ON THE SOUTH DOWNS.

HEEP are as useful to man as the ox, providing their owners with food and clothing, as well as with many other articles of domestic use. In many of its habits, especially its rockclimbing propensities, it resembles the goat, to which animal it is closely allied. Thus, whenever a flock of sheep can find access to elevated spots they may always be seen perched upon the highest and most precipitous part, taking their lambs with them, the little creatures fearlessly following the mother sheep, wherever she may chose to lead. It is not, however, so intelligent an animal as the goat, showing its want of sense in its well-known propensity to follow the leading sheep of the flock, even though it may be rushing to utter destruction. The South Down variety affords a good example of the short-woolled breed of domestic sheep, and is valuable, not only for the fine wool, but for the delicacy of the flesh. This breed derives its name from the extensive Southern Downs, a range of grass-clad chalk-hills which pass through Sussex, Surrey, and Kent. These Downs are covered with short sweet herbage, of great service in giving to the flesh of the animal its peculiarly delicate flavour. The South Down sheep are without horns, and wherever it can find a habitable locality, this variety has superseded every other breed in our island. In Scotland, however, it does not thrive, being of too delicate a nature to withstand the severity of the winter, so that there the original horned breed still holds its place.

D. B. MCKEAN.

THE CHURCH OF OUR FATHERS.
NCIRCLED by trees in the Sabbath's calm smile,
The Church of our fathers-how meekly it stands!

O villagers, gaze on the old hallowed pile—

It was dear to their hearts, it was raised by their hands.
Who loves not the place where they worshipped their God?
Who loves not the ground where their ashes repose?

Dear even the daisy that blooms on the sod,

For dear is the dust out of which it arose.

Then say, shall the Church that our forefathers built,
Which the tempests of ages have battered in vain;
Abandoned by us from supineness or guilt,

say, shall it fall by the rash and profane ?

No! perish the impious hand that would take

One shred from its altar, one stone from its towers!

The life-blood of martyrs hath flowed for its sake,

And its fall-if it fall-shall be reddened with ours.

The above was written by Robert Story, a self-educated peasant in Yorkshire, in the year 1835, and at that time the verses made quite a sensation, and were for a time attributed to the Earl of Ellesmere, who declared that he should have been proud to be the author of them.

OW the accepted lover of the Countess Helena, Count von Krukenburg, could at last congratulate himself on his success. He had triumphed over so many obstacles that surely the way was now clear before him, and he had nothing more to fear. And yet, if the truth were told, he was not satisfied. In the first place, he was haunted night and day by the dread of Max Eckermann's return; or if the poor fellow were really dead, might there not be some dangerous revelations, in which, notwithstanding all his precautions, he would be disgracefully implicated?

Since that first announcement of the young officer's name amongst the missing,' so many months before, when the mysterious packet had reached him, he had never had another line or message from Walter Linz, and there was something ominous to him in this complete silence. Thus, although to all appearance he had secured his bride, he was restless and uneasy, and impatient for the wedding day to be well over.

Then, again, the calm, grave maiden, who received him with such serious earnestness, and who seemed to have no thought or care for anything but her poor people, could not be the same person as the bright, enthusiastic girl who only last summer had so keenly appreciated his stories and legends of the Rhine.

The Count was most anxious for the wedding to take place at once, but time passed on and he seemed to get no nearer. Helena always met his urgent appeals with so much gentleness and courtesy that he could not show his anger; but still the fact remained, that every time a day was suggested she always pleaded for a little longer delay. Her aunt did not venture to interfere, although she was becoming impatient of this constant postponement, for there was something about the young girl which she had never understood, and she could not tell what might be the result of pressing her too hard.

Besides, after that exposure to the snowstorm Helena had been seriously ill, and was still very pale and delicate; indeed, as the spring advanced, she seemed to lose strength instead of regaining it. At length the doctor, finding his tonics did no good, advised change of air, and her friends gladly took advantage of this order to take her away from her work at Mayence, which was too much for her strength. The Burgomaster was unable to leave the city, where his manufactory had been started again under great difficulties, but his wife carried off the young girl once more to the old tower on the Rhine. She was glad to bring her niece under other influence, and to be with her in the neighbourhood of Krukenburg Castle, which was being decorated in readiness for the coming of the bride.

The Countess Helena was taken in state to see the important work going on, and her advice was asked again and again; but she seemed to be in a dream, and could not be roused to take anything

It was

beyond the most languid interest in the preparations. noticed, however, that she held little Fritz by the hand during the whole visit, and that the child seemed to cling to her with passionate affection.

He had

The Count was furious at her coldness and indifference. spent money lavishly in order to pique her into surprise and admiration; and to have all his French mirrors, and hangings, and ornaments treated as a matter of course, and scarcely noticed by a girl who had been accustomed to nothing better than the old house of the Burgomaster of Mayence ;-such conduct was almost more than he could endure.

Was it simplicity or affectation? he wondered, as with a great effort he concealed his annoyance, quietly promising himself that a day of reckoning would come.

One thing was certain; he would be trifled with no longer. It was now the beginning of May; everything would be finished and ready in the Castle before the end of a fortnight, and then the wedding must take place. So it came about that by dint of firmness and persuasion, and with the help of Frau Schmidt, who was always his firm ally, Helena was induced to give her reluctant consent to the day being fixed for the 21st of May. She remembered afterwards that it was her birthday, and that she would be nineteen years old.

It happened about a week later that Gretchen had occasion to pass her young mistress's door very late one night. She moved quietly, thinking that the Countess Helena must be asleep, but she was startled by the sound of weeping, and taking the privilege of old friendship she entered the room.

The poor girl was on her knees by her bedside, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Gretchen was greatly distressed at the sight, and gently raised her to a chair, and tried to soothe her with tender words and

caresses.

'What is it, my dearest lady? Can I do anything for you?'

'Oh, Gretchen!' she cried in despair; I cannot do it-it will kill me! Only five days more!' and she hid her face in her hands.

Although the faithful creature had already more than suspected the truth, this was a terrible revelation to her. Her whole heart was full of love and pity for the sweet young mistress who had never had anything but words of kindness for her, who had sat up to nurse her when she was ill; who, in short, was the idol of the household. And to think that she should be sacrificed to that Count, of whose character, as was natural, the servants knew a great deal more than their masters! Of course, it would be a fine position, and there was a grand house and plenty of money, which many young ladies would think a great deal of; but here was this pretty darling breaking her heart about it! Gretchen was full of indignation, and felt that she would give all she had in the world to prevent the marriage.

'What can I do?' moaned Helena. 'Oh! why did I ever promise? Is there no way of escape?'

'Yes, there is,' replied the servant, in a tone of sharpness and

decision which quite startled her companion. If I were in your place no one should ever make me marry a man I did not care for. And he is not worthy of you, indeed he is not!'

'But, Gretchen, I have given my word now, and the Castle is all put ready for me.'

'Do not you trouble about that. The Castle and all the French trumpery he has put in it will soon help him to find another wife.

And as for your promise, why, you have been over-persuaded, and are only half to blame. Surely it would be far worse to go and stand before the altar, and give your solemn word to love and honour such an one as Count Julius !'

There was a tone of scorn in these words which Helena scarcely understood, for, of course, no evil reports had reached her.

'Shall I tell you what I would do in your place? I would run away!' were the next words which came upon her with quite a shock. She looked up with reproachful wonder that any one could so