ETWEEN France and Spain, there runs from sea to sea one continuous mountain barrier, about two hundred and seventy miles in length, and from twenty to forty miles in breadth. It is singularly alike through the whole of the chain, although loftiest near the centre. The people on either side are as effectively divided by the rugged mountain chain as they could be by a trackless desert or separating sea. Save where at the ends the slopes abate, there are but few lines of communication. Elsewhere the Pyrenean range is pierced only by gaps (the "ports" as they are called by the natives), veritable gateways, and the mountain paths are practicable only to the surefooted mule, mountain goat, or cautious shepherds and their trusted companions.

The climate is very mild, and the air so still and silent that sound travels long distances. From afar comes the tinkling of sheep-bells, and the lowing of herds: and the quiet beauty of the scenery makes the

locality a favourite resort for invalids in search of health.

Tending the flocks and leading them to pasturage is the chief occupation of the men, in which they are often assisted by the younger members of the family. Civilization and industry have made much progress amongst them. The young girls, whilst engaged in shepherding, knit the fine Pyrenean wool.

Our illustration represents a youthful shepherdess thus occupied. The faithful dog has taken up a position at his mistress's feet; and resting upon her friendly crook she busily plies the glistening needles.*

Might not some of the girls of England take a lesson from the example. It is well in our spare moments to have something useful to do. Fragments of time are as precious as fragments of money. They would be found more so if always improved. Who ever heard of any one throwing pence or shillings away? Yet how many have lived to lament in old age the golden hours of youth misspent or unimproved?

WITNESSED an instance of brotherly sympathy and kindness the other evening in Spitalfields which I shall never forget. It was at a "Robin Dinner." A little lad hungering for a dinner had no ticket. Vainly he tried to pass the barrier, and, full

FREDERICK SHERLOCK.

of disappointment, burst into tears. Some of the other "outsiders" thereupon constituted themselves his friends for the occasion, and pleaded for his admission on the ground that he had "neither father nor mother." The Rector of Spitalfields happened to be close at hand, and, yielding to the urgent, irresistible plea, told the doorkeeper to "pass

him in." The successful advocates had gained their object; and, as they left the scene of action, unfed themselves, it would have been a picture for the Academy, if an artist could have depicted the glowing faces of the boys, as one exclaimed to the others, with triumphant glee, "We got him in!"

Ah! that was a triumph indeed, a triumph worth more than the feast within; for there is no feast that can compare with "the luxury. of doing good!"

Robert Raikes enjoyed that luxury; and so may we if we feel and act as he felt and acted. There are two ways of getting, on

which God's blessing rests. The one is by asking: "Ask, and ye shall receive." The other is by giving: "Give, and it shall be given to you." All may give. Even the talent of money is by no means confined to those who are called the rich. The widow's "mite" was money; and she "cast in more than they all." So it may be still. The poor know some who are poorer than themselves. But money is not love's only or most precious gift. Love's true sacrifice is self. Kind words, and loving deeds, and tender sympathy, were the gifts which Robert Raikes bestowed; and we may all "go and do likewise."

Wife.

It may be 'twixt four lowly walls,
No show, no pride;

Where sorrows ofttimes enter in,
But ne'er abide.

Yet if she sits beside the hearth,

Help, comfort, guide,

A blessed place, a heavenly place,
Is our fireside.

The Author of "John Halifax."

XVI. ONLY SPOTS IN THE SUN. HE stable yard was crowded, for the hounds were to meet close by. "I don't think much of Skylark," said a brown cob to a hack that was standing saddled and bridled at the gate.

"No, he 's such a dingy colour," said the

hack.

"I never could bear iron grey," said the cob.

"And I've heard it said that his temper is very uncertain," said the hack.

"I can quite believe it," said the cob. "I'm sure you will agree with us, gentlemen," he added, as some of the hounds came trotting up; 66 we were just saying what a very ugly colour Skylark is."

"Possibly so," said the hounds, "but really he is always so far ahead of every one in the field that we never notice the colour of his coat!"

XVII. THE BRIGHT SIDE. PITY you from the bottom of my heart, I do indeed," said a lively little green lizard to a snail that was slowly crawling up the wall, on the top of which he was basking in the sun.

"What for?" asked the snail.

"What for! why, for having to carry that dingy old brown house of yours about wherever you go. It must be a terrible hindrance. By the time you've got to the top of the wall, the sun will have gone round to the other side, and you'll have had all your trouble for nothing. I'm really very sorry for you."

"Keep your pity, my dear, for those that want it," said the snail. "I am quite content as I am, and I wouldn't change my 'dingy old brown house' for your fine green coat, I assure you. It shades me from the sun, and shelters me from the rain; and if I have to carry it about, it is always at hand when I want it, which is more than you can say when you're caught in a shower half a mile from home."

XVIII. "WORKING FOR THE MASTER."

"I WOULDN'T let my branches lie on the ground like that, if I were you," said a

tall young apple tree, looking over the orchard wall, to an espalier loaded with fruit that grew in a garden close by. "Look at mine. See how bravely they stand the lowest of them is over your up; head; and every one that goes by stops to admire my golden fruit."

"Yes, I know they do," said the espalier. "No one can see whether you've any fruit or not."

"Perhaps so," said the espalier; "but I don't care for any one to see it but the master, and I don't think I'm too low down for him to find it when the time till then I am content to wait."

comes;

XIX. MUCH SPEAKING TENDS TO EVIL SPEAKING.

"I HEAR that Pointer won't get the prize after all," said a greyhound to a mastiff, as they met at the corner of the street.

"Why not?" asked the mastiff; "I'm sure he deserves it."

"So we all thought; but I've heard it whispered by two or three lately that there is something wrong about his pedigree."

"Ah! indeed," said the mastiff.

way

"Yes," said the greyhound, "and I'm inclined to believe it, for the poodle from the Hall mentioned it in confidence to a friend, and he told it to a cousin of mine. I only wish I could think it was a mistake!" "A mistake!" said the mastiff, " I should call it a slander; but that's the with your 'confidential' friends. They are always ready to believe evil of any one, and to spread reports without a grain of truth in them, from the pure love of talking. If you'll take my advice, friend, in future, you'll think twice before you listen to a slander, and three times before you repeat it."

XX. PRIDE MUST HAVE A FALL.

"SEE how tall I am," said a gay young poplar that had shot above the heads of her neighbours in a small plantation;

"there isn't one of you I can't look down upon; and what a delicate green my leaves are!" she continued, glancing at the dusky foliage of some Scotch firs, as the setting sun shone through their branches.

Evening came, and clouds covered the sky. The low roll of the thunder was heard, and flash after flash lighted up the darkness. When the morning sun rose, the poplar still stood erect, but her scorched and withered branches told their melancholy tale.

"Ah!" she sighed, as she gazed mournfully around her, "how little I thought that what I boasted of yesterday would be my ruin to-day; if I had not held my head so high in my foolish pride, I should never have been singled out by the light ning for destruction; even if I have enough life left in me to get over this shock, my beauty is a thing of the past."

XXI. HASTY JUDGMENTS SELDOM JUST ONES.

"WELL! I'm thankful my children are not like that," said a duck, who was leading her young brood to the water for their first swim. "No one can help admiring my little family. I heard some one say only yesterday that they were like balls of golden down; but those creatures!" and she glanced contemptuously at two ungainly cygnets, who were waddling up the plank that led to the swan house.

"Wait a bit, ma'am," said an old jackdaw, who was standing near enough to hear her soliloquy; "it's always a pity to form a hasty judgment. There will come a day by-and-by when your 'little balls of golden down,'-I think that was it, wasn't it?-will have grown into ordinary ducks like yourself (no offence, ma'am!) and meantime 'those creatures' will have turned into swans! I fancy, when that day comes, an impartial judge would give them the prize for beauty, even over your handsome family!"