taken, and we felt justified in stealing a third, from among so many, to replace the gap made in our collection by our own clumsiness.

We will mention now, for the enlightenment of boys that are to be, the manner of arrangement of this collection; because we were vain enough to think that it was better than the common plan of bedding the eggs in compartments lined with cotton-wool. By the favour and liberality of the Authorities, who extended their sympathy to this collection, we had made a cabinet in the likeness of a small chest of drawers. The drawers were of different depths to accommodate eggs of different sizes, and the bottom of each drawer was of soft wood in which a pin could be stuck easily. Our method was to fasten each pair of eggs, with a drop of gum for each egg, to a small square of paper on which were written the name of the egg and the locality in which it had been found. Then we pinned these squares of paper, with the eggs, into the drawers, according to the order of classification given in the books on Natural History. We found that this appearance of system gave great satisfaction to the Authorities; and we may mention, for the further guidance of boyhood, that human beings will always extend their sympathy more readily to any pursuit which seems, as they phrase it, "to combine instruction with amusement.” Human beings are useful allies to a boy, and it is prudent for him always to have a consideration for their weaknesses.

This small cabinet stood on the chest of drawers in our bedroom, and upon it the queerly stuffed goldcrested wren, clinging with wirestiffened claws to its lichen-covered branch. Over the cabinet, and pendant from nails in the wall, hung a trophy of the goldfinch's nest on the fork of

apple-tree to which its builders had fastened it; and to this was later added that nest of the long-tailed tit which we discovered in the wood. It had been our intention to have completed the trophy by supplementing it with the nest of the goldcrested wrens. But calamity (in the shape of a cat, as we surmised,) overtook that tiny abode of domestic bliss; for on a very sad morning we found it torn and hanging in pathetic feathery shreds from the low shrub, all the lately hatched atoms gone from it, a heartrending picture of desolation and violence.

After all it had never been quite so great a delight to the eye as the long-tailed tit's nest; for, while the wren's home had been built in the thick darkness of the close shrub, the tit's dome was pendant from two boughs of bramble, as if its architects. had sought to show it to the best advantage. There was all the joy of expectation, too, in the comparatively long journey which was needed to arrive at it, and the recurrent anxiety of wondering, all the way along, whether it had been spared by the depredations of boys and crows and cats. Once we had even seen a polecat in that wood; an occasion of great excitement, though it had only been in a fleeting glimpse, long enough, however, for us to identify him beyond doubt. We never saw him again, nor have ever seen, in the wild state, another of his species; and that is no wonder, for he is a rare animal and of nocturnal habits. Rumour had it that there were vipers in that wonderful wood, but it never happened to us to see one. Often, in a sunlit space, we would have a vision of a swift arrow gliding into the security of the grassy tangles, and say to each other that it was an adder, darkly pondering stories of the speedy death of grown men who had

been bitten by them.

Joe used to speak of their "stinging"; and the expression was the occasion of one of the very rare instances in which we questioned his authority, pointing out to him that only wasps and bees and hornets could sting, but that a snake's weapons of offence were in its teeth, and its stroke therefore to be named a bite. Joe did not argue the point, continuing, however, to speak of a snake's sting, and even intimating that the poor slow-worms (whom we often encountered) were not without that power of attack in certain circumstances which he did not specify.

But once, upon a certain memorable day, we came upon the thing, which we commonly saw only as a gliding arrow, coiled like a twist of rope, basking in the sun, probably asleep. We withdrew stealthily; then, arming ourselves with stout sticks, crept as cautiously forward again to the attack. Joe held the van, as the place of honour, we in attendance as his squires in this feat of knightly enterprise. There was a moment of cruel suspense as Joe's stick was raised; then the stick fell with a whack, and in an instant the green coil was a flashing mass of leaping, writhing loops. We had jumped back after the stroke; but seeing that the enemy seemed incapable of aggressive motion, cautiously drew near him, regarding the flashing loops more closely. Joe's gallant stroke had done its work; the thing's back was broken. We knew he was an adder. Adders, we had been told, had flat heads, all poisonous snakes have them; it took no great effort of imagination to see the head of this creature flat. Adders, we had been told, had a diamond mark all down the back; we were not

familiar with diamonds, but were sure that this snake had these marks. Another blow still left the poor brute wriggling. Then Joe told us, what of course we knew already, that snakes never die till sunset. This was a complication, for it was necessary for us to bear home in triumph this proof of our prowess. At length, however, we managed to wedge him in the cleft of a stick, pushing him in, with the greatest respect, by means of another stick; and in this manner, while his wrigglings grew weaker, we contrived, without touching him, to bear him home; and summoned all and sundry to witness the dragon of which we had rid the earth.

Of course the Authorities said it was nothing but a grass snake. We had known, in our heart of hearts, that it would be so. Authorities, we reflected bitterly, had always some malignant way for belittling our achievements, nor were matters bettered by the knowledge that this way was the way of truth; it only showed once again with what reserve one should put trust in the sympathy of Authorities. Two whole days were needed to arrive at the frame of mind in which we were ready to confess to ourselves that it really was a grass snake; and after that it was our dearest ambition to take unto ourselves such a snake for a pet. We had heard that they made the most delightful pets, living in a box under glass, feeding on slugs and on bread and milk, and revelling in an occasional bath in a basin of water. Luckily, perhaps, we never had the opportunity again of catching a snake unawares; luckily, we say, for perhaps on that occasion it might have happened to be a viper.

"TWAS in the far-off Golden Age of Ireland, that age so far off, indeed, that one almost wonders if it ever existed, that Saint Kevin lived in the vale of Glendalough, one of the most beautiful spots in the country. Those were the golden days ere the Saxon invader had set foot in the land; ere Virtue and Erin had been called upon to flesh their swords to the hilt in any but Irish bodies. Viceroys were, in those happy days, undreamed of; the Castle was not even in the air. At that time one might come across the palace of a king every few miles, and traverse the territory of half-a-dozen powerful monarchs in the course of an afternoon's stroll. We have their descendants with us still.

The particular potentate in whose dominions lay the valley of Glendalough was called O'Toole. In his youth he had been a great hunter, and a celebrated (oh degenerate age ! we should now say notorious) lifter of cattle. At the date, however, when the strange events hereinafter set down took place, O'Toole had grown too old to follow the chase, and too stiff to drive home even his own cows,-let alone those of other people. His principal amusement in his old age was to sit by the side of the lough and watch his geese, of which he kept a large flock, and to which he was much attached. One especial favourite he had, a gray old goose and a lean. This bird had grown, if not as old, at least as stiff as its royal master, so stiff that it could no

longer fly. It used to sit upon the King's lap, and eat crumbs from the royal hand. Kingly hands have fed many geese since O'Toole's day, and with viands far more costly than crumbs. 'Twas a well-bred bird, this goose of O'Toole's, better bred than many a royal favourite, and never failed, when it emerged from the lough, lough, to wipe its feet upon a courtier's clothes ere it took its seat upon its illustrious master's lap. 'Twas no democratic age, that of Gold, whatever Socialists may say to the contrary, and O'Toole's courtiers were proud to let the goose wipe its feet upon them. A king's favourites have never wanted for human door-mats.

Poor O'Toole was sadly grieved at the increasing decrepitude of his favourite goose. Often, as the bird nestled up to him, he would drop a silent tear upon its venerable head. Then the bird, gulping down with difficulty its own emotion, would wink at the King in a knowing manner, by way of keeping up the King's spirits. But O'Toole was not to be consoled by winking. Neither the subtle flattery of his courtiers (for the Irish, even in those early days, made pilgrimage to the Blarney stone), nor the merry jests of his fool, could comfort the King. Even whiskey failed to keep up his spirits. Tobacco, that alone might have cheered him, was, alas! as yet known only to the Mohican and the Carib.

One day when O'Toole, more than usually downcast, was sitting by the lough, watching with a gloomy air

the ineffectual efforts of his old favourite to rise from the ground, one of his courtiers made a sensible

suggestion : "Why not, your Majesty," asked he," sind for Saint Kivin? Shure, 'tis a mighty wurrker av merricles he is, an' he'll not be afther grudgin' your Majesty a little wan, such as curing your ould goose wad be. "Tis your Majesty has iver been a gin'rous benefacthur to the Churrch."

O'Toole had, on more than one occasion, presented to Saint Kevin the tenth part of a herd of cattle, previously raided from some brother monarch. In this respect there resemble him a good many modern worthies, who, while avoiding the pernicious example of the Pharisee, give tithe not of all they possess, but of all they can get from other people. "By Saint Pathrick!" cried the King, suddenly brightening up, "but that's a grand idea av yours! I shouldn't wondher if you're right! Just stip round to Saint Kivin's, will you, an' give him my compliments, an' ask him to turn his holy stips in this direction in the course av the afthernoon!"

A

The courtier departed at once upon his errand. When he tapped at the door of Saint Kevin's little cell the holy man was taking his lunch. cold fowl and a jar of whiskey were upon the table, and the Saint was doing impartial justice to both. "Faith!" he exclaimed, rising hastily at the sound of the courtier's knock, "I mustn't let the aitables and dhrinkables be seen, or I'll be losin' my hard-earned repitation for austirity! It's throuble enough I have to presarve it, as it is." So saying, he whipped the fowl and the whiskey into a cupboard, and placed in their stead upon the table a dry crust and a pitcher of water. "It's high time, I'm thinkin'," he muttered to himself,

as he made these arrangements,

"that my 'properties' were renewed. The crust is as hard as a rock, an', as for the wather, I wouldn't care to wash my face in it! I'll be gettin' some sharp-eyed rogue in who'll dishcover their antiquity, an' that would niver do!" Before he admitted the courtier, Saint Kevin also put a formidable-looking scourge in а prominent position. These preparations made, he opened the door. "Come in, come in," he cried, "an' sit you down! I was just havin' my midday male, the firrst that's passed my lips this day, whin you knocked. Just a crust av bread an' a dhrop av wather, as you see.”

"Faith, Saint Kivin, dear," answered the courtier, sniffing the air, "there's a powerful smell av whiskey about the premises."

"Ah, that Tim Hooligan!" replied the Saint. "He was here but a momint ago wid a little presint for me, -a jar av whiskey it was-an' he opened it,- -so as to let me 'have a sniff,' as he said,-an' he's made the whole place smell av it. 'Ye meant well, Tim Hooligan,' says I; 'an' I'm grateful to you. But I'm timp'rince,' says I, 'an' cannot accipt your gift. Kape it an' dhrink it yoursilf,' I says; 'but only a dhrop at a time, just to comfort your stummick.' An' now, Misther Courtier, what can I do for you? Is it confession you're afther? It's a dale you have to confess, ye who hang about the Coort."

The courtier delivered O'Toole's message.

"An' what," asked Saint Kevin, when the former had finished, "what does his Majesty want wid a poor praste like myself?"

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Oh, Saint Kivin, dear," answered the courtier, "don't be afther disparagin' yoursilf. Shure, all the wurrld knows it's a blessid saint you are."

Ah, now," replied the Saint,

Kevin, Though

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as to

"Pho!" answered Saint "that's as easy as winkin'. I have my doubts," added he, whether I ought to perform a merricle for a mere goose. However, I'll think it over, an' you can tell your masther that I'll stip down to the lough as soon as iver I've finished my could collation, and given mysilf a few shtripes, just by way of mortification av the flesh."

So saying, he bowed out the courtier, and returned to his cold fowl and whiskey. The stripes he put off to a more suitable occasion. Perpetual postponement was the leading feature of all Saint Kevin's austerities.

About an hour later, as O'Toole was sitting by the lough, surrounded by his Court, and with his favourite goose upon his knee, Saint Kevin put in his appearance. "The top av the afthernoon to your Majisty!" he cried, as he came up.

"I'm plaised to see you," replied O'Toole; "an' I hope you're in health, Saint Kevin."

"Shure, your Majisty," said the Saint, thinking of the cold fowl and whiskey, and winking with his mind's eye, "I'm as well as a poor praste, who lives upon bread an' wather, an gives himsilf forrty shtripes ivry day av his life, can expict to be."

"Faith," observed O'Toole, slyly glancing at Saint Kevin's rubicund face and portly form, "the tratement seems to suit your complaint. But it's a holy man you are," he added hastily, fearful lest the Saint should take offence at his words, "an' can wurrk a merricle as easily as an ordinary mortal can put on his boots; an' that's why I sent for you. I want you to cure my poor ould goose, an' make him able to fly again. He's grown so stiff that he can't move a single feather av his wings. Will you do it for me?"

"Hum," replied Saint Kevin, regarding the goose with a doubtful air. "I've no doubt I could cure himthank the blessid Saints !-widout so much as liftin' my little finger. But I'm thinkin' that, maybe, its infra dig to perform a merricle for a mere burrd, a kind av castin' purrls before swine, so to spake."

"Ah, but, Saint Kivin, dear," said O'Toole in an insinuating tone, "shure, it's for mesilf that you'll be doin' the merricle, an' not for the goose at all, at all!"

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Faith, there's not much to choose betwane ye," observed Saint Kevin to himself. Then he added aloud, in a wheedling voice: "Well, your Majisty, suppose we look at it as you suggist, an' I perform the merricle for you instead of for the other, instead of for the goose, I mane; thin, I suppose, your Majisty will be makin' some little gift to Holy Churrch, by way of showin' your Majisty's gratitude?"

"I'll give you," replied O'Toole, as much of the valley as you make the burrd fly round, even if it's the whole av it."

"Done wid ye," cried Saint Kevin, eagerly. "An' the whole av the valley it will be," he added to himself, with a twinkle in his eye. He then lifted the goose from the King's knee,