"There may be a reason for that, Constance," said Leonard, gravely. "If we form resolutions in our own strength, there is no hope that we shall keep them."

Constance coloured, and looked down.

"But I really don't mean any harm when I give away my money and spend it so fast," she said, in a kind of apologetic tone.

"I am afraid good intentions will hardly take the place of good deeds," said Leonard, quietly.

But do you think it really was wrong of me to give my last five shillings to that poor wretched-looking woman to-day ?" asked Constance, with the peculiar child-like simplicity and wistfulness of manner that were occasionally hers.

"I think," Leonard answered, gently, "that the question is not whether the poor woman needed help, but whether the money was yours to give to her."

"Oh, Leonard, that is unkind;" and Constance burst into tears. "I shouldn't have thought of giving it to her if I had remembered Mrs. Rogers, but I quite forgot her."

"We can hardly call forgetfulness an excuse for doing wrong," said Leonard, still kindly. "No, I suppose not-only it is better than if I had done it on purpose, like Mrs. Wentworth. I mean, if I had refused to pay Mrs. Rogers only just because I wanted the money for something else because I wanted it for myself."

"But did you not spend it for your own gratification ?" asked Leonard. "I do not quite see the difference."

"Buying presents for others, and giving to the poor, isn't the same thing as getting smart, expensive things for one's self," said Constance, in a rather hurt tone.

"Not precisely the same thing, certainly, yet I hardly know that it is in this case deserving of more praise," replied Leonard, though he spoke so gently that she could not be offended. "I am afraid they both arise from much the same motive."

"What motive ?" asked Constance, rather impatiently.

"The love of self-pleasing," said Leonard, quietly. "I do not wish to appear harsh or

unkind, Constance, but this is just what I had in my mind this afternoon, when we were talking in the garden, and you thought I expressed myself coldly. I think that my sister" (he spoke the word with a smile) "is as loving and generous as possible by nature; but I do not think she is so much the latter by principle, or she would hardly think it right either to spend or to give away more than she can rightly afford,-to use money which, strictly speaking, does not really belong to her. Are you offended with me, Constance, for speaking so plainly ?"

Constance shook her head.

'As I am afraid mine often is," said Constance, with another sigh, "I see what you mean, Leonard, and I suppose you are right; indeed, I know you are. And papa is really distressed that I am so careless about money. He says I am too much like him, and that if I grow up so I shall find it almost impossible to conquer it. But I can't help being glad that I am like him in anything. I do admire him so much," added Constance, with a smile, as she left the room to prepare for dinner.

Not a very promising termination to the conversation, Leonard thought.

"Leonard, have you seen Miss Vivian this morning?"

"Yes, I have only just returned," said Leonard, quietly, though with a sound of amusement in his voice that made Constance exclaim,

"What did she say? I know it was something droll. Do tell me all about it."

"I have nothing to tell you." Leonard tried to speak unconcernedly, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Nothing!--and you looking so brim-full of laughter! Oh, you really must tell me all about it, please, Leonard. You have quite roused my curiosity."

Q

"I have done so unintentionally, then. Is your father in-doors?"

"I won't answer your question, if you don't choose to answer mine," returned Constance. "What did Miss Vivian want with you? How did she behave ?"

"I

"She was very kind," said Leonard, with another attempt to suppress a laugh. can't give you any more information about it." "But why not? What makes you so mysterious all at once? Did you do nothing but talk? Were you alone with her ?"

"Had you not better go and make inquiries of Miss Vivian herself?" quietly asked Leonard.

"I would if I thought there was any hope of her condescending to answer me."

"Miss Vivian said she should be quite willing to see Miss Mansfield, if at any time she cared to go to the house."

"No! did she really ?" cried Constance, incredulously.

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Those were her words. I cannot say her manner was very warm or encouraging."

And will she be dreadfully cold? But I really think I must venture to go as she has asked me. Was she very stiff to you?" Leonard shook his head.

'How impenetrable you are," said Constance, half provoked. "Will nothing make you tell me, Leonard? I really am very curious as to the particulars of your interview."

"I am sorry I cannot satisfy your curiosity. Perhaps I had better tell you at once that Miss Vivian made me promise to keep secret those very particulars."

"Then there was something important going on. I was sure of it. And you won't tell me what ?"

"No, I cannot," said Leonard, with a sudden gravity that perplexed her still more. "But haven't you an idea? Is it anything very important ?"

"I do not consider it at all likely to prove so. Certainly it is not worth your troubling your self in this manner."

"But it may be important. Do you mean that, Leonard?" she asked eagerly.

Leonard was silent.

"Do you mean that it may be something important ?" repeated Constance. "And important to whom ?"

"I have said quite as much as I have any right to say," returned Leonard, moving away. "I am sorry to disoblige you, Constance, but it is out of my power to do as you wish."

And, curious or no, Constance was obliged to submit.

After that day, Leonard seemed to be quite received into favour at Vivian Mansion. Miss Vivian was indeed very variable in her moods towards him; one day almost warmer to him than she was to Beatrice-which is not saying much, for cold was her very warmest manner --and another day stiff and chilling to the last degree. Altogether, however, she decidedly encouraged his visits; and when a day or two passed by without her seeing him, she was usually far from pleased. Constance went once to call, but did not receive sufficient encouragement to care to repeat her visit, Miss Vivian being civil, but very cool. Constance wondered how Leonard could make up his mind to spend so much of his time with her, and thought he must find it terribly dull and irksome, until she discovered accidentally that he usually contrived to go over just when Beatrice was there. Not a little amused, she mentioned the circumstance to her father, and he laughed heartily

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'Well done, Leonard! I suppose he thinks we shall give him credit for motives of pure benevolence towards the old lady. I have suspected something of the sort once or twice before, when he was so impatient to go to the old mansion at a certain hour of the day. But how does he know when she is there? Beatrice has no stated time for paying her visits."

"Perhaps he watches for her coming along the road," suggested Constance, merrily. "Or else he knows by instinct. I shall try and find out some day."

HO does not know Mrs. Grundy? Which of us has not trembled at her name, and submissively obeyed her dictates ? Who can conscientiously deny that he is subject, in a greater or less degree, to the tyrannical government of this mysterious sovereign? Her sway is absolute, universal, supreme. Despotic rulers, beneath whose yoke whole nations groan, yield a humble, implicit obedience to regal splendour; their persons are protected by guards, their dominions are defended by armies; magistrates, inquisitors, and spies are incessantly employed in bringing their enemies to justice, and in endeavouring to procure obedience to their laws.

But Mrs. Grundy, single-handed and unprotected, without throne, crown, or sceptre, without magistrates, armies, or guards, without even a recognised code of laws or a clearly defined identity, exacts universal homage and receives universal and complete submission.

This, too, is all the more extraordinary if we remember the fact that Mrs. Grundy is anything but a beloved sovereign. Indeed, few people would hesitate to speak of her in terms of unqualified dislike, and those few generally hate her in their hearts, although a fear of her awful presence may restrain them from speaking their minds. Yes, whatever may be the secret of her power, it is certainly not the affection of her subjects, for I doubt if the most tyrannical of despots was ever so cordially detested as she. And this should not surprise us, if we consider the character of this mighty potentate, in so far as we can pene trate through the veil of mystery which shrouds her from curious eyes.

There can be no doubt that Mrs. Grundy is a terrible mischief-maker. Who invents scandalous stories, disseminates malicious insinuations, exaggerates petty foibles, and detracts from the character of the great and good? Mrs. Grundy! Who spoils the pleasure of half the croquet parties, picnics, &c., that take place? Mrs. Grundy! Who betrays people into foolish display and unnecessary expense, and then derides their attempts to imitate those richer than themselves? Mrs. Grundy! Or, to come from great things to small, who forces us to wear apparel often both uncomfortable and unbecoming? Who insists on our adopting bonnets in which we look

ridiculous, and dresses whose inordinate length. renders us odious to ourselves and our fellowcreatures? Who prescribes for us styles of coiffure which from our hearts we detest, and has of late years presumed to dictate the colour of our hair? Mrs. Grundy! And we submit to this system of bullying! and we glory in submitting to it! and we pretend to like it!

Well, perhaps it is the best way. Resistance to the fiat of Mrs. Grundy is worse than useless, and it is always well to give in with good grace. Accustomed to the yoke from our infancy, the idea of shaking it off appears too wild to be entertained for a single moment; nay, as I have already said, we glory in our servitude, and I am sure that not one in ten of the young ladies who may read this paper would be able to contemplate, with any degree of tranquillity, the consequences of being seen walking in Rotten Row without a pair of gloves on. Indeed, I tremble as I write the words, for I feel confident that many of my acquaintances, should they discover me to be the author of this paper, would regard me as little better than an "outer barbarian" for suggesting the possibility of so glaring an impropriety.

hasten on therefore to assure them that I did but mention it as a proof of our complete subjection to Mrs. Grundy, for my terror of that mysterious individual is far too strong to permit me ever to do more than to imagine so flagrant a breach of her laws.

These last remarks refer exclusively to young ladies; but the empire of the dread tyrant is very far from being restricted to this or to any class of the community. Her authority extends to both sexes, to all ages, all ranks, all nations under the sun. Even in the matter of dress, the lords of creation are quite as much the victims of her tyranny as we are ourselves, however much they may ridicule our subordination in this respect. I could give a hundred instances in proof of this assertion, were I not restrained by the fear of becoming personal-no! let me be honest-by the fear of Mrs. Grundy; for I feel that I should incur the deep displeasure of that implacable being, were I to reveal here the many and anxious discussions I have heard concerning the proper shape of shirt collar, the correct style of breastpin, the fashionable cut of overcoat, and the thousand other points referred by gentlemen

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to the dread power they affect to despise, but lack courage to resist. Yes, disguise our allegiance under what form we will-call our tyrant by what name we please her existence and our submission are deplorable but indubitable facts. We may talk about the " eyes of the world," about "keeping up appearances," about a regard for "the proprieties," or a respect for "public opinion," but all these forms of expression mean the same thing, and are merely different modes of acknowledging the authority of Mrs. Grundy.

To my mind's eye, Mrs. Grundy always presents herself in a definite and embodied form, which I shall endeavour to describe. Should the portrait bear no resemblance to the Mrs. Grundy who may have been conjured up by any imaginative readers, I can only remind them that a great poet has said

"Varium et mutabile semper femina."

Mrs. Grundy, from a mental and from a physical point of view, is no exception to the rule, for she may truly be called “uncertain, coy, and hard to please :" while with regard to her outward appearance, I question if two people are haunted by precisely the same Mrs. Grundy, so that no one need wonder if my description should fail to agree with their previous idea of this wondrous woman. She, then, ever appears before my terrified vision as a lady of uncertain age, with a tall, wan, and ungraceful figure. Her nose is long, sharp, and red; her eyes are of a greenish grey; her lips are thin, and her mouth closes like a trap; her hair is sandy, and arranged in small curls on each side of her forehead; her expression is severe; her shawl is folded with

painful precision, and she invariably carries a reticule. Should you meet a person answering to this description, take care, as you value your peace of mind, how you conduct yourself so long as her awful eye is upon you.

I have only "one word more" to say about Mrs. Grundy, and that is, that although I maintain that all mortals are more or less subject to her, there are various degrees of servitude; and whilst some people are only her subjects, others are her servants, and others her slaves. When I think of the miseries endured by the last class, their very existence appears to me astonishing, for its every hour is embittered by the relentless oppression of their despotic ruler. They dare not laugh nor cry, sit nor stand, without the example, or at least, the permission, of their tyrant. I have seen two of these miserable individuals sit beside each other at a cere monious dinner-party, both longing to relieve the tedium by a little conversation, but shrinking with horror from the notion of saying a single syllable until the ceremony of an introduction had taken place.

But oh! what am I doing? Defying the most stringent laws of the tyrant I have professed to revere! showing contempt for her time-honoured rites and ceremonies, and giving ample cause for suspicion that they have been neglected by me! How shall I defend myself? How escape the vengeance of Mrs. Grundy? At this moment I see her before me in the character of Avenger. I behold the tall figure-I know the malignant glitter of the grey-green eye-hear her awful voice denounce my contempt of her authority-and, overcome with terror, I drop my pen.

DIDO.

HE Stickleback is one of our commonest British fishes, and is known in different parts of England under the names of Tittlebat, Pricklefish, and Sharplin. It belongs to the vast order of the spine-finned fishes.

It is a most bold and lively little fish, hardly knowing fear, pugnacious to an absurd degree, and remarkably interesting in its habits. Even more voracious than the perch, it renders great service in keeping within due bounds the many aquatic and terrestrial insects which, although

performing their indispensable duties in the world, are so extremely prolific, that they would render the country uninhabitable were they allowed to increase without some check.

Any one can catch a Stickleback without rod, float, or even hook. All that is needful is to repair to the nearest streamlet, armed with a yard or two of thread and a walking-stick. Thin twine will answer very well instead of the thread, and even the stick is not absolutely needed. Having proceeded, thus equipped, to

the bank of the stream, a worm may be picked out of the ground, tied by the middle to the thread, and thrown quite at random into the

water.

The Sticklebacks will not be in the least frightened by the splash, but rather rejoice in it, as calling their attention to food. In a moment the worm will be the centre of a contending mass of little fishes, rolling over and over, struggling to the utmost of their power, and entirely hiding the worm from sight. Now let the angler quickly lift the bait out of the water, swing it on shore, and he will almost certainly find that he has captured two Sticklebacks, one hanging to each end of the worm and retaining its hold so perseveringly, that it can hardly be induced to relinquish its gripe. This process may be repeated at pleasure, and as the Sticklebacks never seem to learn wisdom, a large store may soon be accumulated. This is a good way of stocking an aquarium, as the strongest and liveliest fish are sure to be caught first.

"I have caught them," writes Mr. Wood, in his invaluable "Natural History," "by hundreds in a common butterfly-net, by the simple stratagem of lowering the net into the water, dangling the worm over the ring, and by degrees lowering the worm and raising the net until I had the whole flock within the meshes." Mr. Wood continues: "Should my reader be disposed to place his newly captured specimens in an aquarium, he must make up his mind that they will fight desperately at first, and until they have satisfactorily settled the championship of the tank their intercourse will be of the most aggressive character. Never were such creatures to fight as the Sticklebacks, for they will even go out of their way to attack anything which they think may possibly offend them, and they have no more hesitation in charging at a human being than at one of their own species. I have known one of these belligerent fish make repeated dashes at my walking-stick, knocking his nose so hard against his inanimate antagonist, that he inflicted a perceptible jar upon it, and, in spite of the blows which his nose must have suffered, returning to the combat time after time with undiminished spirit. These combats are most common sbout the breeding season, when every adult Stickleback challenges every other of his own sex, and they do little but fight from morning to evening. They are as jealous as they are courageous, and will not allow another fish to pass within a certain distance of

their home without darting out and offering battle."

Any one may see these spirited little combats by quietly watching the inhabitants of a clear streamlet on a summer day. The two antagonists dart at each other with spears in rest, snap at each other's gills or head, and retain their grasps with the tenacity of a bulldog. They whirl round and round in the water, they drop, feint, attack, and retreat with astonishing quickness, until one confesses himself beaten, and makes off for shelter, the conqueror snapping at its tail, and inflicting a parting bite.

Then is the time to see the triumphant little creature in all the glory of his radiant apparel; for with his conquest he assumes the victor's crown; his back glows with shining green, his sides and head are glorious with gold and scarlet, and his belly is silvery white. It is a little creature certainly, but even among the brilliant inhabitants of the southern seas, a more gorgeously coloured fish could hardly be found. If the conqueror Stickleback could only be enlarged to the size of a full-grown perch or roach, it would excite the greatest admiration. It is curious that the vanquished antagonist loses in brilliance as much as the conqueror has gained; he sneaks off ignominiously after his defeat, and hides himself, dull and sombre, until the time comes when he too may conquer in fight, and proudly wear the gold and scarlet insignia of victory."

These struggles are not only for mastery, but are in so far praiseworthy, that they are waged in defence of home and family.

As a rule, fishes display but little architectural genius, their anatomical construction debarring them from raising any but the simplest edifice. A fish has but one tool, its mouth, and even this instrument is of very limited capacity. Still, although the nest which a fish can make is necessarily of a slight and rude character, there are some members of that class which construct homes which deserve the name; and the Sticklebacks certainly furnish the best instances of fish architecture. (See Frontispiece, page 173.)

They make their nests of the delicate vegetation that is found in fresh water, and will carry materials from some little distance in order to complete the home. They do not, however, range to any great extent, because they would intrude upon the preserve of some other fish, and be ruthlessly driven away.

When the male Stickleback has fixed upon a