burst in a farm-yard, raising a great outcry of pigs, geese, ducks, and the like.

The long street of the village was deserted; the inhabitants, if any were left there, must have taken refuge in their cellars. In passing through, Victor saw no one but two scared-looking boys craning their necks forward from the top of a haystack, and an old man who stood stupidly at his doorpost, exclaiming, over and over again, as if he could not understand it, "A battle here! A battle here!”

Then he met a riderless horse careering madly up the road. He turned off across the fields, following the direction in which this horse had come; thus at last he reached a little knoll, from which one corner at least of the fight was plainly visible to him.

But even he could perceive that it was almost over, and with what a result! To his left a confused mass of red breeches had turned their backs and were making off for the hills. Would they not face about? No; shells were bursting among them from an unseen battery, and they quickened their pace to a run. Victor uttered an exclamation of despair. The Germans were beating his countrymen! Could he believe his eyes?

Right before him, indeed, the French still held out in a farmhouse and its enclosures, which for the nonce had been turned into a fortress, and was occupied by a detachment covering the retreat. From behind every wall and window poured the shots as fast as men could load and fire; the whole front of the building was hidden in smoke, and it seemed scarcely possible to approach without being struck dead. But, in face of this fire, a swarm of German skirmishers came creeping up the slope, at the bottom of which the bayonets of a whole regiment glistened on a newly-reaped field the horrible stubble of

war!

Victor held his breath as he watched them advance. Lulu, after showing fresh signs of disquiet at the noise, had finished by resolving to put up with it, and was quietly nibbling a bush as the best thing for a tired pony to do under the circumstances. The young rider let it do as it pleased, only giving a jerk of the bridle if it tried to turn away from the edge of the knoll. And thus, sitting sideways, almost falling off sometimes in his excitement, he watched the deadly work go on, so close to him that one or two bullets struck the ground not far off without his noticing them. He had never before seen a shot fired in anger, but now all other feelings were lost in the absorption of such a scene.

From the front and from the flank the German skirmishers gathered towards this farm, taking advantage of every hollow and fold of the ground to cover their advance. Slowly they came on and silently; no cry or shot answered the fierce shouts of defiance, the unearthly screech of the Turcos that rose above the incessant roar of musketry kept up by the defenders. There was something appalling in the silent steadiness of this advance. Man after man staggered and fell, but none turned back. They had stopped-they were giving way! No; once and again the assailants halted, but it was only to press on with fresh resolution. Thick drops of perspiration ran down Victor's back. Every minute, which to him seemed an hour, brought these spiked helmets nearer the walls which were in vain dealing death among

them at every step. Like the waves of the tide the groups of men crept on, growing thicker yet falling. faster as they drew more and more closely round the object of their attack, till their leading files could be seen in the vegetable garden of the farm. Then there was a rush, before which the fire suddenly slackened, and the Frenchmen came pouring out from behind, leaving the place to the conquerors.

It was all over now. Victor saw his countrymen flying wildly for their lives, and heard the deafening cheer with which the Germans hailed their victory. Till this moment he had stood as if spellbound, but now he became conscious that he must provide for his own safety. To his right, a field or two off, he caught sight of a German battery being dragged up with difficulty over the freshly-ploughed groundthey were making for the very ridge on which he stood. It was indeed time for him to be off. shook Lulu's bridle and rode away, hardly knowing which way to turn.

He

The pony, left now to his own judgment, took the shortest way home, flying like the wind down along a grassy field road, and the rider pressed it on without looking where they went till he found himself carried headlong down a ravine, where he had nearly lost his seat half a dozen times, or crushed his leg against the trunk of some scrubby tree. It was by chance rather than management that he got safe down. Then, unable to turn back, Lulu scrambled into a defile choked with fugitives, everyone struggling to force a way for himself along the hollow road made almost impassable in more than one place by abandoned gun-carriages and the bodies of men and horses. All show of order had been lost; officers and soldiers, horse and foot, artillerymen and Zouaves, were mingled in wild confusion. It seemed impossible to advance, yet behind hundreds of men were pouring into the narrow pass, clamouring for those in front to clear the way.

Victor began to comprehend his danger when he saw himself entangled in this crowd of faces, white with fear and red with fury, grimed with dust and powder, and streaked with blood. While others looked anxiously before and behind, he closed his eyes, and let bis pony be pressed on, his ears stunned by the din of shouts, curses, cries of impatience, rage and terror, the neighings of excited horses, the useless commands of officers, the groans and entreaties of the wounded. The boy's bewildered senses allowed him to form but one clear thought: now that it was too late he wished he had never come near a battle-such a battle as this!

At last, swayed along with the panic-stricken mob, he reached the head of the defile. Here the road was found entirely blocked up by an overturned waggon. The soldiers, Victor among them, turned aside, making short work of the low hedge, and streamed forward over a potato field. Then suddenly, on the brow of a hill to their right, appeared a line of bayonets! Whether these men were French or Germans was uncertain, for at once their front became hid in smoke, and the bullets were whirring and clattering below, to complete the panic of the fugitives, who scattered on every side with cries of despair. Their retreat was cut off!

Victor set his lips tight, and gave Lulu its head. They were making for a wood in front of them,

running the gauntlet of fire as they plunged heavily through the field. The bullets passed all about, whistling by his ears or making a thud in the soft ground. He scarcely noticed that one had struck just beside him and spattered the earth in his face. Suddenly the pony reared up with a convulsive bound. He was just able to throw himself off when it fell helplessly, rolling over on the potato stalks with a terrible neigh of pain; one or two struggles, a choking noise in its throat, a quick heaving of the chest and distended nostrils, a look of pitiable astonishment in its eyes, turned wildly for the last time upon its young master, then the eyelids dropped, and Lulu lay stark and still.

(To be continued.)

The company choose a letter, and then six adjectives and six nouns, all beginning with this letter, everyone taking the same. The umpire allows ten minutes for all to make what sense they can with these words-either a sentence, a short story, at the bottom. The ten minutes up, the papers are called in, or poetry (just as each one likes), and putting their own nares and the umpire will read the compositions aloud, putting on them the numbers I., II., III., &c., as he reads them (omitting the names at the bottom)-at the same time the company (each being provided with a slip of paper) write down who they think is the author, and numbering as the umpire does. When all have been read, he asks each in turn who wrote No. I., &c., and the one who has discovered most right wins the

I.

HE party about to join in this may consist of any number of persons from six upwards. Let them all be seated in a semicircle, or in such a manner as that all may be in a good position to enter into the game. Cut some slips of paper, and let each person draw one until "the prize" is taken. Then let the person to whose lct it has fallen commence the game.

He informs the audience that he is going on a journey. His journey must be made either northwards or southwards, but he may only take these two directions. He must not travel direct east or direct west, but he may travel N.E. or N.W., or if he has commenced a journey southwards, he may travel S. E. or S.W. Should he transgress on these points he is to pay a forfeit, and the person who has detected his slip is to be traveller.

When naming a place at which he stops on his journey for the company to guess, he only names the first and last letter, or another plan would be to give some word that rhymes with the place; thus, with regard to the first, for Ripon he would give R―n, and (if the rhyming should be proposed instead) for Dover, clover, for Frome, dome, for Leeds, seeds, for Reading, wedding, &c.

Suppose, then, a person commences, "I'm going a journey southwards, starting from Edinburgh. My first calling place will be B-1, to which some historical interest clings; what is it?" The traveller here applies to the first person, and if he cannot answer passes on to the next, and the next, and so on, until someone answers the place correctly. "Bothwell Bridge, in Lanarkshire,'

answers someone.

The one who has solved the question then takes the lead as

traveller, and continues, "From Bothwell Bridge I shall proceed to Ds, to visit a poet's burial-place." The traveller passes to the next person on his right for an answer, and again passes from one to another until the answer is found. If a person cannot think of the place he says "Pass," and the next tries. "Dumfries, the burial-place of Robert Burns," answered someone, and continued, "From Dumfries I'm off to A-——n, the chief seaport in the county.' "Annan," was the reply, and the answerer proceeded, "At Annan I set sail and proceed to C- -e, where there is a castle famous in history's pages.' "Carlisle, where Queen Elizabeth imprisoned Mary, Queen of Scots," was the reply. "From Carlisle to K--k. where I am looking forward to passing a few weeks amid the picturesque scenery." "Keswick," answered someone. "From Keswick to L-1, a large seaport town, whose docks cover upwards of 100 acres. 66 Liverpool," guessed someone. "From Liverpool I cross the Mersey in the boat, for there is no bridge, and proceed to L- -n, near Oswestry. "The beautiful vale. of Llangollan," was the answer. From Llangollan (which is pronounced in that part as Langothlin) I proceed to the nearest station, Whittington, and make a long journey until I reach B- -m, the toy-shop of Europe, and I compare sweet Llangollan with the present begrimed air." Oh, that must be Birmingham," was the answer of someone. "From Birmingham to pretty little L-n, a fashionable watering place." "Leamington." "From Leamington to Sd, not a pretty place but famous, because a great poet was born there." Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace of Shakspere."

was the reply.

66

N.B. The adjectives and nouns need not be kept in the order first given, but may be moved about to suit the convenience of each composer, only all must be brought in.

III.

Any number of persons can take part in this game, but about seven is, I think, the most interesting.

Seven small boxes will be required and a covered basket, and each player must also be provided with several slips of card or paper, and a lead pencil.

The company having taken their seats in a circle, the basket is placed in the centre. Then on one slip they each write : 1. An adjective, as pretty, small, &c.

These, which none but the writer must see, are placed in separate boxes (which should be, if possible, all alike) and the boxes thrown into the basket. This should be shaken; then each takes one box, and on another slip of paper writes: 2. A common noun, as town, river, &c.

This second slip is placed with the other, and so on; each changing between the words.

3. The name of a town, river, &c.

4. Say inhabited by men, monkeys, fish, &c. 5. Their occupation or living.

6. Their chief enemy.

7. Means of defence.

8. The name of a person.

9. What he did.

10. The end of it was

When all has been written each player takes one box and reads aloud the separate slips in the order in which they are numbered.

One evening we tried this game, which is laughable if well played, and the following is a specimen of results :

monkeys, whose chief occupation is (5) lace-making; their (1) The little (2) village of (3) London, inhabited by (4) chief enemy the (6) cats, their only means of defence their (7) gills. (8) Disraeli once (9) attacked them; the end of it was ANNIE PAULIG. (10) he lost his tail feathers.

-Frank, well dressed, about nineteen; well, yes, I don't mind saying he is nice-looking, fresh-coloured, healthy-looking, without that sallow smoke-dried complexion our young men in town have. Frank is not a young man to be pitied, any more than Kate is a girl. He is with his father, and seems to like his profession very much, and certainly it gives him a good deal of out-of-door exercise, and brings him into contact with all sorts of people. But though the Stevens mix with the squire and the clergyman, and with the better class of people, they are just as attentive to their poorer patients, as you will hear.

I forgot to say that it was real, downright Christmas weather; in fact, if you were not very careful, the roads were so slippery that you would soon find that it was more downright than upright weather. The drive from the station was most enjoyable, the air was exhilarating, and gave one such a colour as no artificial nonsense could ever impart; indeed, I thought, if one were going out for an evening or wanted to look particularly well, the best thing for the complexion would be a drive in an open vehicle. But, Kate says, there is a risk of its being overdone, for some girls she knows are always

"Ruddier than the cherry,"

and that the fresh air is apt to make your cheeks rather patchy.

We drove past the church and saw the vicar going in with two of his children, who were anxious to see the loads of holly and evergreen that the squire and the farmers had sent, and which Kate, and Frank, and I helped to put up, after we had tea. I must say I found this rather a slow business; there was only Frank worth caring about, and I could have seen more of him at home.

Some of the young ladies, and some not so young, were very attentive to the curate-a round-faced, whiskerless, mild young man-who was supposed to have correct ideas on church architecture, and was regarded as "so interesting." The lazy way in which this young fellow moved about the church, giving directions unasked for and answering questions that were asked, was rather disgusting to one who did not consider him so interesting. I did not care to be dancing attendance on him, not able to nail up a bough or to festoon a wreath without his approval,

and so I was very glad when Kate suggested I must be tired after my journey, which I really was.

But the next morning was a very memorable one. I had often read about Christmas Eve in the country; of the family circle gathering round the large fireplace on which the huge logs crackled; of the village waits who came round in decent time, before folks went to bed, and when they could be had into the house and warmed and fed.

These latter were somewhat as I had pictured, a detachment of the church choir, in which the juvenile voices preponderated, though they were balanced to some extent by one loud bass voice, which was more husky than melodious.

It was a very happy time; it was all so strange and so quiet to me, who had never been out of London at Christmas. Kate and Frank were very nice and pleasant always, but on this occasion they did their best to make me happy, thinking I should find it rather dull. But, indeed, I was far from that; the quiet enjoyment of the family, the comfort of their home, the peace and contentment I saw in the village-I did not see a ragged or a dirty child or adult all the while I was at Farley-the consideration of the well-to-do for the poor, and the respect of the poor for those who helped them, the anxiety of the good vicar for the welfare, both spiritual and temporal, of all in the village, whether they attended church or not, made me feel as I never feel in town, that I was in an atmosphere of "peace on earth and goodwill toward men."

But I must not run on in this way, for, seasonable as such feelings might be, they would not be a more appropriate introduction than an event which occurred that evening.

There were many people in the village that were looking forward to Christmas Eve, but, perhaps, none had such peculiar reasons for thankfulness as the Everetts, a family in humble circumstances, that had attained, recently, some little local notoriety.

The father, an elderly man, had some time before been caught in the act of killing a hare and taking possession of it; and having been brought before a magistrate who was a sworn enemy to poachers, he had been sentenced to a month's imprisonment. In vain Doctor Stevens had tried to get the sentence altered