absent from my thoughts by day, nor my dreams by night; and you can hardly imagine how much I suffer for you: because, Basil, I have loved you with a strong, yearning love, as though you had been a dear brother—and dear to my heart and soul you are, both for your own sake, and for that of your parents and your dead priestuncle. They saved the poor Hunchback from poverty and suffering; they educated him, clothed him, fed him, made him what he is, made happy the last years of his mother's life, saved his sister from hardship and privation. Oh, Basil! let me show my gratitude, let me pay off some fraction of this great debt. They did all for let me do something for you. Leave London with me; let me save you from those associates, whose companionship must end in your destruction. Let me work for you; I will toil night and day in your service. These men, such as he you parted with to-night, would pull down your fortunes-I, your poor deformed friend, would build them up. I do not want you to court my society, but only to turn your back upon these, your worst enemies."

me;

The cashier paused, overcome by the violence of his emotion; and Basil paced up and down the room with rapid strides, then he came and placed himself before Humphrey, and clasping his hand said

"My friend, every word you have spoken has been like a stab to my heart. I acknowledge the truth of all you say; my com. panions are my bane, they will not let me reform-what they will make of me in the end I know not, nor do I care to know; but one thing is certain-I cannot change my mode of life, I cannot renounce my friends, as I call them. I am like the opium eater; I know my danger, but still I love and court it. There are some moments, when I think with scorn of the wretches I live with, but such impulses are fleeting and transitory. It is useless, Humphrey; I cannot change."

"Oh, Basil, Basil!" groaned the cashier, "is this life worthy of the descendant of those men who bled and suffered for their faith and loyalty in bye-gone days? Think of the dauntless priest, who was drawn to Tyburn on a hurdle, and slaughtered in the reign of the pitiless Elizabeth; or the brave loyal soldier, whose skull bleached over the gates of Temple Bar for his devotion to the unfortunate Stuarts. Look at what these men gave up and sacrificed. Try and win some of their heroism; death only severed their chains, but yours you can break at will."

"Would that I could!" replied Basil almost fiercely; "but I have told you a hundred times, Humphrey, that I cannot quit my present mode of life. A spell is upon me. Go you back to Winchester; you can do me no good. If I had not been a hardened reprobate," " he added, with a tone of despair, "the prayers of that

old man, who now rests in the little sanctuary of St. Peter's at Winchester, would have worked my reformation."

"Heaven grant those prayers may not have been offered in vain," said Humphrey, fervently, "and that some chord in your heart may be touched, before the hour comes in which no man can work!"

DISENCHANTMENT.

THE morning was joyous and bright,
A morning of balmy spring,
When I rose with the early light,
As the birds began to sing.
The lark above me was cleaving
The air as he rose on high;

But the earth that he was leaving,
Seemed fairer to me than the sky.

For light and free was my heart,
In the joyous morning of life;

I had yet to bear my part,

In its turmoil and its strife.
There had come no sombre warning
To sadden my soul as yet;
I only wished on that morning,
That the sun would never set.

But ere half of that day had sped,
The dark clouds hid the sky;
The thunder crashed o'er head,
And the storm swept fiercely by.
I bowed my head to the blast,
But I knew on its icy wing

It had borne a blight, as it passed,

To the hopes and the promise of spring.

And I thought of the lark I had seen
Rising up in the morning light,
And I saw how wise he had been
To take so early his flight.

I wished! oh, I wished, in my heart,

That, like him, I could heavenwards soal ; From this earth I would soon depart,

And never return to it more.

And the evening came at last,
But it brought no soothing rest;
For the sky was overcast,

And lowering clouds in the west,
Which seemed to promise a morrow
No fairer than to-day-
No hope that my load of sorrow
Would pass with the night away

As I laid my throbbing head,
So wearily down at night,

And counted the hours that had sped,
Since I rose with the morning light ;
I had bitterly learnt to pray-
As I never had prayed before-
"If to-morrow be like to-day,
God grant that I wake no more."

F. MALCOLM DOHERTY.

ANIMAL DISGUISES.

Most people are aware, as a piece of common-place knowledge, that many animals, before arriving at their mature or adult state, undergo a series of changes in form, of a more or less complete character. To such a series of changes the naturalist applies the term "metamorphosis;" and the study of the disguises which an animal may in this way successively assume, forms one of the most interesting and fascinating subjects that can attract the notice of the general reader.

The great insect-class presents us with the most familiar examples of these changes, and the butterflies and moths exemplify metamorphosis in its most typical aspect. Thus we know that from the egg of the butterfly, deposited by the shortlived parent upon the leaves of plants, a crawling grub-like creature is first developed. This form we name the "larva" or caterpillar ;" and if we might fail to recognise its relationship to the bright denizen of the air, so far as outward appearance is concerned, we might also be at a loss to reconcile its internal structure with that of the perfect butterfly. Thus the latter is winged; possesses a mouth and digestive systein, adapted for the reception and as similation of flower juices; and wholly differs in structure and habits from its worm-like progeny. The caterpillar is provided with a mouth furnished with jaws, and adapted for biting or mastication; its digestive system presents a type differing widely from that of the perfect form; and its crawling, terrestrial habits appear in strong contrast to the ethereal movements of its parent.

The life of this larva may be accurately described as one devoted to its nourishment. Its entire existence, whilst in the caterpillar state, is one long process of continuous eating and devouring. By means of its jaws it nips and destroys the young leaves of plants, much to the gardener's annoyance; and so rapidly does its body increase in size, that the first skin with which its body is provided cracks and bursts, and a process of moulting ensues. From this process the larva emerges, clad in a new skin, adapted to the increased size of its body; and this second skin may similarly become too small to accommodate its ever-increasing growth, and a second process of moulting produces in turn a new investment. In this way the caterpillar may change its coat many times, and on arriving at the close of its larval stage of

existence, may present a very great increase in size, as compared with its dimensions at the beginning of its life.

But, sooner or later, the caterpillar appears to sicken, and to become quiescent. Its former state of activity is exchanged for one of lethargy, from which it awakes to begin an operation of a novel and different nature from those in which it has been previously engaged. It begins to spin-by means of a special apparatus, consisting of glands and an organ, named the 'spinneret"—a delicate silky thread, with which it invests its body. Within the silken case or 66 cocoon which it thus constructs, the caterpillar body is soon enclosed; the first stage of its existence comes to an end; and the second or cocoon stage, marked by outward quiescence and apparent rest, is known to us as that of the "pupa, chrysalis," or "nymph."

Although outwardly still, and although all the former activity appears to have been exchanged for an inactive repose, changes of a passive kind, but of marvellous extent, are meanwhile proceeding within the cocoon or pupa-case. The elements of the caterpillar's form are being gradually disintegrated, and are being built up anew in the form and image of the adult butterfly. Old textures are being exchanged for new ones; particle by particle the outward and inward structures of the larva are being replaced by others proper to the mature being; and in due course, and after a longer or shorter period, the cocoon is ruptured, and the perfect form emerges, a bright and beautiful creature, furnished with wings and active senses, and rejoicing in the exercise of its newborn functions amid the sunlight and flowers.

Such is an outline of the familiar process by which the larva or caterpillar of the butterfly becomes transformed or developed, to form the "imago" or perfect and adult form. And if we review the stages exemplified in the process, we shall be able to detect in each an obvious harmony and correspondence with the preceding and successive stage. Thus we find that the life of the perfect and mature insect is at the best of a comparatively short and transient nature, and its energies are directed chiefly and in greater part to reproduction-to the deposition of eggs, from which new individuals will, in due course, be produced. The larval stage, on the contrary, is devoted to nutrition-to the laying up, as it were, of a store of nourishment, sufficient to last throughout the lifetime of the being, and to sustain it whilst its adult functions are being performed.

Indeed, the entire lifetime of the higher insect may be divided into, or comprised within, two distinct periods. The first of these latter is the nutritive period, represented by the caterpillar state, when the nutrition of the body is mainly provided for: and the