ural population.

"A cottage child had been in the habit for some time of taking its
porridge every morning into the orchard, to eat there, instead of in the
house. Its mother was curious to know why it did this. At length it was
watched, and found seated under an apple-tree in company with a huge
serpent, its head dipt in the porringer sharing the child's breakfast. But
taking up a greater part of the dish than was consistent with fair play,
or quite agreeable to good manners, the child was beating its head with
the spoon, saying--'Take at thy own side, Grayface; take at thy own side,
Grayface'--the snake submitting to this rather uncourteous treatment with
the most praiseworthy patience. Indeed, this reverence for innocence, felt
by savage beast or venomous reptile, is a beautiful feature of many of
those old romantic tales, from the most simple to be found in rustic life,
to the grand allegorical fiction of Spenser's 'Fairy Queen,' of

"Heavenly Una with her milk-white lamb,
And the brave Lion slain in her defense."

"But may there not be some truth, after all, in this tale of the serpent
and child? Remember the fact--that serpents have a strange propensity to
come near our houses, and are not unfrequently found there, as was
exemplified this last summer in our own locality by two instances: the
one, that of the pantry burglar; the other, by a large hagworm being
caught lying in wait, and killed close to the farm-house below. Then their
acknowledged predilection for a milk diet: it is said that, when tamed,
they eat it greedily. Giving due weight, therefore, to these two
circumstances, is it not probable enough that there is a substratum of
truth in this story, and that it is not a mere invention trumped up to
please the nursery?"

ESTHER HAMMOND'S WEDDING-DAY.

A few years ago, having made known to those whom it might concern that I
wanted a footman, there came, among others, to offer himself for the
situation, a young man, named George Hammond. He had a slight figure, and
a pale, thin, handsome face, but a remarkably sad expression. Although he
inspired me with interest, I felt, before I began to question him, that I
should hardly like to have that melancholy countenance always under my
eye.

"Where have you lived?" I asked.

"I have never been exactly in a situation," he answered.

"Then," said I, interrupting him, "I fear you will not suit me."

"I meant to say," he continued, turn