and a thrush had built on a shelf within it, unmoved by the frequent entrance of the gardener and his assistant, and the moving and replacing of spades, and rakes, and hoes, and all the implements of garden-work. A pair of starlings occupied a hole in a tree, too deep for the eggs to be reached by the most determined nest-seeker. It would be a long list if all the nests found at the Grange were named here.

The boys were often by the water looking after young frogs, efts, and tadpoles. Emily was more attracted by the birds'-nests, and there were several which she visited almost daily;-a robin's in one quiet nook, a chaffinch's in another, a titmouse's in another.

One day, Arthur Neville ran up to her in the garden, and exclaimed, “Oh, Emily! I have such a beautiful thing to tell you of. You know that low wall and bank near our summer-house. Well! a nightingale has made her nest there; I saw her this morning sitting on her eggs. She did not seem to mind my looking at her. There she was, with her pretty brown back and her beautiful dark sparkling eyes. I ran to mamma to tell her about it, and asked if she thought my going to look, would make the bird forsake her nest. She said she thought not, if I did not go too often; and then she said, ‘Ah, I remember one built in that place three years ago.' She spoke so sadly, as you know she does sometimes, Emily. Then I

felt sure that it was when papa was alive, and that they used to visit the nest together, so I did not say

anything more. But soon she spoke in her usual way, and said she was glad I had found the nest, and bid me tell you, for she knew you would like to come and see it."

"Oh, that I should," said Emily; "dear Mrs. Neville, how kind of her to think of me."

It was not long before Emily went to the Hall to see the nest, and Mrs. Neville said she felt well enough to walk in the garden, and she should like to introduce her young friend to the nightingale's

nest.

Since the death of Colonel Neville, two years ago, Mrs. Neville's health, always delicate, had become much more so, and she was so great an invalid as to be chiefly confined to the house. Her spirits too were often sad, for though she had all those blessed comforts which support the Christian in a time of trial, she could not help feeling long the loss of her excellent and beloved husband. She had lost, also, two young daughters, whose death had made a sad void in the family, though she was consoled by the belief that, through the mercy of that Saviour to whom they had been early dedicated, their souls had entered on unclouded rest. Under these circumstances, the society and friendship of Mr. and Mrs. Leslie had been a great support to Mrs. Neville, and now the kind and excellent Grays were added to her list of friends. Emily Leslie was a great treasure to her. She seemed soothed and cheered by the presence of the gentle girl, and found a new interest in watching her unfolding mind and opening affections. Mrs. Leslie saw this with pleasure, and often contrived some message that Emily might carry, or some inquiry she might make; and Mrs. Neville said, these visits were to her like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds.

Often while the nightingale was brooding over her eggs, or cherishing her young after they were hatched, Mrs. Neville went into the garden with Emily on warm days, and sat in the summer

house to rest. There she listened with tender delight to the song of the bird, which, even at mid-day, was often heard from the thick shelter of trees and shrubs. There, too, sometimes might be heard the gentle plaintive voice of the invalid, blended with Emily's sweet tones, in full melody as they sang together Cowper's Hymn.

"The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.

"There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

Oh! with what peace and joy and love
She communes with her God.

"There like a nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays,

Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise."

Thus a friendship sprang up between youth and maturer age, which, while it was a solace to the mourner, was a lasting benefit to her young companion.

To return to the nightingale. When the eggs were hatched, the old birds had a busy life. Arthur often brought George and Harry to see the nest, and one day Harry said, he thought they might give the nightingales some help.

"Don't you remember those meal-worms that the keeper used to find for Uncle Walter when he went angling? I have heard they feed nightingales that are kept in cages on these worms."

"To be sure, Harry, so they do!" exclaimed George and Arthur, at once. "How stupid of us not to think of that before!"

"Well, Harry, though you are the youngest, your wits have been more awake than ours this time," said Arthur.

It was agreed that they would go at once to the keeper, to learn where the worms were to be found. On their way to his cottage, they met Mr. Gray, who told them he had no doubt the nightingale would be quite satisfied to have her larder so well supplied, for it was one of her greatest dainties.

"But do you know anything about the mealworm, boys?"

"Nothing, sir," said Harry, "but that it is used by anglers."

"Yet it has a history of its own. Captain Abbott's Afghan servant might have asked in his Eastern phrase, Who is its father?' and you

could not answer him.”

"It would be a funny question to ask about a meal-worm," said Harry.

"And perhaps you would think the answer funny, if I told you a beetle was its father; yet that is the truth."

There was a general laugh, but George said quickly,

"Then it is the larva of a beetle. I never thought of that before, and yet it does not look like a perfect insect."

G