"No, do as I tell you," said Miss Vivian, in her old sharp tone; and, turning to the twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew, Beatrice obeyed.

It was too dark to see much of the print, but she knew the words almost by heart. Miss Vivian followed her with riveted attention, until the forty-first verse was reached, and then, as Beatrice in a low voice finished the few remaining verses to the end of the chapter, she shuddered visibly.

"Beatrice," she said, slowly and hoarsely at the close, "that is what I mean. I have never given a penny to those in need,-not even a crust of bread. I have saved and hoarded, and I have made an idol of my money. I have loved nothing but money,-and now I love it, Beatrice. I am too old to change. It is part of my nature,—nothing can change it now,the love of gold I mean. It has not made me happy. I have been selfish and miserable. Hush, Beatrice," as she attempted to speak. "I can't argue about it now. I can only feel, -and I feel that it is too late now for me to change. What was that text that Leonard Vivian quoted? Something about 'he that hideth his eyes' having many a curse.' I have hidden my eyes from all who needed help, and the curse is coming upon me now, if it has not already been on me all my life. Beatrice, take warning!" and she shivered. "Don't leave such things till too late. Don't make an idol of money or anything else, it comes between God and you,-it keeps you from seeking Him till it is too late."

"Miss Vivian, it is not too late," said Beatrice, with impassioned earnestness. "It is never too late, so long as life lasts. The Lord Jesus is ever ready to help and save all who ask Him."

There was no answer, and, looking more closely in the dim light, Beatrice saw that her head had sunk back, and that she was insensible.

It was the work of a moment to spring to her feet, and to ring the bell violently for Bentley, who appeared almost immediately. The little maid-servant was despatched in quest of Mr. Wentworth, and Beatrice and Bentley together undressed and laid Miss Vivian in her bed, using such restoratives as were within reach, to bring back consciousness, but in vain. Still and senseless she lay, the half-shut eyes so glazed and dim, and the features already so fallen and sunk, that Beatrice could hardly bear to look upon her,

and waited with longing impatience for her father's arrival. He came at last, bent over the bed, felt the pulse, listened to the fitful breathing, and then stood up. Beatrice looked fearfully in his face.

"Papa! what is it ?"

"She is sinking, Beatrice," he said, in a low tone. "She will hardly rally again."

Beatrice turned deadly pale, and put her hands over her face,

"Papa, don't say that, she will surely speak again-if only once more,-she will be conscious again," and Beatrice shuddered at the remembrance of those last words. Were they, indeed, to be the last? Oh, why had she not spoken herself with more warmth and earnestness?-why had she said no more, while she had the opportunity?"

"It is possible, but not likely," Mr. Wentworth answered, gravely. He took Beatrice by the arm, led her to the window, and made her sit down. "Is this too much for you, Beatrice?"

"Not for me-that is nothing! Oh, papa, what can we do for her ?" she asked, in bitter distress.

"Nothing now, Beatrice; nothing except to pray for her, my girl," he added.

Beatrice's face sank lower in her hands, and for nearly five minutes she sat without moving. Then, with renewed composure, she rose and returned to the bedside, to watch by the dying woman. Mr. Wentworth was right: the feeble flame of life was slowly flickering out, and there seemed small likelihood that she would look or speak again. A few hours passed,— slowly creeping by. Nothing could have induced Beatrice to quit the room, and Mr. Wentworth also remained, though he could do nothing except give his daughter comfort and support by his presence. Poor Bentley was not to be drawn away, and her distress was painful to witness. In spite of all Miss Vivian's coldness, and irritability, and parsimony, Bentley really loved her mistress. For thirty years she had patiently served her, borne with her failings, watched over her with unwearied care, and soothed her as she would have soothed a fractious child. No wonder the parting would be painful to the faithful creature.

The Mansfields by this time knew of Miss Vivian's state, and Leonard went backwards and forwards for news more than once, till night came on. Captain Gifford, too, made appearance, walked into the drawing-room, and was not to be satisfied without a personal

his

interview with Mr. Wentworth. He showed great apparent solicitude, but perhaps it was somewhat too great to be genuine, and Mr. Wentworth, after answering his inquiries rather shortly, went back into the bedroom. Beatrice lifted her eyes inquiringly, and came away from the bed to ask in a low tone,

Who was it, papa?"

"Captain Gifford! I've no patience with him, Beatrice," whispered Mr. Wentworth, with unusual warmth. "Pretending to feel her illness so deeply, and to be so distressed at her danger, and all the time thinking of nothing but the money. You should have seen his eyes light up when I said I feared she could not survive many days; though the next moment he expressed his sorrow and regret in the most proper of terms. Hush! was that a movement ?" and they both glanced towards the bed, but the aged form lay senseless and motionless still.

"Has he gone, papa ?" Beatrice asked. "No, I left him in the drawing-room. He said he should stay a little while, implying that he was in such suspense that he could not remain quietly at home," added Mr. Wentworth, speaking scornfully again.

It was nearly three-quarters of an hour later that Beatrice heard the drawing-room door opened and shut, and Captain Gifford's footsteps passing down the long passage, and she only wondered that he had not tired sooner of his solitary vigil. Mr. Wentworth could not help whispering to her, "Anxious about Miss Vivian, indeed! why, he has gone off without another word of inquiry. What did the fellow come for, I wonder?" A question more easily asked than answered, Beatrice thought.

It was growing late now, but as yet there was no change for better or worse, though the

wan, haggard face looked almost ghastly in the yellow light of the lamp. Beatrice sat by the bed, looking pale and weary, but no entreaties could make her leave the room even for half an hour; and her distress at being urged was so evident, that her father let her have her own way. But they were all alike powerless to help the dying woman. She was past human aid, and Beatrice felt that it was so, though hoping almost against hope for at least a few moments of consciousness before the end.

She was not entirely disappointed. At midnight the summons came, and during the last few minutes, as Beatrice bent over her, watching tearfully the feeble gasps and struggles for breath, there was a gleam of conscious intelligence upon the sunken face,-just a last opportunity for the utterance of a few simple words in Beatrice's clear low voice, pointing the sufferer to Jesus, as the Way, the Truth, and the Life. But whether they were heard with any degree of comprehension, Beatrice had little power to determine. She thought the dim glazed eyes were fixed upon her with an expression of unwonted softness, but it was only for a moment. Unconsciousness quickly returned, and even as she gazed she could see the drawn, pinched features already settling into a look of repose. Mr. Wentworth came round the bed, and took her hand gently :

"Beatrice, it is all over now. You have done all you could, my dear girl. You must come away now."

Beatrice did not resist. One long shuddering glance she cast on the silent form, one passionate appeal went up from her very heart," If it were possible! oh, might she not, even at the last hour, have been saved?" Then Beatrice allowed her father to lead her from the room.

LTHOUGH mice are not guests whom we desire to see multiplied at "Our Own Fireside," we should not altogether like to consent to their utter extermination. Many people, who have a great objection to a rat, rather admire a mouse, and are willing to overlook its depredations for the sake of its elegant form, its graceful movement, and its timid curiosity— its curiosity leading it to come out of its hole

and examine every object in the room, and its timidity causing it to dart off at the slightest movement.

But, besides this natural attractiveness, it is by no means difficult to tame mice. Particularly if taken when young, they can be taught to approach with confidence, and to gambol about the room without running off to their holes.

Mr. Wood, to whom every lover of natural

history is so greatly indebted, writes thus in his "Sketches and Anecdotes of Animal Life":

"I have had several tame mice, one of which used to sit on my hand, and permit me to carry it about so seated, or it would hide itself under a fold of my coat, or creep up the sleeve for the sake of the warmth. In general, brown mice are easier to tame than their white relations, the albinoes. I have seen a common shorttailed field-mouse come to the bars of its cage, and take a grain of wheat from the finger. The best way to tame them, is to inflict a forced fast of a day or so, and then to feed them from the hand, always taking care to accompany the operation with the sound intended to be the call. They will soon learn to connect the sound and the food, and will come to the side of their cage the moment that they hear it. So if any one wishes to possess tame mice, I would recommend him to save himself the expense of purchasing white mice, which are also more difficult to preserve in health than the brown mice, and to try his hand on a few common brown mice, only a few weeks old.

"But whatever description of mice is kept, the greatest care should be taken to have the cage thoroughly clean. The most effectual mode of so doing, is to have a double set of cage bottoms, so that one set can be in use, while the other set is getting dry after washing. It is also necessary to be careful of the substances used as bedding. White cotton wool is, perhaps, the best substance that can be used for that purpose; but black cotton wool, or black wadding as it is generally called, should be scrupulously avoided. I once lost a whole cage of newly-tamed mice, by supplying them with black wadding. It was placed in their cage at night, and by the next morning all the mice were dead.

"With proper care, however, mice may be easily reared, and converted into amusing little pets. But however amusing they may be as pets, in most other respects mice are provoking little creatures."

In his recently published and deeply interesting work, "Homes without Hands," Mr. Wood treats of the constructive powers of the mouse. He terms it " a notable house-builder," and says, "There seems to be hardly any place in which a mouse will not establish itself, and scarcely any materials of which it will not make its nest."

Among the recorded instances of remarkable

mouse nests, he adduces the following as worthy of mention.

1. As is usual at the end of autumn, a number of flower-pots had been set aside in a shed, in waiting for the coming spring. Towards the middle of winter, the shed was cleared out, and the flower-pots removed. While carrying one out of the shed, the owner was rather surprised to find a round hole in the mould, and therefore examined it more closely. In the hole was seen, not a plant, but the tail of a mouse, which leapt from the pot as soon as it was set down. Presently another mouse followed from the same aperture, showing that a nest lay beneath the soil. On removing the earth, a neat and comfortable nest was found, made chiefly of straw and paper, the entrance to which was the hole through which the inmates had fled.

The most curious point in connection with this nest was, that although the earth in the pot seemed to be intact except for the round hole, which might have been made by a stick, none was found within it. The ingenious little architects had been clever enough to scoop out the whole of the earth and carry it away, so as to form a cavity for the reception of their nest. They did not completely empty the pot, as if knowing by instinct that their habitation would be betrayed. Accordingly, they allowed a slight covering of earth to remain upon their nest, and had laboriously carried out the whole of the mould through the little aperture which has been mentioned. The flower-pot was placed on a shelf in the shed, and the earth was quite hard, so that in the process of excavation there was little danger that it would fall upon the architects.

Another nest was discovered in rather an ingenious position. A bird had built a nest upon a shrub in a garden, and, as is usual in such cases, had placed its home near the ground. A mouse of original genius saw the nest, and perceived its value. Accordingly, she built her own nest immediately below that of the bird, so that she and her young were sheltered as by a roof. So closely had she fixed her habitation, that, as her young ran in and out of their home, their bodies pressed against the floor of the bird's-nest above them. less than six young were discovered in this ingenious nest.

No

2. Early in March we set a hen, and, as her nest was a basket, a sack was placed under and around it, so as to keep in the heat. When the hen was set she was in good feather, wear

EE

ing an ample tail, according to her kind (the Brahma); but, as the three weeks went on, her tail seemed much broken, assumed a dilapidated appearance, and finally became a mere stump. This excited notice and surprise, as there was nothing near her against which she was likely to spoil her tail.

When the chickens were hatched, and they and their mother were taken to a fresh nest, and the old one removed, it was found that a mouse had constructed, a beautiful nest under the basket. The body of the nest was made of tow scraped from the sack, and chopped or gnawed hay from the hen's nest; while the lining was made of the feathers of her tail, which had evidently been removed a small bit at a time, as wanted, until all the feathers were reduced to stumps, showing marks of the mouse's teeth. We should have liked to have heard the hen's remarks on the transaction, when the mouse was nibbling her tail.

In this case the mouse improved on the conduct of her relative that built in the garden: for, by placing her nest in such a position, she not only secured the very best materials for her home, but enjoyed the advantage of the regular and high temperature which proceeded from the body of the sitting hen, and which was admirably adapted for the well-being of her young family.

3. A number of empty bottles had been stowed away upon a shelf, and among them was found one that was tenanted by a mouse. The little creature had considered that the bottle would afford a suitable home for her young, and had therefore conveyed into it a quantity of bedding, which she made into a nest. The bottle was filled with the nest, and the eccentric architect had taken the precaution to leave a round hole corresponding to the neck of the bottle. In this remarkable domicile the young were placed; and it is a fact worthy of notice that no attempt had been made to shut out the light. Nothing would have been easier than to have formed the cavity at the under side, so that the soft materials of the nest would exclude the light; but the mouse had simply formed a comfortable hollow for her young, and therein she had placed her offspring. It is therefore evident that the mouse has no fear of light, but that it only chooses darkness as a means of safety

for its young.

4. An organ does not appear a very promising residence for these animals, yet every one who has busied himself about organs is fully

acquainted with the mischief done to the instrument by the colonies of mice who seem to be drawn to it by some strange attraction. They frequently scramble to the mouths of the pipes, fall in, and are never able to get out again. On cleaning an organ, it is seldom that most of the large metal open pipes are not tenanted by sundry skeletons of mice, bats, and even small birds, which do not seem to be able to use their wings in that confined space, and perish miserably. Mice always appear to have a strange penchant for musical instruments. There was a certain closet, one of the shelves of which had long been devoted to filberts. In another part of the closet an old disused harmonicon had been placed, and been forgotten. On turning out the contents of the closet, with a view to a thorough sweeping, the harmonicon was discovered, apparently in the same state in which it had been placed there, even the hammers retaining their ori ginal position. The glasses, however, when struck, gave forth a singularly dull sound, and, on moving the instrument about, a strange rattling sound was heard in the interior. On removing the glasses, the instrument was found to be entirely filled with the husks and shells of the filberts, the kernels having been scooped out as neatly as could be done even by an accomplished squirrel. It is difficult to imagine the object for which all these shells were deposited in so singular a place, as mice always make their nests of very soft materials, such as rags, or scraps of paper, and are far too observant of their own comfort to make their beds of sharp, hard nutshells.

5. The rapidity with which the mouse can make a nest is somewhat surprising. One of the Cambridge journals mentioned some years ago, that in a farmer's house a loaf of newly baked bread was placed upon a shelf, according to custom. Next day a hole was observed in the loaf; and when it was cut open, a mouse and her nest were discovered therein, the latter having been made with paper. On examination, the material of the habitation was found to have been obtained from a copy-book, which had been torn into shreds, and arranged into the form of a nest. Within this curious home, were nine young mice, pink, transparent, and newly-born. Thus, in the space of thirty-six hours at the most, the loaf must have cooled, the interior been excavated, the copy-book found and cut into suitable pieces, the nest made, and the young brought into the world. Surely it is no wonder that mice are so plentiful, or