are poor; and it is their misfortune, not their fault, that they need help." "It is all the same. The poor are a thankless, ungrateful, undeserving set, and I will have nothing to do with them. I have told you so already, dozens of times, Beatrice." "I hoped you might change your mind," said Beatrice, rather sorrowfully. "I wish you could see something of them, Miss Vivian, or that I could convince you of your mistake. For indeed you are mistaken in thinking that all the poor are like that. Some of them of course are thankless and undeserving, just as some among the rich are the same, but many of them are really deserving of help. And even when they are not, it seems to me only a stronger reason for not leaving them to themselves. The only hope for them, then, is to lead them to better things." "If they are so foolish as to like to make away with their money in drink, let them,” said Miss Vivian, shortly. "They harm no one but themselves.,' "No one? O Miss Vivian, the poor wives and children!" "The wives and children are as bad as the men." Beatrice shook her head. "Oh, no! but even if they are, then there is only the more reason for their being sought out and helped, Miss Vivian. And if nothing is done with the children, what can we expect but that they will grow up just like their parents." "Of course they will," said Miss Vivian. And if you spend a hundred pounds on each of them, it will make no difference. My money is not going to be spent in such useless work. Besides, I cannot afford it. You had better apply to your dear Mr. Mansfield." "I intend doing so, but one person cannot give enough for a case like this, Miss Vivian." "You need not come to me then, Beatrice. My mind was made up long ago, and I am too old to change it." Beatrice rose from the ottoman. "I will not press you any more then, Miss Vivian, though I am sorry you will not help me. But it is not my place to dictate to you what to do with your money," she added, with a smile. "You must forgive me for being rather warm on the subject. I must go now, or I shall hardly be back in time for dinner, but I will come again if I can to-morrow, and stay rather longer. Miss Vivian's good-bye was cooler than usual. Beatrice left the room, passed out of the house through the wild tangled wilderness of the garden, and reached the road. At the opposite gate stood Constance, evidently watching for her; and she came out to meet her with a merry smile. "I was sure I had seen you go in, Beatrice, and I have been waiting for you to reappear. How is Queen Elizabeth ?" Beatrice shook her head slightly, with halfgrave reproof. No other name suits her so well," persisted Constance." Except indeed that 'good Queen Bess' was as lavish upon her own personal comforts and adornments, as she was stingy about every one else, while Miss Vivian is quite as much of a miser with regard to herself as to others." "Poor Miss Vivian!" was all Beatrice said. "But, Beatrice, what is the reason? She is rich enough to afford anything she liked. Why does she live in that close miserly fashion, not even mending her broken windows, or having those formidable stinging-nettles cleared away from her garden? What is she hoarding up the money for ?" "I don't know. I do not suppose she has any real reason. The love of saving amounts almost to a monomania in some people. Poor old lady! hers has been a sad and dreary life, I should think." "But she might find plenty of interests, and friends too, if she chose, Beatrice. It is partly her own choice. How did she take the news of Leonard's coming home?" Beatrice hesitated an instant. "I do not think she intends to see any more of him than formerly. Indeed, she said decidedly that she should not." 66 'But, Beatrice, don't you think it is a shame?" cried Constance, indignantly. "She ought to know him-she ought to leave her money to him." 66 "Mr. Mansfield always says we have nothing to do with that," said Beatrice, quietly. "No-only it is a family estate, although it did not come to Miss Vivian from her father, and is not entailed, but it ought to descend next to Leonard. Indeed, I believe it was the particular wish of Miss Vivian's old uncle, who left it to her, that it should descend in the direct line of succession, though he took no means to secure it, and left Miss Vivian at perfect liberty to do what she liked with it." "Captain Vivian is her cousin, is he not?" C asked Beatrice. "I never quite understand the exact relationship." "I'll explain it to you. There were three brothers, you know; and Miss Vivian is the daughter of the eldest. The property did not come to her from him, but, as I said just now, from some old uncle-ancient he must have been, it was so long ago. Then the second brother had one son, John Vivian, who married a Miss Leonora Johnson. Leonard was their child, named as nearly as possible after her. His father died almost immediately after his birth; and about two years later, as you know, his mother was married to papa. You have heard all that, and how she only lived a few months after her second marriage, and then died, leaving Leonard under papa's care. Papa has always felt for him like a father. Leonard was six or seven years old before papa married again. Mamma was very fond of him too, I think, though he certainly was rather a trouble to her at times." "There is another cousin, is there not?" asked Beatrice. "Captain-what is his name?" "Captain Gifford. Yes. He is the grandson of the third brother, and next in succession to Leonard. Miss Vivian has no other relations living. She threatens, I believe, to leave all to him, and nothing to Leonard. The only thing is that she has such an Elizabethan horror of making her will, that she may put off doing so for years. To be sure, it was said that at the time Leonard's mother married papa, she was so angry with her for doing so though no one could imagine why-that she made a will there and then, leaving everything to Captain Gifford, who was a little boy at the time. But that is so very long ago, that it is not likely to be still in existence. Having such a hatred of wills, she most likely threw it into the fire the first time she happened to come across it." "Is Captain Gifford older than Captain Vivian ?" "Three or four years. I have never seen him, you know, since he was quite a boy-and a very disagreeable one too, so far as I can remember; but I am in no hurry for another meeting. The longer his regiment stays abroad, the better. I musn't go farther than this corner with you, Beatrice, as I promised mamma to be back directly. Good-bye!" and Constance sped lightly back through the dusty lane into the Rookery garden. IR EDWIN LANDSEER is unquestionably the greatest modern painter of animals. In many respects he is unsurpassed, if equalled, by the painters of any time. Sentiment and pathos, quiet humour and sharp satire, were never before so evoked by representations of animal nature; and the accompaniments in his paintings are almost as invariably delineated as admirably as are the animals themselves. Our readers will be interested in a brief sketch of the career of this illustrious member of the English school of artists; and we are glad to be able to accompany our sketch with engravings from two of his most telling paintings-specimens of his marvellous genius and executive skill. Sir Edwin Landseer was born in London in April, 1802. He is the son of John Landseer, a celebrated line-engraver. Whilst a child, he displayed an extraordinary aptitude for draw ing, and his taste was sedulously cultivated by his father, who himself instructed him, and as soon as he had acquired a little certainty of eye and hand, took him into the fields and commons to sketch the living animals (for which his inclination was, from the first, very decided) in their natural state, instead of copying prints or drawings. Of his precocity, proofs may be seen at the South Kensington Museum, where, in the collection of drawings, are exhibited copies made by him in pencil at the age of five, and sketches from life of the heads of horses, dogs, &c., made when from seven to ten years old. At the age of fourteen he began to contri. bute to the annual exhibitions. At sixteen, an oil painting by him of "Dogs Fighting" was a leading attraction at the Spring Gardens Exhibition; it was purchased by Sir George Beaumont, the well-known amateur, and was engraved by Mr. Landseer, sen. This was ing." In others of this class, there is a touch of human interest, as in the "Drover's Departure;" "Flood in the Highlands;" and the Shepherd's Chief Mourner," one of the most pathetic pictures of this character ever painted. When he was eighteen, he painted his celebrated picture of the "Dogs of St. Gothard discovering a Traveller in the Snow." This was engraved by his father, who thus ex-It is needless to say, Landseer has painted pressed his opinion of its merits in an early announcement: "Edwin Landseer has an exquisite picture on hand, the best he has painted, and by far the most interesting. It is two Mount St. Gothard mastiffs discovering a poor traveller half buried in the snow. The subject is very touching, and we have not the slightest doubt of its making a great impression." The anticipation was fully realized. The painting eclipsed in popularity all his previous efforts, and when engraved became one of the most popular prints of the day. But neither the popularity nor the precocity of the already illustrious painter led him to neglect the labour which could alone ensure permanent success. He had been a student in the Royal Academy, and he now sought assistance in his studies from Haydon, one of the best teachers though least successful artists of the day. Under his guidance, Landseer made many dissections of animals, including a lion, which died rather opportunely for the young painter's purpose, and of which he made a large number of careful drawings. In 1826, as soon as he was of the prescribed age (twenty-four), Landseer was elected Associate of the Royal Academy; and in 1830, Academician. He had by this time cast off the dryness of manner and minuteness of imitation which marked his early efforts, and adopted the large and masculine style of treatment which stamp so characteristic an expression on all but the earliest of his works. For the period of upwards of forty years, during which he has occupied so prominent a place in the public eye, Landseer's popularity has never waned. From the very extent of his popularity, however, one serious evil has arisen, the occupation of a large proportion of his time in the production of pictures that might have been as well supplied by a feebler handthe mere portraits of favourite horses, dogs, and monkeys. dogs of all kinds as dogs were never painted before, from the noble bloodhound and Newfoundland dog, down to the scrubbiest little terrier, or the sleekest of King Charles' spaniels, with the exactest appreciation of every shade of inward character and outward covering. Each dog has its own expression: sadness, misery, satisfaction, and drollery, the passions and the feelings, the hopes and the fears, are shown to belong as much almost to the countenance of a dog as of a man. Our Frontispiece, "Dignity and Impudence," which we have ventured to regard as equally significant of "Home Defence, but not Defiance," and the accompanying engraving of "The Guard," will serve to exemplify this." In the latter, the surrounding circumstances are all significant. The large yard-dog acts as double guard, watching the cloak, hat, and walking-stick of the master, and, at the same time, protecting the little lapdog from the threatened attack of the lively King Charles. One seems almost to surmise from the picture the habits, the age, and the character of the master. The position of each dog-the listening ear, the side glances of the eye, we were about to say the wakeful hair and paws of the recumbent watcher, are inimitable, because perfectly natural. Looking at these dogs, we really lose all recollection of pen or pencil. Landseer has been equally happy with almost every other domestic animal; and he has certainly gone far beyond any predecessor in the power he possesses of linking the expres sion of animal character with some human sentiment, as in the "Death of the Roe;" the "Old Shepherd's Chief Mourner;""Laying down the Law;" "Alexander and Diogenes;" "High and Low Life." In these and other instances he has shown how animal character and the incidents of animal life may be rendered capable of dramatic treatment in a picture, and become susceptible of the keenest expression of pathos or of humour. His more important works embrace a large number of Highland subjects-scenes in which As a master of the technicalities and the deer are the principal actors-as in his won- mechanism of painting, Landseer also excels. derful "Children of the Mist;" "Coming His facility and dexterity of hand are almost Events;" "Night," and "Morning;" "Deer marvellous. He has been known to paint comStalking," or "The Return from Deer Stalk-plete, from first outlining to the last touch of labour." He who would be an artist must let the morning sun light up his canvas, and the evening lamp shine on his model of clay. Michael Angelo never ceased to work-not even when all Europe rang with the fame of the sculptor of the sublime Moses." His favourite device, an old man in a go-cart, with an hour-glass upon it, inscribed Ancora imparo, "I am still learning," illustrates the noble idea he had conceived of the needfulness of constant labour. So with the great Titian; he was emphatically a worker, and is said to have been occupied seven years upon his picture of the "Last Supper." Genius alone will not achieve success. The artistic power which enabled Landseer to complete some of his pictures so rapidly, indicated 66 much previous labour spent in its acquisition. Why do you charge me fifty crowns," said a Venetian signor to a sculptor, "for a bust that only cost you ten days' labour ?" "Because" replied the artist, "I was ten years learning to do my work in ten days." The lesson, tersely given, may serve to guard us against forming an erroneous estimate of the elements of character which are, humanly speaking, essential in order to success. Neither talent nor genius, neither brilliancy of imagination nor accuracy of judgment, can supply the place of resolute perseverance and constant labour. "Never yet was good accomplished C. A. H. B. B LITTLE EARS. BY MRS. EFORE I commence my story for little ears, I cannot avoid saying a word or two to those whose duty it is to take care that little ears grow without being contaminated. If the eye of a mother rests upon this page, I would simply beg her to recall the days of her own childhood: let her think how many things she heard which she ought not to have heard; and call to mind how much happier she would have been, and how many prejudices she would have avoided, if her parents, friends, or attendants had been more cautious of their conversation in her presence. Memory is of earlier and more rapid growth than reason: children will remember when they cannot argue; but then, as their reason develops, they will recall what they have heard, and argue upon it after their own fashion. "You punish me, mamma, for eating apples, when you say no," said a child of five years old to her mother, a few weeks past, before me; "you forget how you eat apples your own sef, when you were ittle girl." "I eat apples when I was a little girl!" exclaimed the mother, "How do you know whether I did or not?" "You tell papa, many days ago, how you stole them, tiptoe, out of your Gan-mamma's closet window, and she never found you out; why you beat ittle Sarah for what you do your own sef?" The poor mother explained to the child that she had been wrong and naughty, and all that, and said much to do away the impression her words had evidently made: a great deal she said which her little girl could not understand though she smiled at the idea of "mamma's” having been naughty "like little Sarah," and with that smile "mamma" lost a portion of her influence; her child seemed to think it a sort of excuse for her own misdemeanour. Her mother sincerely regretted her want of caution, but said, what I hope you will not say, "It is very true, Mrs. Hall, but it is so hard to be always on one's guard." Granted, lady, it is hard to be always on your guard; but it is, nevertheless, your duty to be so-one of the many important duties that devolved upon you when you became a mother-perhaps the most important, for on early, I had almost written on infantine, impressions depends the conduct, the character, the happiness, temporal and eternal, of your child. The poor mother who pays twopence a day to have her child taken care of while she labours to earn its daily bread, performs her duty to the extent of her knowledge, not to the extent of her feelings; for, amid all her toils, her heart yearns towards her offspring, and now, since the establishment of infant schools, she can leave it in comparative safety. But I address you, well-born, accomplished, if not well-educated, women; rich in the good things of this world; rich in the gifts that |