elight to the little fellow, till daylight closed in; he
evidently forgot to wonder who had sent it him, in his gladness at
his possession of such a treasure; and when the shadow of his mother
darkened on the blind, and the bird had been exhibited, Libbie saw her
do what, with all her tenderness, seemed rarely to have entered into her
thoughts--she bent down and kissed her boy, in a mother's sympathy with
the joy of her child.

The canary was placed for the night between the little bed and window;
and when Libbie rose once, to take her accustomed peep, she saw the
little arm put fondly round the cage, as if embracing his new treasure
even in his sleep. How Jupiter slept this first night is quite another
thing.

So ended the first day in Libbie's three eras in last year.

ERA II.

WHITSUNTIDE.

The brightest, fullest daylight poured down into No. 2, ---- Court,
Albemarle Street, and the heat, even at the early hour of five, as at
the noontide on the June days of many years past.

The court seemed alive, and merry with voices and laughter. The bedroom
windows were open wide, and had been so all night, on account of
the heat; and every now and then you might see a head and a pair of
shoulders, simply encased in shirt sleeves, popped out, and you might
hear the inquiry passed from one to the other,--"Well, Jack, and where
art thee bound for?"

"Dunham!"

"Why, what an old-fashioned chap thou be'st. Thy grandad afore thee went
to Dunham: but thou wert always a slow coach. I'm off to Alderley,--me
and my missis."

"Ay, that's because there's only thee and thy missis. Wait till thou
hast gotten four childer, like me, and thou'lt be glad enough to take
'em to Dunham, oud-fashioned way, for fourpence apiece."

"I'd still go to Alderley; I'd not be bothered with my children; they
should keep house at home."

A pair of hands, the person to whom they belonged invisible, boxed his
ears on this last speech, in a very spirited, though playful, manner,
and the neighbours all laughed at the surprised look of the speaker, at
this assault from an unseen foe. The man who had been holding
conversation with him cried out,--

"Sarved him right, Mrs. Slater: he knows nought about it yet; but
when he gets them he'll be as loth to leave the babbies at home on a
Whitsuntide as any on us. We shall live to see him in Dunham Park yet,
wi' twins in his arms, and another pair on 'em clutching at daddy's
coat-tails, let alone your sh