ROM WALKS IN THE 'ZOO.' No. II. BY UNCLE JONATHAN. the four-footed ferocious fellows, we will now cross the gardens to a house which contains a great number of a family whose name is Quadrumana. What a hard word for you! It is used to point out animals having four hands. This family is best known to us by the name 'monkey.' At one of the gates to the park, there stands a stall kept by an old man, who seems to have a particular liking for these animals. I don't know if he really imagines the monkeys to be the best part of the Zoo, or whether he wishes to clear out his stockin-trade, but every passer-by is asked to take some nuts for the monkeys; and he often does what is known as a 'roaring trade.' 'Let me give you a pennyworth,' he says, as we stop near his stall. So we open our pockets and receive the contents of his well-filled measure. And what a lot of fun we may have with these nuts! Why, I don't believe there's a boy in the kingdom who would not give some of his pence to have his pockets stocked with a plentiful supply of nuts when he goes to the Zoo. The little monkeys seem to know that we have got something for them, for see how some of the boldest come around, thrusting their paws between the bars for our gifts, while some of the timid ones want a lot of coaxing before they cautiously creep near for a nut, to be enjoyed in the house in the top corner, where they know it will not be stolen from them by the others. What a lively and noisy lot of chatterboxes they are, to be sure! Look now at those few chasing that big fellow up the bars, across the poles, from swing to swing, and down across the floor, then up again, dodging and re-dodging, each trying its best to get to him to take away what he has in his paw. He wins in that scamper, and now sits victoriously on that perch at the top of the cage, and with a smaller companion, whom he has permitted to join in the fun, is busy pulling to pieces the feathers and ribbons which his thievish paws have snatched from some visitor's bonnet. You What a lot of stories might be told about monkeys, for they almost all possess a remarkable talent for imitation, and in many cases show great intelligence. Some people would have us believe that these monkeys are our relations. They say that our ancestors must have been monkeys. They may be very much like us, but they were not formed to walk uprightly. can't get a smile from them. They can't talk, nor can they imitate our voices. They run on all-fours, grin very unpleasantly, and chatter most unmusically. They themselves don't recognise us as relations, for in their native homes, if a man comes near, they do their best to show him that he is not wanted, by throwing twigs at him and by savagely screeching at him. The Word of God is truth, and in that we read, 'God created man in His own image.' The But let us leave the monkeys and take a peep at some other inhabitants of the Zoo. Here, on a nice sandy piece of ground, is the tortoise. Do you know the difference between a tortoise and a turtle? The turtle's shell is flat, so that he may swim in the water, but the tortoise lives on the land and his shell is elegantly arched. tortoise makes very good food for some birds; but they don't always find it easy to get at him, his legs and head are so soon taken into the shelter of his armour. birds know this, and so look out for some nice hard rock or sharp stone. They then pick Master Tortoise up in their claws, give him a flight into the air till they are right above the stone, and then let him drop. The poor fellow comes down so heavily on the stone, that his armour is split up, and so the birds get at him and gobble him up. The BY MINA E. GOULDING, AUTHOR OF 'MOTHER'S PLACE,' ETC., ETC. NE Sunday morning Sally had been sent out to buy two-pennyworth of potatoes for dinner. Perhaps some of my readers will wonder whether I really mean what I say; but you must remember that Sally's mother and gran'fer knew little or nothing about God, and therefore would just as willingly buy articles on Sunday as on Saturday. Sally was just about to enter the little dingy shop, when the sound of many voices singing fell on her ear. Now if there was one thing which stirred Sally's heart and made her bright eyes look even fuller of wonder than usual, it was music. Often had she lingered for an hour outside one or other of the houses in the more respectable streets, listening to the sounds of music and singing which had come through the halfopened windows. The streets were remarkably quiet, and the air was very calm and clear on this Sunday morning, so that the sweet sounds were borne very gently along. For a moment Sally listened, then, forgetting all about the potatoes, she walked towards the place whence the music seemed to come. At last she paused before a house at the corner of the street, and grasping the iron palings above the area with one hand, she looked steadfastly into the window of the room on the ground-floor. The house, though by no means a handsome one, had a respectable appearance, and there were white curtains at the window on which Sally's eyes were fixed. You I think it must have been very warm inside that room; at any rate, the windowsash was thrown up a little way, and Sally could hear what was going on inside. will readily understand that the poor, untaught child was not troubled by the thought that it was rude for her to stare in at the window. She only knew that there were music and singing to be heard there, and this was quite enough for her. Had it not been for the lace curtains before the window, she would have seen a beautiful but pale-faced young lady reclining on a couch inside the room; a rosy-cheeked girl, a few years older than herself, sitting at a little American organ, and some eighteen or twenty children of different ages, clustering, some round the couch, and some round the instrument. Scarcely had she fixed her eyes on the window when the singing ceased. The children inside the room were all kneeling down just then, and the lady on the couch was praying in a low voice, too low for Sally to catch any of her words. She did not make a long prayer, and Sally was soon delighted by hearing two lines of another tune played over: then all began to sing: 'Jesus, Who lived above the sky, 'He went about-He was so kind To cure poor people who were blind-' How plainly Sally heard those words! A little boy near the window was singing them in such a clear, hearty voice. He sang on just as heartily to the end of the hymn; but, although Sally still lingered outside, she did not hear another word, her heart was so full of those last two lines: 'He went about-He was so kind To cure poor people who were blind.' As she made her way home with the potatoes, she kept repeating the lines lest she should forget them. 'O, Gran'fer!' she said, as soon as she got in, 'I've heerd about him.' 'What is it you mean, lass?' enquired the old man, in a bewildered tone. 'Why, about the man as cures blind folk.' 'Ay, ay!' replied the old man, slowly. 'Gran'fer forgets things so. Where is he?' 'I dunno, Gran'fer; but sure they was singing about him livin' above the sky, and then it come in : "He went about-He was so kind To cure poor people who were blind." 'Ay, that's him,-must be him,' answered the old man. 'And you see him, lass? When's he comin'.' 'No, no! Gran'fer. I never see him. They was singin' about him, I said. I don't know as he'll come.' 'Ah!' said Gran'fer, giving his head one of its most sorrowful shakes. 'I thought he wouldn't care to come; there ain't no pay for them clever folks here.' 66 'But you ain't got it right in your head, Gran'fer; because it was, kind-to cure poor people who were blind." I'm certain sure 'twas "poor people" they sung.' 'Ay! Mebbe. Gran'fer forgets things so. What was his name?' Poor Sally looked quite dismayed. She remembered that the name came at the beginning of the first line, but upon trying to repeat it, she could only think of the words, Who lived above the sky.' Again and again she tried to remember that first word, but all in vain; and she felt so distressed at having forgotten the most important part, that she had a good cry to herself in the corner of the attic. That night, long after mother and Gran'fer were asleep, she lay awake saying over to herself what she could remember of the hymn, and trying to find the lost name. At last she crept out of her dark corner and went to look out of the one whole pane of glass. Far away in the blue sky the pretty stars were twinkling, and Sally gazed at them and repeated, wonderingly, 'Who lived above the sky,-Who lived above the sky. JESUS, Who lived above the sky!' The name flashed so suddenly upon her and seemed so plain, that she wondered how she could ever have forgotten it. She felt that she must wake Gran'fer at once and tell him; so, crossing the room, she bent over him and whispered: 'Gran'fer! Gran'fer!' Darkness and light were alike to the old man. Aroused from his sleep by her earnest voice, he moved his hand, and Sally laid hers upon it. 'I've remembered the name, Gran'fer.' LEILA'S FEARS, AND HOW SHE CONQUERED THEM. 'What name?' enquired the old man. 'Why the name of him as cures poor people as be blind. You knows I was tellin' you all about it.' The old man murmured his favourite words, 'Gran'fer forgets things so,' and then Sally, impatient to tell the name, said: "Twas Jesus, Gran'fer. "Jesus as lived above the sky." Was that the name as the lady told you?' 'Jesus,' repeated the old man, slowly and thoughtfully Ay! sure that was the name she said.' 'Well, we'll find out about him one day, Gran'fer,' said Sally, and then she went back to her bed. For fully half-an-hour after that the old man might have been heard whispering to himself, 'Jesus! ay, that's the name. Jesus 45 as opens blind men's eyes, and finds a rest for 'em. But then, I've looked for him and the rest for a many weary years, and I don't expect I'll find 'em now.' Presently his mind, so weak with age, wandered from this subject, and feeling about him, he said aloud, 'Where's Toby?' The faithful dog, always, it would seem, listening for his master's voice, got up from his resting-place close by, wagged his short tail, and finally laid his head close against the old man's cheek. 'Poor old Toby. Good Toby! Ain't he a fine dog now!' murmured the blind man. And when the light of morning came into the attic, it found the old man asleep, and Toby, wide awake, crouched close against him, keeping watch. LEILA'S FEARS, AND HOW SHE CONQUERED THEM. (Continued from page 18.) DAY or two after Leila's fright an old house in the country, ten miles from Of course the children were delighted at the unexpected treat. Promises to obey nurse and be very good were hastily given; Sarah was sent on to prepare the house; there were a few days of such noise and bustle that, for father's sake, their mother was glad when they were over. The last 'good-byes' were merrily said, the little party set out, and the house was quieter than it had been for many months. In the old house in the country the days passed pleasantly. It was early in May, and in fine weather the long walks through the fresh green lanes in search of primroses and bluebells were charming, and the old house was a capital place for a romp on wet days. Even Leila, to whom fields always suggested cattle, and dark corners spoke of untold fears, enjoyed the time thoroughly. It was one of those bright, deceptive May days-warm in the sun, but with a keen, cold wind. Nurse had gone to the village, a mile away, to buy some things they needed, and to fetch the letters if there were any. She had taken Donald with her, as she considered him 'too much of a pickle' to be left with the others. Agnes had fallen the day before and sprained her ankle, and Leila sat indoors with her. Eleanor and Gerald were at play in the garden, where Sarah was walking up and down in the sun with baby. The click of the gate at length announced nurse's return. Donald ran on first with the letters. 'One for you, Sarah,' he shouted, throwing it to her, and going indoors with another to Agnes. Nurse followed him quickly. 'Why, Sarah!' she exclaimed, 'I told you not to keep baby out more than half-anhour. And you are on the windy side of the house. How could you be so foolish? Suppose she has croup again. Come to her own nurse, darling.' She went indoors; Sarah muttered something about the baby's crossness indoors, and remained to read her letter. 46 GLIMPSES AT EVERY-DAY WONDERS. Five minutes after she rushed into the parlour, crying bitterly. Her mother was ill, almost dying when the letter was written. Might she go to her? Nurse hesitated. Sarah's home was in a distant village, too far for her to go and return that night, so that if she let her go she would be quite alone with the children. The girl's distress was so great that the children begged nurse to allow her to go, saying that they would be very good, and would do all they could to help. So it was arranged that Sarah should be taken by the carrier's cart, which would pass in halfan hour, and should, if possible, return on the following evening. The children quite enjoyed that evening, for there was plenty to do, and the time passed quickly. Agnes was sorely troubled at being obliged to sit still, but she amused Gerald and baby, and was by no means the least useful. Leila, Donald and Eleanor were delighted to help nurse to get the tea, and afterwards to clear it away and wash the tea-cups. 'I wish Sarah would stay away a week,' said Leila, when all was done; 'it is such fun doing the work.' 'You would soon tire of it, Miss Leila. Now, come, and we will put the little ones to bed.' 'I am glad you have come, nurse, ' cried Agnes; 'baby is getting so cross, I can do nothing with her." 'She is tired,' said nurse, taking the child from her; and she does not look quite well. I hope that careless Sarah has not given her cold.' Agnes and Leila helped Eleanor and Gerald undress, while nurse attended to baby, who was unusually fretful, and Donald struggled manfully to do everything for himself. 'You have been so good,' said nurse as she lifted the last little one into bed; 'I shall tell your mother, and she will be very pleased. Now, Miss Agnes and Miss Leila, it is time for you to go; and I shall not sit up long, for it is lonely downstairs by myself.' GLIMPSES AT EVERY-DAY WONDERS. BY SARSON. AMMA,' said little Ethel Garbutt to her mother, 'I do wish you'd make Charlie leave my canary alone; he is trying to make it telescope its dear little eyes, because we read about it in our little Magazine, and he frightens it, and gets it into such a flutter.' Leave the canary alone, Charlie,' said Mrs. Garbutt. 'I don't see that it should be made to round its bright little optics for your especial benefit; though there's nothing like experiment, I'll admit.' The canary was left swinging in its cage, a lump of sugar being given to it to console it. Not very wisely, by the way, for sugar is apt to break the little warbler's song. 'I wonder if Ear-Gate is as astonishing as Eye-Gate,' said Charlie. Mr. Garbutt put down his paper. 'Well, Charlie, I think sound is about as wonderful as light. What makes sound? How, when it is made, does it affect us? To discover how, is to explain the sense of hearing.' Well, sound,' said Ethel, quickly, 'sound! O, any one knows what sound is! It is simply a noise.' "And what is a noise, Ethel?' 'Do Well, then, sound is the sensation made upon the brain by a movement of the air, which is communicated from the atmosphere to the auditory or hearing nerve.' 'Which, of course, is in the ear,' said Charlie. 'Yes, but it depends upon other nerves as well. These nerves, called the sensory nerves, or nerves of sense, enter the spinal |