that though she had known him all his life, she was rather proud than otherwise of being his sister and companion. "Oh! Leonard, where have you been all this immense time?" said she, "I have been so longing for you to come in to read that canto of Dante with me."

Leonard laughed, and said, "Well, Cicely, I will answer for it, you would never guess what I have been about; and here's my little Grace, sitting as grave as a judge, as usual, reading away with all her might at those books, till I believe she must read them backwards again, as soon as she has come to the end of them. And why could not my little Grace have got up and come to meet me when I came into the room?" said he, as he playfully parted the beautiful curls that hung round his favourite sister's head.

Grace laughed, and fondling her brother's hand, said, “O, Leonard, you are quite spoilt, you expect so much homage from us all."

Leonard approached the fireplace, where his mother was sitting; and turning to his father, said, "Well, sir, is there any news ?"

"No, none," said Mr. Loraine, "except this impending question of the war, which seems every day getting nearer to a crisis."

"Where have you been, my love ?" said Mrs. Loraine, addressing her son, and laying down her worsted work upon her knee, and looking up into his face, in a manner that showed how devoted she was to her eldest son.

"O I have been out, dear mamma, with John Rogers this last hour, he is very much worse to-night, I have

been reading to him. You must not blame me, you must blame my little guide there, who took me to see him two or three days ago," said he, looking at Jessy Seymour.

"I wish Jessy would not introduce you to any more cottages," said Cicely, "for really we get little enough of your time."

"Well, I wish somebody would care as much for my time," said Maxwell, who had been playing with the ears of the dog on the rug for the last quarter of an hour, "I am sure, if Alice would say half as much to me I would leave the stables and whole stud, at least an hour earlier every evening; I would even leave old Black Bess, whom I love like fun, if Alice would say half as much to me, as Cicely has said to you." But no one took any heed of poor Maxwell's lamentations, which is usually the case with younger brothers, who, finding that fourteen never can get the same respect as seventeen, fly to the stables, to find in grooms and hostlers the sympathy which they cannot find in the drawing-room.

But tea came in, and all of them gathered round the table, while the warm blaze of the fire, the soft Turkey carpets, and the scarlet of the magnificent curtains, continued to hold out with renewed energy against the besieging army of wind and boughs, that wailed outside the window.

"Robson," said Mr. Loraine, to the butler, as he came in a second time with the coffee, and was leaving the room with that peculiarly soft tread which only butlers are able to accomplish, "I am sure I have heard

a sound out in the road, as if some one were calling out in an unusual manner at this late hour; I wish you would send out and see what's the matter."

"Sound of voices, papa?" said Alice, springing up in alarm.

"Sound in the lane, my dear?" said Mrs. Loraine, putting down her teacup.

"Now for the fun," cried Maxwell, " murder and no mistake," as he started up, and rushed towards the door, eager to be in any row that might be at hand.

"Pray don't all be so frightened, I did not mean to work up a romance," said Mr. Loraine, "but hark, there is a voice." And so indeed there was, for on a sudden, easily to be distinguished was the sound of one in the road not far off. All in the room were now listening with eager attention, and watching the door for the return of Robson. The door opened, and Robson entered, "it's a messenger, sir," said he, "riding through the village; the war is proclaimed with Russia." For a moment a deep silence fell on the room all eyes involuntarily rested upon Leonard. It was what all had been expecting, and some dreading. For the instant the national trouble and the great political event were paled before the far more absorbing thought of losing for a scene of danger and death a favourite son and brother.

WAR-THE COTTAGE.

The cheerful fire of a cottage hearth was flickering and flaring up the chimney, surrounding with its liquid flames the kettle which Mrs. Dennis had placed upon

it. The tea things were on the table; the room had just been tidied up by Jane, the picture of a cottage girl, whose kind quiet clean face, surmounted by an intelligent brow and large hazel eyes, spoke the character of an obedient and affectionate child, her mother's constant aid and comfort, and gave fair promise of growing up to be what a wife and mother should be herself.

"It's all right, mother," said Jane, "I wonder where father is to-night, it's a very rough night, and the wind blows very loudly outside; I've just been looking up the lane, and I can't see anything of father or John."

"Never mind, girl, put down the latch, and turn the key, let us come up-stairs, and let us tidy a bit and lose no time. Half the battle in a cottage, Jane, is good management and activity, and making the best of spare moments. Half the troubles of a poor man's life come more from a shiftless wife, than from small means; and I mustn't let my Jane go out into future life without having learned the duties of a cottager's wife."

So saying, Mrs. Dennis led the way and Jane followed, and they were soon busied in tidying up the room above stairs, as they had done that below, although at first sight you would have thought that there was not a single brack or cobweb left to arrange or set straight. Mrs. Dennis had indeed learned that lesson, which it would be well that every cottager's wife should learn, that as far as this world goes good management is nearly everything. It comprehends much, the knowledge how to cook and serve up scraps in a tasty way, a kind and cheerful smile to welcome a tired and wearied husband, a temper which, having had the

whole day in-doors to arrange itself, may be able to bear a little irritability with him who has had more buffeting with the world outside. Another part of good management is a good fire, kept under with cinders and potato rinds till half-past five, and then made up with coal before the good man comes in, to make a cheerful blaze, and to make him say, "How does my missis manage with the coals? my girl keeps a fire like a duchess; I can't think how she manages it when coals are two shillings a hundred."

There are many other parts of a good manager which I have not time to describe now, such as the way in which the little bit of Sunday meat goes on dividing itself into smaller and smaller pieces, till almost Saturday comes again, thus forming a nucleus, and giving a flavour to all the surrounding vegetables for the husband and the father on whom the whole house depends. It is a firstrate school for a cottage girl to be Mrs. Dennis's daughter, and yet, despite all her discipline and rule, there was no happier little face in school or lane, on Sunday going to Church in her best bonnet, and on Tuesday going to market in her old one, than little Jane Dennis; every one knew her, every one liked her, almost loved her; she always had a smile, a kind word for each one who passed; respectfulness and cheerfulness seemed to hold a perpetual reign in her hazel eyes, and her rosy cheeks. But of all this anon. Dennis came in at last, half-an-hour later than usual, and found just such a scene as I have described above. He threw his tools down upon the ground, occupied the seat by the fire, blessed his little Jane, said a few