ll animals are
liable to occasional variations of colour, which cannot be
satisfactorily explained. In the leopard these variations occur more
frequently than in most other animals, and the colour is nearly always
black.

THE POET CRABBE'S FIRST SCHOOL.

Crabbe, the poet, whose _Village Tales_ were the delight of a past
generation, was sent to a boarding school whilst still so young that he
had not even learnt to dress himself.

When he awoke in the morning after his first night away from home, he
saw the other boys dressing, and was much disturbed. He whispered to his
bedfellow (for all schoolboys slept at least two in a bed in those
days), 'Master George, can you put on your shirt? for--for I'm afraid I
cannot!'

This school, though only for small boys, seems to have been a very
severe one, for Crabbe and his friends were punished for simply 'playing
at soldiers.' He was condemned, with his friends, to be shut in a large
dog-kennel, known by the terrible name of 'the Black Hole.' Little
Crabbe was the first to be pushed in, and the rest were crowded in on
top of him, till at last the kennel was so full of boys that they were
all but suffocated. Crabbe in vain cried out that he could not breathe,
but no notice was taken of him until, in despair, he bit the lad next
to him violently in the hand.

'Crabbe is dying! Crabbe is dying!' roared the sufferer, and the
sentinel outside at length opened the door, and allowed the boys to rush
into the air.

Crabbe, when telling this story to his children in after years, always
added, 'A minute more and I must have died!'

X.

MY PICTURE-BOOK.

Oh, what a pretty scene is this,
Of meadow, hill, and brook,
I wish that I was small enough
To get inside the book.
Upon this stream I'd launch my boat;
I'd pluck this willow wand;
Then round that reedy curve I'd float,
And past the mill beyond--
If I were only small enough.

Then where the meadows are so green
I'd moor my boat again,
And overtake that little boy
Who's trotting down the lane.
I'd ask him to be friends with me,
I'd take him by the hand,
And through my pretty picture we
Would go to fairy-land--
If I were only small enough.

ULRICH'S OPPORTUNITY.

The Thirty Years' War was raging, and Europe was torn by bitter party
strife. All over the country men ranged themselves under their
respec