rds ought to be blown from the gun like that. It's cruel, is it not,
sir?'

Before the uncle could reply came the sharp order, 'Stand!' and, behold,
the dead deserter came to life again, and hopped away to join his
friends!

The birds were now replaced in their cages, and it was the signor's turn
to occupy the stage.

First of all he gave a clever imitation of the notes of all birds,
ending up with the prolonged 'jug-jug' of the nightingale, which he did
to such perfection that you could hardly believe there was not a grove
full of those birds on the stage.

'He may well call himself "Rossignol"' (the French for nightingale),
said the boys' uncle as he gave a hearty clap to the clever performer,
'for he seems as real a nightingale as I ever listened to.'

Next Rossignol produced a fiddle without any strings to it, and going
through all the airs and graces of a real violinist, he sawed the air
with an imaginary bow, making the notes with his voice so well that you
could not imagine it was not a real violin playing. This delighted the
audience most of all, and he was encored again and again, and when the
entertainment was finished, the two boys said 'they wished they could
have it all over again!'

* * * * *

For many months Rossignol continued to draw large audiences to hear his
imitation of birds, &c., but one fatal day it was discovered that the
sounds were produced by an instrument--probably a pierced
peach-stone--which he concealed in his mouth, and after that no one
cared to hear him, and he died in great poverty a few years later.

S. CLARENDON.

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 27._)

CHAPTER V.

My chief fear when I went to bed that night was that I might not wake
early the following morning, for in this event my departure would have
to be put off. I must leave Ascot House before any of the Turtons were
up, if I left at all; I was bent upon getting away from Castlemore at
the very earliest moment. In my room there were three beds, two being
unoccupied during the holidays, and there was a chest of drawers which I
shared with my companions. On the knob of one of the drawers hung the
bag in which were kept my brush and comb, and this I thought would serve
to hold the few things I intended to take with me. Not daring to get the
things ready that night, lest Mr. Turton should pay one of his
occasional visits to the bedroom when he turned out the gas, I lay do