was, as you gazed on every side, to see the clear transparent element disporting itself like a thing of life in the most fantastic freaks. The great cascade, formed by an endless succession of steps, that take their rise in a graceful stone temple-down which the water rolls, wave after wave, till it seems finally to lose itself in the soft green bank-was now seen to great advantage; for the setting sun coloured with its gold and crimson hues each successive wave as it fell. Look where you would-between the stems of trees, from beautiful marble edifices, from classically-formed basins, even from mimic trees-streams of water were to be seen gushing, or fountains rising into the air. In addition to all this, too, was to be heard the gentle murmur of falling water, as it dropped into sculptured vases and gently trickled over their edges; while on some spots a glittering stream of water would throw into the air a red or golden ball, as if playing with it in sport.

When at last, almost wearied by this varied display, I turned my eyes for relief to the deep blue of the autumnal sky, growing dimmer and more dim as the sun sank lower towards the hori zon, what wondrous thing was it that I beheld high up against the very heavens? what magic vision was it that unfolded itself before my astonished gaze? Was it some creation of the excited fancy, or was it indeed a veritable reality-that shining, beautiful jet of water rising far above the highest trees, and seeming to reserve the display of its full glory till it had reached the purer regions of the sky? I stood transfixed with astonishment, when convinced that it was actually a real fountain that I saw, and which was gracefully throwing up its water three hundred and eighty one feet from the basin whence it issued. I could have spent hours in the delighted contemplation of this marvellous triumph of human art, and determined, should the moon favour my wishes, to pay another visit to it. Meanwhile, it was full time that I should retire, in order to prepare for the evening's engagements. On descending to the

ante-room before dinner, how brilliant was the scene that greeted me! The numerous party assembled to meet the grand duke was composed of the élite of the aristocratic world, and few things more bright and dazzling could well be imagined than the rich dresses and jewels that adorned the fair and high-born dames present on the occasion. It would require an abler pen than mine to do full justice to the varied entertainments provided for the grand duke; still, however imperfectly it may be done, I must essay to describe some of the more striking features of the evening's proceedings, and which, as it was a species of public occasion, I may do without violating the laws that so properly throw a veil over domestic and private life.

I pass over the dinner, however. While we were eating it, another set of attendants were busily employed in lighting up the statue gallery and the orangery. After sufficient time had elapsed to clear the dining-room and put the finishing touches to the decorations, the whole suite of rooms was thrown open, and the assembled company, forming in procession, headed by the grand duke with the lady of the highest rank present, and attended by the noble host, proceeded to ramble through this scene of enchantment. The duke's exquisite band, stationed in the music-room, enhanced by their efforts the delight one could not help feeling, and as the melodious notes of some of Bellini's enchanting Italian airs fell, softened by distance, on the listening ear, there was not a single sense that was not in a state of complete gratification.

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No one who has not seen statues by the welldisposed and artistically-managed light of numerous wax-tapers can have an idea of the surprising effects that are thus produced. Many of the most faultless specimens of ancient art, having been taken from the sumptuous baths of the Greeks and Romans, where the rays of the sun never penetrated, it will readily be perceived that their perfections must have been especially designed to be seen to the greatest advantages by lamp-light, as no other kind was ever admitted to them in their deep seclusion. There is an effect, as the rays artificial light fall on the soft contour of the limbs, that daylight cannot give, and which seems almost to impart to the cold white marble some of the glowing and life-like attributes of painting. Among the more striking specimens of ancient and modern art which, amidst this constellation of beautiful forms, especially delighted me, were the sleeping Endymion, his dog watching at his feet, by Canova; an exquisite figure of a Bacchante, by Bartolini; the Filatrice, or Spinning Girl, executed in an almost matchless manner by Schadow; two Italian dogs, that really seem alive, copied in bronze from an ancient marble in the Vatican; and an image of Psyche, a beautiful ancient type of the soul.

With regret I quitted this delightful gallery and passed on to the orangery, which was brilliantly lighted by Turkish lamps-a most effective and picturesque mode of illumination, especially where plants and flowers are concerned. The lights being inclosed in some transparent material of great variety of colour, and being dispersed amongst the branches of the different shrubs, imparted a soft and lovely tint to all the beauties of nature

scattered with so lavish a hand around. The scent
of the orange flowers completed the dreamy state
of enjoyment into which you seemed to fall in
this enchanting spot. But I must leave it, and
still move on in quest of fresh wonders. Ascend-
ing a grand staircase, therefore, adorned with
wreaths of flowers and garlands of verdure, I
arrived at the ball-room; but, as many of my
readers will probably have no taste for this ques-
tionable species of amusement, I will pass through
the midst of the gay and brilliant company, and,
turning my back upon
the strains of music, make
my way down the verdant staircase and indulge in
a solitary and more contemplative ramble through
some of those scenes of beauty which I had
witnessed, but which, when viewed in such quick
succession, had almost palled upon the taste. Ac-
cordingly, step by step I retraced my way, dwelling
on all that at first had most attracted me, in that
silence and solitude which are perhaps essential to
the real enjoyment of such objects.

On the following morning, while most of the late revellers were still enjoying the profoundest repose, I made my way into what are known as the state apartments, where I feasted my eyes with the exquisite views to be witnessed from their numerous windows, and watched the soft mists as they gradually dispersed and disclosed the fair and beautiful prospects of the neighbourhood bathed in the bright rays of the morning sun.

affected by them in the same manner as more humble individuals. If it be not so, we might well fear the influence which such scenes must exert in chaining the mind down to the world, and making it forget that the way to happiness and enjoyment hereafter lies through the rugged paths of discipline and self-denial.

THE UNCONSCIOUS PRECEPTOR. [ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH.] AT the entrance of the small town of Thaun, by the side of the road which leads to Mulhausen, stands a building which partakes of the character of a farm-house and of the habitation of a tradesman. In the yard, where chickens are picking and scratching at random, and in a rick of corn still entire, near which is a cart recently detached from the horse, one recognises the farm; while the white curtains to each window, the garden with its arbour of painted trellis-work, and the six stone steps with the iron balustrade which lead to the entrance as decidedly mark the abode of a citizen.

On the stone steps was seated Jacques Ferron, the master of the house, whose appearance partook of the same double character as his dwelling. He wore the blouse of the artisan, with the velvet cap and slippers of the proprietor. Jacques was expecting his son Stephen, who had gone to MulOne great attraction of these rooms is the beau-hausen with his betrothed to buy wedding pretiful carving, by Gibbon, which adorns the chimney-sents; and as the father kept his eye on the road, pieces and the panelling of the wainscots. There are his mind dwelt upon this marriage, which settled birds that seem as if on the point of taking flight, his son near him and assured him of pleasant society so life-like is their attitude and so perfect are their in his old age. outstretched wings; others again are in a state of repose, the feathers so exquisitely depicted that they look as if a breath would ruffle them. There are flowers also, which in their fragile delicacy want but their own bright colours to make them appear glowing with life and beauty. One might spend a whole da inspecting these specimens, or in examining the rare and valuable collections of original drawings, geological specimens, and pictures, which are here to be met with.

I would conclude this cursory notice of my visit on this occasion, by adverting to the afternoon's excursion made by the grand duke and many of the party, in a number of pony carriages, all admirably appointed, and calculated for the narrow roads through which the company intended to pass. Those who preferred riding had saddle-horses placed at their disposal. As regards myself, having seen the cavalcade start, I preferred to follow in their footsteps and enjoy in quietude all the sylvan scenery we were to pass through. We returned by a path which, crossing the river by a very picturesque bridge, continued along its banks, till a private gate admitted to what is called the Italian garden. New festivities were arranged for the evening, and for the early part of the ensuing day, when the grand duke returned to London, escorted as before, having expressed in warm and eloquent terms the delight he had experienced at his reception.

The whole scene was like a brilliant vision or a fairy dream. Doubtless, the distinguished personages who give and partake of these splendid hospitalities, are too much accustomed to them to be

The noise of a char-à-banc disturbed at last the reverie into which he had fallen, and he recognised the travellers in the midst of the clouds of dust which surrounded the horse and carriage. When they arrived at the gate of the yard in front of the house, Ferron advanced to meet them, and was saluted by the joyful exclamations of the travellers. These were Madame Lorin and her daughter, and a young man, who was almost entirely concealed behind the bandboxes and packets.

"Good night, father," said Louise, who, by an act of affectionate courtesy, anticipated in her salutation to the old builder the appellation to which he would not be entitled for some days.

"Good evening, my child," replied Ferron, extending his hands to the young girl, and embracing her. "Your servant, Madame Lorin," he added to her elder companion. "Why, you are laden like a market cart."

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"Oh, this is comparatively nothing," said the mother of Louise; if we had attended to your son, we should have almost emptied the shops."

Ferron smiled and held out his hand to Stephen, who had just descended to open the yard-gate and admit the char-à-banc. "I understand," said he: "we like to make those we love comfortable; if we could do as we please, they should walk on velvet; you must not contradict his humour."

"Exactly so; but we must not let his humour be his ruin," replied the mother.

The builder shrugged his shoulders, and exclaimed: "Bah! will not Stephen have all my savings, to say nothing of what he earns by his own building speculations? for, now he is a master,

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