longs to the tailor bird. It is the most ingenious of all nests, being composed of two leaves sewn together in the shape of a pouch, open at the top. Sometimes it is a dead leaf and a living one which the bird chooses, and using its bill as a needle, sews them together with pieces of fibres. Occasionally two living leaves are chosen. See how comfortably the inside is lined with feathers and soft down! This little boot, cut out of coal, with its high heel, and tiny rows of nails, was made by a blind miner at Dudley, in Staffordshire. You would think it beautifully made, even for a person with eyes; for a blind man, it is marvellous. But God is very merciful: if He takes away one sense, He increases the power of another. In the case of this poor miner, his delicacy of touch must have been almost equivalent to sight.'

At this moment the reading was interrupted by a knock at the door, a face peeped in, and the words, 'Please, Miss Sibbie, will you come to bed?' were heard.

'Oh, bother!' exclaimed Sybil without moving. 'I can't come now, Mary Anne.'

'Yes, please, my dear, you must, as it is bath night.'

'Hurrah for the tub!' cried Maurice. 'What a pity it is that I never see you on Sundays, Sib, when you are actually clean, and have smooth hair!'

Sybil boxed his ears for his impudence, and then, Miss Carey having exerted her authority, consented to go off to bed.

'We mustn't read any more now she has gone,' said Miss Carey; 'besides, the letter is too long to finish to-night. I daresay Maurice may come again on Monday, and hear the rest of it.'

I like it so much,' said Hilda; don't you, Olive ?'

Pleasure derived from the Letter.

103

'Yes, immensely; and we shall look at everything in the room with so much more interest now. I hope you will go with us next time, Miss Carey.'

'I should like it very much, dear, if Mr. Clive has no objection.'

CHAPTER XI.

AUNT MIRIAM'S LETTER CONTINUED.

N the following Monday, the same party were again assembled in the bow window, and Miss Carey continued the reading:

'Now we have travelled to the fire-place, and

although, being summer time, there are no coals to be seen, we must not pass by without a few words on the subject. Do any of you know that coal, which looks like black shiny stone, is formed of the leaves and branches of plants and trees? During the earlier periods of the earth, its surface was covered with a rank vegetation, chiefly of plants now unknown to us,—among them, many ferns. At that time, too, the globe was subject to greater changes from volcanic action than it now is: vast tracts of land suddenly sank, and were covered by the sea, while islands and continents rose from the bottom of the ocean and became dry land. During these convulsions, the water rushing in strong currents over the land, tore up and carried away with it all that grew on its surface. When equilibrium was restored, and the waters became still, the matter they carried was deposited in strata or beds, the heavier particles settling down first, and the lighter in succession. These convul

Origin of the Chimney-Sweepers' Festival. 105

sions must have occurred frequently in the formation of our coal-fields, as the coal is found not in one deposit, but in several "seams," one over the other, with clay or rock between them. The vegetable fibre may be easily seen in coal by the aid of the microscope; but in many cases the forms of the plants of which the coal is composed may be seen plainly in the mud or stone which separates the seams, and which has retained the impression of the leaves, lost by the vegetable mass in its change into coal.

'Would any of you care to hear the origin of the chimneysweepers' May-day festival? Somewhere or other I have read the following story :-There once lived in London a Lady Montague, a widow, with one young son, the delight and pride of her life. Suddenly this boy disappeared. All London learnt the news; and he was sought for long and diligently, but in vain; no traces of him could be discovered. You can imagine the poor mother's dreadful grief, as months went by, and even years, without tidings of her little boy. She had long since given up all hopes of recovering him, when one day a young boy was sent to sweep the chimneys in Lady Montague's house. He lost his way in the numerous black passages, and instead of returning by the right chimney, he descended by another into one of the bedrooms, where he saw a comfortable bed. The poor little fellow was worn out with fatigue, and most likely under the influence of vague memories; anyhow, the temptation was too much for him, and, all black as he was, he got in between the white dainty sheets, and was soon plunged in a deep sleep, during which Lady Montague entered the room. She was struck by his delicate features and appearance; and, in spite of his blackness, was persuaded that he was no common chimney-sweep.

When questioned, he could give no information about his early years. His age and voice, and a certain air of ease, which showed he was no stranger to the place, established his identity in the eyes of his mother. She recognised him as her son, and his name and fortune were restored to him. In remembrance of the affair, she established an annual dinner on the 1st of May, to which all the chimneysweepers in London were bidden. After her death this dinner was given up, and the present May-day festival instituted instead.

Her

'On the mantel-shelf stand two large black owls, bearing candles on the top of their heads. Here is also a whole family of pug dogs: grandpapa, big and fierce; grandmamma, fat and wheezy; one young grandson scratching his ear playfully, with a merry look in his face; another sitting down as quiet and grave as a judge; for dogs have their different characteristics as well as human beings. Look at these funny little figures, who, when touched, thrust their long red tongues in and out, and twirl their heads about. In the midst of them sits an emaciated Chinese beggar woman, with long skinny bony arms. hair is dragged up to a knot at the very top of her head, and her eyes have such a hungry eager look in them, that one almost wishes to give her a piece of bread, so famished does she appear. She is cringing at the feet of a very grand personage, probably one of the highest mandarins in China, judging by his peacock's feather and long pigtail. From his rich apparel, he might be akin to the fierce gentleman opposite, with whom we first made acquaintance. But if he be, his countenance is a pleasing contrast; for, instead of wild, ferocious looks, we have here the most benignant of faces. His small sleepy eyes gaze placidly at you; a