f letters, some nibbled
into mere powder by the busy rat and some still uninjured, and on the
top of all a yellow parchment folio bearing in large letters the words,
'_Will of George Pelham, Esquire, of Vale Place, Surrey._'

Pelham got very red as he exclaimed, excitedly, 'Surely this is the lost
will!'

'If it is, we owe it to the rat!' said George, half thinking Pelham was
joking.

'I must take it at once to Father,' said Pelham, and he ran down the
attic stairs closely followed by the no less excited George and Nannie.

'See, Father, this will! Is it right? Will you have Vale Place after
all?' said Pelham, eagerly; as he held out the papers.

Mr. Carteret took the bundle, looked at the heading, and then turned it
hastily over to see the signatures at the end.

Yes, it was duly signed and witnessed, and without doubt was the
long-sought will!

* * * * *

Why Mr. Pelham should have so carefully concealed his will was never
explained, but people from time immemorial have done odd things with
their wills, and will probably continue to do so. It was, after all, of
little consequence now where it had been found, so long as the will was
a true one, and of that no doubt was ever raised.

Before many months were over Mr. Carteret and his family were settled at
Vale Place, where the 'mysterious chest,' as Nannie always called it,
has the place of honour in the entrance hall.

S. CLARENDON.

[Illustration: "'We will see where this rat came from.'"]

[Illustration: The Death of a Deserter.]

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

True Tales of the Year 1805.

II.--SIGNOR ROSSIGNOL'S PERFORMING BIRDS.

It was April, and the year 1805, when two little fellows, out for the
day from Charterhouse School, stood at the bow window of a large house
on Ludgate Hill, London, waiting for the return of their uncle from his
country house.

'Here he comes!' said the lads, as a portly figure came round the
corner, and the next minute he was in the room, exclaiming, in his
cheery way, 'Well, lads, glad to see you! What must we do this
afternoon? Is it to be the Tower of London, or the river, or the
Monument? Anything you choose will suit me.'

'Then, sir,' said the elder boy, eagerly, 'do let us go and see the
performing birds. All our fellows are talking about them.'

'To be sure we will! I, too, have heard about this Signor Rossignol, as
he calls himself, and we will have a bit of dinner, and sta