"Good heavens !" he cried, "fancy that child here; was ever such a thing seen? Take care of him, somebody; and carry him away."

Alice had descended by the back stairs, and slipped round the house when she knew the men had come.

And Daniel was eagerly seized upon, and carried off to the kitchen in triumph.

Strange to say, the lion, though obviously timid, was rather exasperated by the king's voice, and gave forth one most resonant roar. To Lizzie, it sounded like the last trumpet predicted in the Revelation, and she inwardly bade a long farewell to earth. She, however, was not the only one daunted; the African (from Hoxton) was decidedly uncomfortable. But the keeper who was in the habit of feeding the animal was present, and under cover of a toothsome morsel, administered a strong narcotic.

This particular animal was accustomed to take them, as he it was who accompanied Britannia through the streets, on the top of the highly-gilt and painted fabric provided for the allegorical figure.

There was a van outside, and into this at last Lalph the second, who cannot be said to have abused his liberty, was safely conveyed. News came that the lioness, who had been traced to a neighbouring heath, had killed a donkey, and in turn had fallen to young Mr. Pinto's rifle. Its companion was an old male, pretty well wearied by an unusual ramble, and not sorry to submit to his captors, as the country was not at all like his native land; there were no springbok about, and, after all, if a good meal was provided, there was not much fag in jumping through a hoop.

And so tranquillity was restored at Checquers. But little Daniel had produced an entire change in the behaviour of Mrs. Ross Bunting. The small gentleman was placed at breakfast in the dining-room close to his grandmamma. He was called a laird, to indicate the exclusively Caledonian nature of his character, and was allowed treats which even drew some warnings from Alice herself, who was present. He had had strawberry jam already, but it was thought right that, as a Ross, he should be offered the national marmalade.

"Well, I never, Master Daniel!" cried Alice, with large eyes and a bewildered smile.

Mrs. Candour came in after the meal, and of course had to hear the whole adventure in minutest detail; though rumour had already supplied her with all the reliable facts.

"And to see that little man," exclaimed Mrs. Bunting, "playing with the lion as if it was a kitten, really it was beautiful. Pop goes down the paw, and over goes Toddles; up again Toddles, and at

him with his little fists: and what next? Why, both rolling on the floor; which is lion, which is Toddles, nobody knows."

Myth was rapidly and industriously at work.

"Oh!" muttered the grandmamma in conclusion, "the child is pure Ross, and no mistake. How it came about I cannot tell. Effie Bunting and that poor wig-block-why they should produce a Ross passes conjecture. A bantam born from two barn-doors: this is puzzle for the philosophers. I don't think I shall let Effie go about teaching. No! It is not quite the thing for the mother of a Ross. After all, she's a pretty porcelain-looking kind of girl, and I cannot see why one of the clergy should not take a fancy to her."

Effie was to be home by luncheon. She was in the train which they called the slip-coach, and could hardly believe her eyes when she saw her mother, little Daniel, and Alice on the platform awaiting her arrival.

There was something of the insipid water-colour about her appearance at first, but a closer inspection showed traces of care, which are always of interest. The eyes were weary; she had experienced much anxiety and disappointment. And those who have witnessed (as she had done) the death of illusions which sometimes concludes a course of excess, declare it to be a ghost which can never, with absolute security against eturn, be laid in this world. The lion story had to be as much minimised, in early recitals, to prevent shock, as it was ultimately enlarged to produce greater dramatic effects. Happy walk home! much remarked on by the tradespeople, for this united family was an entirely new spectacle. Eliza and the cook were in the front garden, too excited to stay indoors.

During the strange visit of the morning, cook had locked herself in her bedroom and closed her ears. On emerging, she thought it right to justify herself, in some measure, to her mistress.

"I was took rather sudden, to be sure, mum; but I am no coward-oh, no, quite the contrary. I face cows on the high-road with the best of them, leastways if there is a garden gate handy, should an animal be overdriven. But I was never in a situation before where there were wild beasts. And there is few that are partial to such."

The lady of the house admitted that the circumstances were exceptional, and that to encounter lions belonged in no way to the duties of the kitchen.

Such then was the story of little Daniel, and it is pleasant to think that concord sprang out of the scene which supplied the basis of his reputation.

W

ON BEHALF OF BIRDS.

WHAT would the general tattler and purveyor of conversational odds and ends do without that model of discreet indiscretion, loquacity and anonymity combined-"a little bird"? Nay, the very foundation of nursery government, if there be such a thing in these days when children are born for the sole purpose of governing and teaching their parents, would be undermined by the loss of this useful guide to the pinnacle of knowledge whence the powers may descend upon the fugitive peccadillo. In childhood's days the "little bird" is a very wonderful friend of the family with most inconvenient omniscience; and perhaps it was an unconscious recollection of the only possible explanation-to the young thinkerof this phenomenon which induced Sir Boyle Roche to ascribe the capacity of being in two places at once to a bird.

No less important, and perhaps even more desirable from the point of view of practical life in this vale of woe, is the existence of flesh-and-blood little birds. Luckily any slight unpleasantness which may have become associated with the imaginary creature vanishes when the sometime victim arrives at the stage of noticing the genuine article. Very few, whether "grown ups" or children, fail to take some joy in the pretty things that lend vocal sweetness to the air and life and movement to every hedgerow. There should really be none to disregard the incalculable charm which birds add to every open-air scene, and it would be well for every one who finds delight therein to know a little more about the individual birds themselves, and the entrancing variety of their shape and colour, their habits and their notes. Any very complete or universal knowledge of this kind is, perhaps, a counsel of perfection; but the fact remains that the enjoyment of almost every moment spent out of doors in these islands—in this respect we may with justifiable assumption call them the Isles of Blessedness-is enhanced by the presence of birds. In the midst of the actual rush of the hunt, or the excitement of a warm corner with the guns, attention is, perhaps, absorbed to the exclusion of this gentler witchery; but other times there are, and plenty of

them, when the attentive ear and quick eye find a feast of interest afforded on all sides. Has it not been said indeed, perhaps rather heretically, that not the least of the joys of him who pursues the "gentle craft" lie in his leisure and his opportunity to appreciate the teeming life around him?

It savours scarcely aught of insular pride or prejudice to say that in this matter we have the advantage of our Continental friends and neighbours. A prominent cause, and, at the same time, a noticeable effect of their inferiority, is the ubiquitous notice-board. On the Continent the plague of the placard has extended even more widely than with us. Everywhere the eye is met by an "affiche," be the spot ever so rural and, to all appearance, far from the madding crowd. It is true that these eye-sores are not large and brilliant after the manner of those which now form the most hopeful of the crops of our distressed agriculturists. They are generally small and often very roughly written, but their legend is peculiarly significant and -shall it be said ?-offensive. Most of them say, "Chasse réservée," while the remainder conjugate the verbs "défendre" and "battre " in all possible permutations and combinations. Now, what does all this mean in connection with a secluded hedgerow or copse? It means that some bold man with a gun and a large loose-limbed dog wants to go in for "le sport," and desires to return to the wife of his bosom with a plump little sparrow or a tiny finch dangling from his belt. For fear he should find no "game," he is obliged to preserve it! That is where the horror comes in. The majority of the most beautiful spots and districts of Continental scenery are shorn of more than half their charm by reason of their total lack of bird life; wherefore the travelling Englishman heaves a sigh, partly, it must be admitted, of self-complacency; for, with all our reputation for killing things, we have up to the present time kept our hands and murderous. weapons off small fowl.

Still, it will not do for us to be puffed up. There are other ways of killing a dog than hanging him, and, be the reason what it may, a serious thinning, amounting in some cases to positive gaps, has taken place of late years in the population of our country side. A few years ago, for instance, a goldfinch was no very unusual sight, more particularly on commons and waste ground where flourished the thistle that it loves. To-day, such of the goldfinches sold in the market as are not other birds masquerading willy-nilly under borrowed colours-a trick sometimes carried out with extreme skill -are mostly foreigners imported and labelled "English." Many of the linnets and finches, again, are conspicuous by their absence, and

it is impossible to say how much poorer our gardens, shrubberies, and hedges are for the loss of their warbling. It were a thankless and, to a great extent, a useless task to attempt to trace the precise cause of the decline in our feathered population. The hunt would be one of much difficulty, and complicated by sundry cross-scents. How is it possible to find an explanation which will at once fit the disappearance of birds on which there is practically no drain arising from the demands of the market, and at the same time the flourishing increase of others for which the demand is enormous, e.g. the lark, much sought after whether for song or supper-ball-supper-and yet more numerous now than ever before?

To cure an evil it is best, no doubt, to ascertain its cause, but, if that baffles inquiry, then take the remedy that comes readiest to your hand, and do the best that in you lies with it. In the present case the law has furnished the bird-lover with weapons which, with careful wielding, may do much. Unfortunately the protection of wild birds is a pastime in which not many people have troubled to make themselves proficient, and yet it is a game that is emphatically worth the candle. In the next few pages it is proposed to set out briefly its main rules and possibilities.

Legislative efforts towards the preservation of birds have been somewhat spasmodic. Of course from of old there have been game laws, but then there were the interests of private persons to keep that subject to the fore. What is everyone's business, however, is no one's, and similarly nobody in particular cares to take much trouble about things which are the property of everybody in general-a category to which wild birds belong. The precise motive forces of the first attempt at the protection of this common inheritance is lost in obscurity. Not improbably it was some very small occasion, and the importance of the matter at stake was not at first generally or fully appreciated. However that may be, the year 1880 saw an Act passed which set up a close time for birds of all kinds, and hedged certain specified birds round with extra precautions. Then came a supplementary little Act in 1881, which merely added the lark to the list of special birds of the previous year. Several years passed and the subject attracted comparatively little attention. It may be doubted, indeed, whether much energy was shown in administering the Act. At last there occurred what may almost be called an accident, which, as so often happens, had far wider effects than anyone would have guessed to be likely. A panic arose that the Cornish chough was nigh to total extinction, because for one reason or another its eggs had acquired a very considerable pecuniary value in the market. Popular no less