TIIE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
153 
“Is this where there’s a baby to be buried ?” asked 
one, roughly. 
Harry nodded assent, while Mrs. McGregor sat down 
despondingly by the side of the body, and Bob sank 
down on tho floor and wiped his eyes with the skirt of 
her gown. 
“I didn’t have nothin’ to put on it,” she said to Harry, 
" and I couldn’t wash it or do nothin’ to make it look 
nice. I wished I'd had somethin’ white, so I could ’a’ 
fixed it.” 
“ An’ I couldn’t get no flowers,” put in Bob. 
Harry’s fingers were twisting the string to his box of 
flowers. 
“ I've got a few flowers here,” said lie, “ and if you'd 
like them, why, here they are.” 
And he pulled open the box and in went every Jacque¬ 
minot into the little coffin upon the ragged yellow flan¬ 
nel and the dirt that shrouded the little body that had 
been placed there. 
He looked at it a moment, while their faces lighted up; 
then he put the choicest Rose into the dirty little hand 
and arranged the rest about the body, over the strip of 
coarse muslin tacked about the edge of the coffin, and 
turned away, while the men, who had been looking on 
in surprise, came up to remove it. 
Mrs. McGregor, as she saw them move towards the 
coffin, staggered to her feet and came towards Harry. 
‘ Oh, I can’t see them take it away, sir ! I can’t! I 
can’t!” 
“No, no,” said Harry, soothingly, leading her to a 
little room at one side. “ Here, go in here, and I’ll see 
that it’s all right. Don’t feel bad, you know; it’s all 
right; she'll be better off; you'll come out all right. 
Here, this will help you along, and I’ll look in to-mor¬ 
row and see how you’re getting on.” 
With such awkward attempts at consolation, and 
with the more substantial sympathy of a five dollar bill, 
Harry got her out of the room, while she was making 
an effort to thank him, and repeated his promise of 
help, and, with an awkward sense of his clumsiness, 
yet with the satisfaction that he had given them 
some aid, he followed the men down to the side¬ 
walk, where one of them had backed up a covered 
wagon. 
As the wagon rattled off over the pavements, Harry 
stood watching it, then, shivering at the bleak and 
snowy air, and at the mockery of a funeral, he turned 
from Starr Place and walked briskly away. 
Several hours later he called upon Miss Westford to 
explain why he could send her no flowers. “I’ve 
searched the city through,” said he, “ and there’s not 
one to be had.” Then he told of his visit to Shaw Place, 
giving a rough picture of their misery, and slighting 
and half-sneering at his own charitable acts. “They 
lived in such a beastly hole, don’t you know, and every¬ 
thing was so disgusting, and they’d had no end of bad 
luck, and the little beggar was so set on Roses, that, 
hang it all! I couldn’t refuse him.” 
Miss Westford saw through his indifferent manner, 
and guessed at his real actions, and the story moved her 
so much, that she was content at the loss of her Jac¬ 
queminots, and exclaimed, as he finished, “ Mr. Brenton 
you’re an angel! ” 
Harry was a trifle embarrassed at this praise, 
“Why, I didn’t do anything for them, you know,” ho 
began. 
“Yes, you did. I know you did exactly the right 
tiling. You needn’t feel flattered, for there isn’t ordi¬ 
narily anything angelic about you; you forgot yourself 
this time, that’s all. Now, there’s one other thing I 
want to know about, and that is where these people live. 
I’m interested in your account, and I’m going down to 
see them. 
As I said in the beginning, Starr Place is not a pleas¬ 
ant place to live in, and no one would ever think that, 
there was any romance, about it; and yet, if Harry 
Brenton had not carried those roses down there, it is a 
question in my mind if the engagement which “came 
out” last week would ever have “come out” at all.— 
Selected. 
INSECT FIDDLERS. 
An observation of Mr. Bates, in his “Naturalist on 
the Amazons,” clearly shows the purpose served of the 
“ stridulation ”—as the faculty of producing sound is 
named in insects. A male field-cricket, like some gay 
troubadour, has been seen to take up his position at the 
entrance of his burrow in the twilight. Loud and clear 
sound his notes, until, on the approach of a partner, his 
song becomes more subdued, softer, and all-expressive 
in its nature, and as the captivated and charmed one 
approaches the singer, she is duly caressed and stroked 
with his antennae, as if by way of commendation for 
her ready response to his love-notes. Thus insect court¬ 
ship progresses much as in higher life, although, in¬ 
deed, the siren-notes belong in the present case to the 
sterner sex, and thus reverse the order of things in 
higher existence. The sound-producing apparatus in these 
insects consists of a peculiar modification of the wings, 
wing-covers, and legs. Thusth e grasshopper’s song is due 
to the friction produced by the first joint of the hind 
leg (or thigh) against the wing-covers or first pair of 
wings—a kind of mechanism which has been aptly com¬ 
pared to a species of violin-playing. On the inner-side 
of the thigh, a row of very fine-pointed teeth, number¬ 
ing from eighty to ninety or more, is found. When the 
wing-covers or first wings are in turn inspected, their 
ribs or “ nervures,” are seen to be very sharp, and of 
projecting nature, and these latter constitute the 
“strings,” so to speak, of the violin. Both “fiddles 
are not played upon simultaneously; the insect first 
uses one and then the other—thus practising that physi¬ 
ological economy which is so frequently illustrated by 
the naturalist’s studies. Some authorities, in addition, 
inform us that the base of the tail in these insects is 
hollowed so as to constitute a veritable sounding-board, 
adapted to increase the ressonance of the song. And 
this latter faculty is still more plainly exemplified in 
certain exotic insects allied to the grasshoppers; these 
foreign relations having the bodies of the males dis¬ 
tended with air for the purpose of increasing and inten¬ 
sifying the sound.—Belgravia. 
