ime and received a willingly-given potato or a drink
of milk. They seemed happy enough, and their funny, ugly little faces
were defaced by no tears. They grew in time old enough to explain their
position to inquiring passers-by and to pick up and eat an amazing
quantity of green apples. A lady passing one day stopped and
remonstrated with one of them. "Barney," she said, "it will make you ill
if you eat those green apples."--"I do be always atin' of them, ma'am,"
replied Barney, stolidly.

Perhaps it may have been the green apples, but from whatever cause
Barney fell ill, and all that the doctor prescribed made him no better.
"It's no matther, stir," said Mrs. Gunning one morning: "yer needn't
come ag'in. I'll just go an' ask Mrs. ------" (my mother).

The next morning the doctor, meeting my mother, laughingly remarked
that it was very plain that they couldn't practise in the same
district: he had just met Mrs. Gunning, who informed him that "what
Mrs. ------ gave her the night befoor done the choild a power of good."

The day preceding our departure from the place my sister and I passed
through The Lane, and received the most amiable farewells, accompanied
with blessings, and even tears. The figure I best remember is that of
Mrs. Regan, who, bursting out from her doorway, stood in our path, and,
dissolving in tears, sobbed out, "Faith, I'm sorry yez be goin'. I don't
know what I'll do at all widout yez;" and, seizing my sister's hand,
gave her this unique recommendation: "Ye were always passing by
mannerly--niver sassy nor impidint, nor nothing."

The Lane has changed to-day. A Chinese grocer has, I hear, set up a shop
in its midst. Some of its most noted characters have passed away, and
the younger generation have taken on habits more American than those of
their predecessors.

M.R.O.

A CHILD'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

A quaint and charming volume, which has fallen in our way, is _Little
Charlie's Life_, "the autobiography of a child between six and seven
years of age, written with his own hand and without any assistance
whatever." It was at the urgent request of the gentleman who acted as
editor, Rev. W.R. Clark--thus rescuing an inimitable little work from
comparative oblivion--that the parents of the youthful author
reluctantly consented to the publication of this curious delineation of
child-life. From the date of his birth (1833), Charlie must have written
his work some forty years ago. How long he was en