over her dear mother's grave, but turned steadily to he hard path traced out before her; but she was roung and beloved, and a bright star beamed before er-the star of love-to gild her toilsome path; and mother's smile seemed blended with its bright rays. A year or two rolled around—years of hard labor, which made Lizzie, who toiled untiringly, as her other had done, old before her time. She was oted, however, all over the village for a thrifty, dustrious, excellent girl. James Foster was a attern for lovers; every spare moment he gave to r. What few amusements she had time to enjoy procured for her; and as the village people said, ey went as steadily together as old married people. Lizzie's father was a narrow-minded, selfish man, ring very litile for any one's comfort but his own, d at times was exceedingly cross and testy. Untunately, he took great interest in politics, and is quite an oracle in the village bar-room. He was to'ed and “set” in his opinions, considering all to differed from him as enemies to their country, and Led them rascals and hypocrites freely. His wife 1 been dead about two years, when a presidential ction came on. James Foster, unluckily, had en brought up with different political opinions ■ Mr. Hall; but, being very quiet and retiring in disposition, he never had rendered himself oxious. Of course, Mr. Hall took great interest the approaching election. He became very amus of his township giving a large vote on the to which he belonged-and he used every means btain votes. Elated with fancied success, he re one day in the tavern bar-room, that he would ke James Foster abandon his party, and vote to se him. Some, who knew Foster's quiet but lute disposition, bantered and teased Hall, which ught him to such a pitch of excitement that, on ting James Foster a little while after in front of avern, he made the demand of him. Foster at treated it as a jest; then, when he found Hall in earnest, decidedly, but civilly, refused; and in a manner as to put at rest all further convera. Enraged, Hall instantly turned, swearing to aughing politicians that surrounded the tavern and who had witnessed his discomfiture, that ould punish Foster's impudent obstinacy. Acgly. full of ill, revengeful feelings, he returned and forbade his daughter ever permitting to step over the threshold of the door-comEng her instantly to break the engagement. ed every entreaty, expostulated, temporizeds of no avail; indeed, her entreaties seemed but ten her father's anger; and at last, with a cath, he declared, if she did not break the ement with the purse-proud, hypocritical she should leave his house instantly. She on the terrified children, the youngest only ers old, and who clung weeping to her knees, father threatened to turn her out of doors, to see them again; and she thought of her 's last words-her decision was made; and heavy heart she performed the self-sacrifice. -n't say you will never marry me, Lizzie,"

urged her lover; "I can wait ten years for you, darling."

But Lizzie was conscientious; her father had expressly stipulated there should be no "half-way work-no putting off;" all hope must be given up, she never could be his-and forever she bid him farewell. James tried to argue with and persuade her father; but the selfish, obstinate old man would listen to nothing from him. Poor James, finding both immovable, at last sold off his farm, and all his property, and moved away into a distant state; he could not, he said, live near Lizzie, and feel that she never would be his wife. Men are so soon despairing in love affairs, while women hope on, even to death. Poor Lizzie, how her heart sunk when the sight of her lover was denied to her; and she felt even more wretched than she did at the moment of her mother's death. Nothing now remained to her in life but the performance of stern, rigid duty. Two or three years passed by, and one by one her charges departed from her. One brother was placed with a farmer, and the others were apprenticed to good trades The little white-headed Willie, who at his mother's death was a tiny, roly-poly prattler, only two years old, was becoming a slender, tall youth. Lizzie felt proud as she looked at her crowd of tall boys, when once or twice a year they would assemble at home; and on a Sunday's afternoon, at twilight, on her way to the evening meeting, she would steal down into the quiet church-yard, and kneeling beside her mother's grave, ask, with streaming eyes, if she had not done well. Such moments were fraught with bitter anguish; but a heavenly peace would descend on her, and she said her trials, after the agony was over, seemed lighter to bear.

"But I was blessed in one thing, dear Miss Enna," she would exclaim, "not one of those darling boys was taken from me, and all bid fair to turn out well. God surely smiled on the motherless, and gave me strength to perform my labor of love."

At last there moved to the village a woman of the name of Pierce; she opened a little milliner's shop, and soon made herself busy with the affairs of others, as well as her own, becoming quite a considerable person amongst the villagers. She was a widow with two or three children—a girl or two, and a boylittle things. She was a stout, healthy, good-looking woman, "rising forty," with a clear, shrill voice, and good, bright black eyes in her head. She soon steadied these bonnie eyes at the widower, Lizzie's father, and not in vain; for after hailing him industriously, as he passed the door of her shop, with questions about the weather, or the crops, he at last managed to stop without the hailing; and after a short courtship brought her and her children to his own home. How Lizzie rejoiced that her brothers were now all out of the way. Her last pet, Willie, had, a few months previous to the new marriage, been sent to a printer in the neighboring city. She never thought of herself, but commenced with redoubled industry to assist in taking care of the new family. But her constant industry and thrifty habits were a silent reproach to the step-mother, I fancy, for she left

no stone unturned to rid herself of the troublesome grown up daughter. She tried every means, threw out hints, until at last Lizzie perceived her drift. Even her father seemed restrained and annoyed by her presence; and when she proposed to him that she should do something now for herself, in the way of support, he made no opposition; on the contrary, seemed relieved, saying the times were hard, and he had always had an expensive family. At this time my dear Aunt Lina obtained her for me. Blessed Aunt Lina! how we all loved her for this good act; even Biddy said,

"Well, the owld toad was n't so bad, afther all. She had some good in her, for she sent the angel to our door-good luck to her forever."

And what parted Lizzie from us? Ah, there is the romance of my story-the darling little bit of sentiment so dear to my woman's heart. Lizzie lived with me five years. In the meantime her father had died; the thriftless wife had broken his heart by her extravagant habits, and Lizzie and her brothers never received a penny of their mother's little fortune. One evening, my father, on handing me the letters and papers, said, "Amongst those, Enna, you will find a letter for Lizzie, which has come from the far West, clear beyond St. Louis-what relations has she there?" I could not tell him, but gave the letter to Ike, now grown into quite a dandy waiter, to take to her. I did not feel much curiosity about the letter, thinking it might be from some cousin of hers; but when I retired to bed that evening, she came into my room, and throw ing herself down on the soft rug beside my bed, by the dim light of my night-lamp, told me all her happiness. The letter was from James Foster-he still loved her as dearly as ever. He had heard by chance of her father's death, and her situation, and said if she was

ready to marry him, he was still waiting. He wrote of his handsome farm he had cleared with his own hands, and the beautiful wild country he lived in, telling her he hoped her future life would be free from all care. All this, and even more, dear reader, he told her-in plain, homely words, it is true; but love's language is always sweet, be it in courtly tongue or homely phrase.

And James Foster came for her; and in our house was she married. My father presented the soft mul dress to the bride, which Kate Wilson and I made, and assisted in dressing her, and stood as her bridemaids. Aunt Lina, Biddy, the stamping, goodhearted Biddy, and dandy Ike, were all there, rejoicing in her happiness. Her husband was a stout, strong, hard-featured, but kind-hearted man, and looked upon his poor, care-worn, slender Lizzie as if she were an angel. We all liked him; and her whole troop of brothers, who were present at the ceremony, greeted him with hearty words of friendship. Three he persuaded to accompany them out to the "new home" the farmer, the shoemaker, and the little whiteheaded Willie, Lizzie's pet-declaring all the time that his house and heart, like the wide western valley where he lived, was large enough to hold them all. They all went out one after another; and when I last heard from Lizzie, she was very happy, surrounded by all her brothers; and she told me of a little darling girl, whom she had named after her dear Miss Enna. My father and I often talk during the winter evenings, when sitting very cozily together in the warm library, of taking a summer's jaunt to Lizzie's western home. I wish we could, that I might see my lady-help as mistress of her own household; and what is still better, a happy wife, mother, and sister.

THIS bird, the marvel of the whole Pigeon race, is beautiful in its colors, graceful in its form, and far more a child of wild nature than any other of the pigeons. The chief wonder, however, is in its multitudes; multitudes which no man can number; and when Alexander Wilson lays the mighty wand of the enchanter upon the Valley of the Mississippi, and conjures it up to the understanding and the feeling of the reader, with far more certain and more concentrated and striking effect than if it were painted on canvas, or modeled in wax, these pigeons form a feature in it which no one who knows can by possibility forget. It is probable that the multitudes may not be more numerous than those of the petrels in Bass's Strait, of which Captain Flinderswho also was a kind of Wilson in his way-gives a graphic description. But vast as the multitude of these was, it was only as a passing cloud to the captain; he was unable to follow it up; and even though he had, the flight of birds over the surface of the sea is tame and storyless, as compared with the movements of the unnumbered myriads of these pigeons in the great central valley of our continent. None of the names which have been bestowed upon this species are sufficiently, or at all, descriptive of it. Passenger, the English expression, and Migratoria, the Latin name, fall equally short, inasmuch as every known pigeon is to a greater or less extent migratory as well as this one. The "swarm" pigeon, the "flood" pigeon, or even the "deluge" pigeon would be a more appropriate appellation; for the weight of their numbers breaks down the forest with scarcely less havoc than if the stream of the Mississippi were poured upon it.

Birds so numerous demand both a wide pasture and powerful means of migration, and the Passen

gers are not stinted in either of those respects. In latitude, their pasture extends from the thirtieth to the sixtieth degree, which is upward of two thousand miles; and the extensive breadth in longitude cannot be estimated at less than fifteen hundred. Three millions of square miles is thus the extent of territory of which the Passenger pigeon has command; and that territory has its dimensions so situated as that the largest one is the line upon which the birds migrate.

In Canada their numbers are so great, and the ravages which they commit upon the cultivated ground so extensive, that instances are recorded in which the bishop has been seriously and earnestly implored to exorcise them "by bell, book, and candle"-to cast them out of the land by the same means used in days of yore against spirits troublesome to other individuals, men and women. But as the Passengers were material and not spiritual, the bishop had the good sense not to try the experiment upon them. At least, La Houton, who records the matter, is perfectly silent as to the success or failure of the proposition.

Both sexes are beautiful birds; but their value, in an economical point of view, is not, however, in any way equal to their numbers or their beauty. The flesh of the old ones is dark, dry, hard and unpalatable, as is very generally the case with birds which are much on the wing; but the young, or squabs, as they are called, are remarkably fat; and as in the places where the birds congregate, they may be obtained without much difficulty, this fat is obtained by melting them, and is used instead of lard. As they nestle in vast multitudes at the same place, their resting-places have many attractions for the birds of prey, which indiscriminately seize upon both