the nest, which was alive with all sorts of vermin. It was a veritable carrion-pit, horrid and disgusting. The question, however, was to get possession of this future despoiler.'

The count could not clamber into the nest, for then he would not have been able to reach the topmost round of the ladder again, so he pulled a stick out and poked the young bird, who seized it with his talons, whereupon he dragged it towards him. The count was for a moment 'without hold or support of any kind.' No wonder that those beneath him were made giddy and sick through watching his movements; no wonder that he was himself in such a perspiration that the moisture ran down into his shoes, and that on coming below he was unable to hold his hand and arm quiet from the excessive exertion.

THE TWO OXFORD STUDENTS.

Leopold. John, go to Mr Marcus's room, and ask him to lend me Livingstone's Travels in Africa.

John. Mr Marcus, my master sends me to beg you will lend him Livingstone's Travels.

Marcus. Tell Mr Leopold that I make it a rule never to lend my books, but if he will take the trouble to come to my room, he can read Livingstone's Travels as long as he likes.

Three months after.

Marcus. Thomas, go and ask Mr Leopold to lend me his bellows to blow my fire. You will never be able to light it without them, I am quite sure.

Thomas. Mr Leopold, your friend, Mr Marcus, has sent me to beg the loan of your bellows to blow his fire.

Leopold. I am very sorry. Give my compliments to Mr Marcus, and tell him I make it a rule never to lend my bellows; but if he will give himself the trouble of coming into my room, he is welcome to blow my fire as long as he likes.

3.

Though babbling only to the vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

4.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an invisible thing-
A voice, a mystery;

5.

The same whom in my schoolboy-days I listened to; that cry

Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky.

6.

To seek thee did I often rove

Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen!

7.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

8.

O blessed bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, fairy place

That is fit home for thee!

THE BURNING OF MOSCOW.

On the 14th September 1812, while the rear-guard of the Russians were in the act of evacuating Moscow, Napoleon reached the hill called the Mount of Salvation, because it is there that the natives kneel and cross themselves at first sight of the Holy City.

Moscow seemed lordly and striking as ever, with the steeples of its thirty churches, and its copper domes glittering in the sun; its palaces of eastern architecture mingled with trees, and surrounded with gardens; and its Kremlin, a huge triangular mass of towers, something between a palace and a castle, which rose like a citadel out of the general mass of groves and buildings. But not a chimney sent up smoke, not a man appeared on the battlements, or at the gates. Napoleon gazed every moment, expecting to see a train of bearded boyards arriving to fling themselves at his feet, and place their wealth at his disposal. His first exclamation was: 'Behold at last that celebrated city!' His next: 'It was full time!' His army, less regardful of the past or the future, fixed their eyes on the goal of their wishes, and a shout of 'Moscow !-Moscow !' passed from rank to rank. . .

When he entered the gates of Moscow, Bonaparte, as if unwilling to encounter the sight of the empty streets, stopped immediately on entering the first suburb. His troops were quartered in the desolate city. During the first few hours after their arrival, an obscure rumour, which could not be traced, but one of those which are sometimes found to get abroad before the approach of some awful certainty, announced that the city would be

endangered by fire in the course of the night. The report seemed to arise from those evident circumstances which rendered the event probable, but no one took any notice of it, until at midnight, when the soldiers were startled from their quarters, by the report that the town was in flames. The memorable conflagration began amongst the coachmakers' warehouses and workshops in the bazaar, or general market, which was the most rich district of the city. It was imputed to accident, and the progress of the flames was subdued by the exertions of the French soldiers. Napoleon, who had been roused by the tumult, hurried to the spot, and when the alarm seemed at an end, he retired, not to his former quarters in the suburbs, but to the Kremlin, the hereditary palace of the only sovereign whom he had ever treated as an equal, and over whom his successful arms had now attained such an apparently immense superiority. Yet he did not suffer himself to be dazzled by the advantage he had obtained, but availed himself of the light of the blazing bazaar to write to the emperor proposals of peace with his own hand. They were despatched by a Russian officer of rank, who had been disabled by indisposition from following the army. But no answer was ever returned.

Next day the flames had disappeared, and the French officers luxuriously employed themselves in selecting out of the deserted palaces of Moscow, that which best pleased the fancy of each for his residence. At night, the flames again arose in the north and west quarters of the city. As the greater part of the houses were built of wood, the conflagration spread with the most dreadful rapidity. This was at first imputed to the blazing brands and sparkles which were carried by the wind; but at length it was observed, that as often as the wind changed—and it

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