Those who came nearest to the house knew that it was inhabited; for they could sometimes hear strange noises within, and see hideous faces peeping out of the windows. But who the owner was, or whether it had any owner, nobody seemed to know, and nobody seemed to care.

At length it began to be rumoured abroad that the place had been bought-that the purchaser had come from a long distance to buy it, and that he had paid a most enormous price for it. Why he should want that house, and be willing to pay so much for it, nobody could conceive. Some said the house must be of great value, and have uncounted gold buried in its cellar. Some said it was all a sham,— the house had not been bought. Some said it only wanted a little putting to rights, and a little painting, and it would be as good as

ever.

It was reported that the purchaser was coming to see it and repair it, and there was great curiosity to see him. Some looked out expecting to see a tall general come on a great black war-horse, with soldiers to guard him. Some looked out for a rich chariot to come in clouds of dust, darkening the very air. Some thought he might be a nobleman, who would come with bugles and drums, and flying colours. All were looking out for some great display when the owner should come, and all thought they should get into his train, and follow him.

but as

At length, suddenly, a young fair-looking man was seen walking round the old house. At first nobody seemed to notice him; soon as he had given notice that he was the owner of the house, there was a terrible commotion. The poisonous serpents in the grass began to hiss, the vipers began to run, the vultures in the air began to fly and scream, and every hornet began to sharpen his sting, and every fly began to buzz, and every creature in Sunken Hollow seemed to wake up to resist him. There never was such commotion before.

There was not much known about the inside of the house, for it had been shut up and kept dark. Only it was known that it had large rooms in it, once richly finished-that its walls were once all white and beautiful, and that nothing could be made more perfect than it was when built. Every part of the house showed that the most wonderful architect the world ever saw must have planned it.

The greatest commotion on the appearance of the owner was in the inside of the house.

There was hurrying, tramping of feet, fastening and darkening the windows, barring the doors, the noise of loud and angry voices, high words and disputes. All declared that the house was theirs; that they had always lived there, and therefore had a right to it. Some of the inmates begged the owner to go away, and leave them to be quiet; some laughed at him for thinking he could ever get possession of the house; some threatened to set the dogs on him, or to shoot him if he came a foot nearer.

I shall not try to describe all who lived in the old house. There were men and women, but their voices and looks were all of them loud and coarse. There was one quite a giant, who wore his hair long, and looked stupid in the face, and sleepy in the eyes, whose name, if I understand right, was INDIFFERENCE. He moved very slowly, seldom turned round, lay in bed late in the morning, was loth to rise from his chair, hated the sound of a bell, read but little, and thought as little as he could. His shoulders were so broad, that they set him against the doors, feeling sure that if all the bars should break, he could hold the doors shut.

Indifference had an obstinate little footman, who was always near him. He was silent and sulky, and cared for nothing. His name was STUBBORNNESS-and a more obstinate fellow there never was. He never threatened or cried out; but if once he clenched anything with his hands, he held on like a vice.

There was a woman too whom they called ENVY. She was tall, and held her head up high, and her eyes were so bright that she could see the smallest mote that floated in the air. She held in her hand a little ivoryhandled whip, with a long lash, and a snapper at the end of it. She would strike with this as if in sport; but it carried a sting in it that made you tingle to the very bones.

Another inmate of the old house, looking enough like Envy to be her twin-sister, was called JEALOUSY. She was not as tall as the other, nor were her eyes as sharp, but their colour was a pale green. She wore a huge pair of spectacles of the same shade as her eyes, so that everything she looked at was of a yellowish green. Her lips were thin, and she had a peculiar habit of biting them. She would also every now and then pinch herself, till she was covered with marks of her own fingers. She had her own room, but she was so afraid that somebody would peep into it, that she stuffed every crevice with cotton, till

she made it so tight that she could hardly breathe.

The next inmate was called SELFISHNESS. He was a large-framed man, with a sharp face, a twinkling eye, and a mouth that shut up tight. His movements were quick, his steps short, and his head turned from side to side, as if to see everything about him. When he sat down to eat, he would draw all the food close round his plate. He always knew which was the softest chair; the warmest place before the fire, and the sunniest spot near the window. He had great huge pockets, into which he would cram everything within his reach. He would go round the house claiming this and that to be his, till he had branded his name on almost every article of furniture in the house. He was the strongest fellow amongst them all -ate the most, and yet never seemed satisfied.

I will try to describe only one more of the inmates of the old house. This was a fierce, fiery-looking woman, whom they called HATE. She was an active, wiry creature, able to double herself up, and become so small that you would hardly notice her, and then again expanding and becoming so large that it seemed impossible for the house to hold her. She sometimes was so cold as to freeze everything that came near her; and then again she glowed with such heat that she scorched the very clothes of those whom she passed. She wore a garland of nettles on her head, and a row of wasps sat on her lips, with their stings all thrust out. Small, fiery rockets shot from her eyes, and the tread of her foot made the very pavement under her to tremble.

Such were some of the inhabitants of the old house. However much they might, on common occasions, disagree and make war among themselves-and their quarrels often made the old house rock-the moment they saw the owner coming near, they all united in raging and shouting against him. They held a great meeting in what was called the Great Chamber. It was a vast room in the shape of a heart. They seemed to know by instinct that the young man whom they had seen was the real owner, who had bought the place at so great a price. Their deliberations were not very long, for the chairman, whom they called Mr. Passion, pushed the votes through as fast as possible. The unanimous conclusion was that the old house was their own-their right had never been questioned before; and keep it they could, and keep it they would.

Their speeches were not by any means long, but they all showed one spirit and one feeling.

"I've no doubt but I can sit down against any door," said Indifference, "and keep him out."

"And I can roll logs, and place my feet against yours," said Stubbornness; "and between us we can keep the doors shut against an army of such."

"I don't boast," said Envy-" nobody ever heard me boast! I have not broad shoulders, to be sure, and I may not be as strong as some other folks; but it may be, after all, that I can do as much when the time comes. But I never boast-not I!"

"Nonsense! nonsense!" roared out Selfishness, "who does not know that 'possession is nine-tenths of the law,' and that we have had possession here ever since wood grew and water ran? Who supposes for one moment that we shall ever willingly give up all this, or that there is any power that can make us give it up? What say you, Mistress Hate ?"

"What say I?" cried Hate. "I shall fight to the last; not because I love you, but because I wish to spite him. I have a liquid in which I can soak all the bars of the doors, and make them doubly strong. I have a stone on which I can grind your swords and daggers, and make them doubly sharp. I have a cup in which I can dip your arrows, and make each one poisonous. I can arm every stone and beam in the house, to make war upon the intruder! You talk about your powers! but it is my presence and aid that is to give you the victory. It will be a hard fight; for that young man would not walk yonder so quietly, and look so calm, unless he has more power than we now see. My very heart burns while I look at him!"

Every moment the inhabitants of the old house expected to see an army come over the hill, and to hear the sound of the trumpet calling them to surrender, or feel the ground shake under the tramping of horses, and the charging of cavalry. But they looked in vain.

At length the owner bent his steps towards the house. Those within kept very still, until

he had ascended the steps, and then they broke out into a scream of defiance and scorn that made all the rooms ring again. How they hooted the idea of his coming alone to drive them out, and take possession of his house! But the moment he laid his hand on the handle of the door, the bars gave way, the bolts were withdrawn, and the doors silently and gently opened! The light burst in, and all the inmates stood in astonishment. The owner looked them in the face, and they began to crouch down, and hide themselves behind the doors and the furniture. But he threw over them a small cord that held them and bound them, and with which he dragged them towards the door. Then they began to shriek and struggle, and beg and pray to be let alone, and stay in the old house. But no! the owner had come, and they must leave! So he turned them out, and with a single look made them fall backward on the ground. He bade them begone out of his sight. They slank away among the hedges and weeds, and crept round into dark places, not wishing to leave Sunken Hollow, because they hoped in some way to get possession of the old house again.

The owner now set about cleansing the old mansion. He first cleared out the cobwebs and the filth that had been increasing there so long; then he had the windows washed, that sunlight might enter; the chimneys cleaned, so that the fires might burn clearly; the furniture mended and put to rights. The weeds and rubbish round the house were cleared away, the old trees removed, great heaps of bones put out of sight, and soon the grounds began to look green, and the garden to shoot up with flowers and vegetables. The well was cleared out, and cool fresh water began to rise up, and the whole face of everything was changed. But the greatest change was in the inhabitants of the old mansion. When it was all ready, the owner filled up the rooms with new guests entirely unlike the former inmates. Shall I mention a few of them?

First came in a beautiful creature with golden hair and a voice of music. She saw that all the fires and lamps were lighted, so that the whole house was warm and light. Her face glowed with emotion, and it was plain at the first glance, that she must have been born in the skies. They called her name LOVE, and no one who felt the touch of her hand ever forgot the thrill.

The second I shall mention was named PEACE. She was of calmer countenance than the former

one.

She held in her hand a golden vessel; out of which she poured a small silver stream. But as the waters ran, they grew more and more, till they became a great river that shone like silver, and sparkled in light. Whether men drank of the waters, or bathed in them, they were at once refreshed, and felt that no waters were as sweet as these. You never had to seek for Peace, for while you were in the path of duty, whether pleasant or unpleasant, she was always near with her golden vessel. She would slip round and enter at any door, and always came in silence.

Then there was Joy-a very bright inmate, who would clap his hands and cheer you when he could. He kept near a sober, quiet, hardworking old lady called DUTY, and at every turn he had something to say to cheer her. Some of the labours of Duty were hard, and some of her burdens were heavy to carry, but Joy was always at hand to give a lift, and wipe away the tear from her face, and feed her with the sweet fruit that grew on the tree called Gladness.

But among them all there was none more beautiful and interesting than a little creature that could but just walk. She seemed to have little wings budding out. But she was very small and weak. Yet she would trot round through all the rooms, wiping the windows so that there might be a clearer view; bringing in little armfuls of wood, to keep the fires bright; snuffing the candles and lamps, that the light might be more brilliant; and while her bright eye seemed to see things a great way off, she would beckon with her finger, and point to things far beyond the Hollow. She was a great favourite with all; and though they had to nurse and feed her, yet they all had to confess that there was no living without her. A thousand times a day they would call, FAITH, FAITH, come and show me this! Come and untie this knot! Come and read me this writing!"

I may mention only one more of the newcomers. He was a large, iron-built man, who could walk longer and further than any of the rest, and his strong hand would lift them over chasms, or rocks, or anything that lay in their path. He was a grave sort of person; talked but little, yet what he did say was always encouraging. He was rather a doer than a talker. Nobody ever saw him going backward, or sitting down and waiting for others. His name was PERSEVERANCE, and very brave he was, and always to be trusted.

No one who had not witnessed it, can imagine how great the change was in the Old House. The foundations were repaired, the walls were all brought into shape, the broken roof was mended, the chimneys were righted, new trees were planted, the Hollow began to be filled up, and soon the old name was dropped, and men began to talk about the New House. It would now bear close inspection. The new tenants were all busy in helping to repair it,

and build it over anew. Every face was cheerful, every hand was employed, and every heart

was full of blessedness. Sometimes these inmates would hold a concert of music; and when Love took her lyre, and Peace her trumpet, and Joy his cymbals, and Faith her harp, and Perseverance sat down at the organ, what music they poured out! It seemed as if the whole house were a music hall; and the echoes were heard far and wide.

"CHARLIE, THE WHITE SERGEANT."* N the wall of the reading-room of Bow Street police office hangs the portrait of a remarkable dog. This dog, an old, starved, homeless animal, took up his quarters one day in August, 1857, on the steps of a seldom-used door connected with the office. Now, as neither dog nor man had a right to loiter in that doorway, the superintendent gave orders that it should be made to "move on:" but as certain as he was driven off on the one day, so certain was he to be seen in his old quarters on the next.

The men of the division at last got so attached to the dog, that he was never told to "move on" any more, but took up his quarters inside the station, and, after being named "Charlie," was considered a member of the police force. "Charlie" seemed to understand the responsibilities of his position. At a quarter before six o'clock every morning, the first day-relief is paraded in the yard of the station, previous to setting out on duty at six. At that hour, and, in short, at every parade, day or night, "Charlie" was always present, marching up and down in front of the line, with all the importance of a drill-sergeant. On these occasions he was accompanied by the only four-footed animal that he was known to associate with-namely, "Jeanie," the office cat, who, with bell tinkling at her brass collar, trotted at "Charlie's" side. Parade over, "Charlie" headed the relief in its march round the beats, and then went on a tour of inspection through the district, walking for a while with this or that specially favoured

* "Animal Sagacity," edited by Mrs. S. C. Hall, London: S. W. Partridge. See Review, p. 115.

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policeman. When parade time drew near, off he bounded, always reaching Bow Street in time to drill the section. How very useful "Charlie" made himself, remains to be seen. Only on two occasions was Charlie" absent from duty once when he watched for some days by the death-bed of an old constable to whom he had been much attached; and once when he had been severely mauled, and all but poisoned, by some of the thieves of the Seven Dials, whose felonious schemes he often assisted to defeat.

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'Charlie," soon after he was received into the office, where according to police regula tions he had no right to be, was placed on the mess; his slice of meat was duly laid aside by the carver, and at the Christmas dinner he was permitted to sit at the table. "Charlie" was also known as the "White Sergeant," and on state occasions, when the attendance of the greater part of the division was required, a sergeant's armlet was buckled round his neck, and very proud he seemed to be of the decoration. Charlie," old as he was, took great delight in a game of romps with children, but he could not endure the boys and girls that ran screaming and bawling up and down the streets; and whenever he met a party of these noise-makers, he quickly dispersed them by snapping at their heels. If he came upon any boys gambling at "pitch and toss," he would wait till the money fell upon the ground, and then rush forward and roll himself over it, guarding it securely until relieved of his charge by a policeman, whom he would follow to the nearest cat's-meat shop, well knowing that he would be rewarded! When the cry of “fire” was shouted in the yard of the station, "Charlie" barked his loudest, and, if the time happened

to be night, ran through all the bedrooms of the station, tugging at the bed-clothes, and barking with all his might; and when the men appointed for the purpose went off to the scene of conflagration, he ran in front of them, clearing the way by his incessant barking.

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At the Victoria Cross presentation in Hyde Park, 2,500 of the police were on the ground. "Charlie" had been detained at the station, having been accidentally shut into a room. As soon as he was set free, he made for the park, and, working his way through the immense crowd of spectators and police, took his place at the head of his own division. Previous to his leaving the station, his armlet had been buckled round his neck, and as he sat, stiff and erect as an old soldier in front of the long line of constables, Her Majesty, as she passed along the park, was pleased to honour "Charlie" with a smile.

The thieves, and other bad characters, feared and disliked "Charlie." They knew whenever they saw him that a constable could not be far off. One night, when a constable was taking a prisoner through the Seven Dials, he was attacked by a man, who attempted to rescue the prisoner. Suddenly, "Charlie" appeared on the scene, and seized the would-be rescuer; but "Charlie," being old and almost toothless, the man detached himself from his grasp and made off, followed by the dog. A constable some few streets off, seeing a man running, pursued by "Charlie," at once knew that something was wrong, and the would-be rescuer was speedily apprehended. At an early hour one morning, a constable, while passing a narrow lane off the Strand, was knocked down by two men. Charlie," who was at a short distance behind, seeing the assault, ran across the Strand to the station in Somerset House, and seizing the sergeant on duty there by the great-coat tail, led him to the constable's assistance, who was found to be severely wounded, and who might have been killed outright but for "Charlie's" sagacity.

After performing his duties as sergeant faithfully for nearly eight years, poor old "Charlie" (he must have been at least twenty years of age) died in front of the mess-room fire, where, during his illness, he had been carefully nursed, for he was beloved by all men of the F Division.

ROBIN REDBREAST.

Robin is always a favourite wherever he goes, and as in England, so in every other

country he visits, he is called after some familiar name. In Denmark, he is known as Tommy Liden; in Norway, as Peter Ronsmad; and in Germany as Thomas Gierdet. Who can hear the words "Robin Redbreast" spoken without recalling the old story of the pretty babes, deserted by their cruel uncle, who went wandering, hand in hand, up and down the wood, waiting for the man who never came back from the town, as he promised to do, and bring them bread?

"Thus wandered these two pretty babes,
Till death did end their grief;
In one another's arms they died,

As babes wanting relief."

And thus they perished without one kind friend to drop a tear over them, and thus they lay exposed to the night dews and the winds, "Till Robin Redbreast painfully Did cover them with leaves."

Whether Robin ever did or did not shroud the bodies of the two babes in the wood with leaves, I will not pretend to assert, but I will say that Robin is a first-rate fellow, for he is not only kind to his wife and family, but he also displays strong attachments to mankind. Some say that because he flies into our houses, and perches up and down our rooms, that he is a bold, impudent bird. He certainly is very bold when either snake or hawk attempts to plunder his nest, but I think the reason he hops in at our doors and windows is that he trusts implicitly in our doing no harm to him.

During this last summer a beautiful sight was witnessed by many persons in Peckham. In the fernery of Mrs. Cash, of the Rye, a pair of robins built their snug little nest. Whether the robins knew that Mrs. Cash and her daughters, being members of the Society of Friends, would be sure to treat them with kindness, I cannot tell. One thing is certain, the birds became so tame, that they would, even whilst seated on the nest, eat food handed to them by their admiring friends. By the kindness of Miss Newman, and the pencil of Mr. Weir, we are able to give our friends an engraving of the mother as seen when feeding her young ones.

Perhaps more wonderful still is a story of a robin that quartered itself in the sitting-room of a shoemaker at Bishop's Cleeve. It took up its abode on the mantelpiece, and built its nest behind a tea-pot, on which, having