A few days ago I was passing through Sonning, an old English village on the Thames, when I was attracted to a field near the road by hearing the merry sounds of the village school at a game of cricket.  I could not resist the pleasure of pausing to watch the boys at play.  Before long my curiosity was aroused by shouts of “Look out!” “Take care!” “Mind where you’re going!” whenever any boy approached a certain spot, which seemed to be within a few yards of one of the wickets.  I asked one of the party what such outcries meant.  He replied—­“Oh, that’s our lark, sir!” On inquiry I found that some weeks before, the boys discovered a titlark’s nest in the ground close to their cricket-piece.  One of the boys seems to have made the suggestion that the school should take the lark under their special patronage.  The proposal was adopted, and it became a daily business to see, before settling to their play, that all was right with the lark.

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Helping mother.

I shall help mother when I am grown big;
When I am old enough, oh! wont I dig,
Plough with the horses, and call out “Gee-ho!”
Plant the potatoes, fell timber, and mow?

Then I shall fetch the cows home to the byre,
Carry such fagots to make mother’s fire,
Reap and make hay—­Hush! who calls?  I shant go! 
Its only to play with the baby, I know.

A boy who is seven is too big to do that,
Can’t mother nurse her, or give her the cat? 
Oh, what a bother!  She’s calling me still—­
“Come and take the baby off my hands, Bill.”

“I must get your father’s socks finished to-night,
And I can’t while the little girl pulls the thread tight;
There—­lift him up, play at ball or Peep-bo—­
You will help mother then very greatly you know.”

Bill waited a moment.  Then into his mind
Came a thought,—­“Little boy, if you don’t feel inclined
To help mother now, when you easily can,
I’m afraid you won’t do it when you are a man.”

So he brightened his face till the baby smiled too;
Hid himself in the cupboard and called out “Cuckoo.” 
And on his knee fed her with delicious cream,
And helping mother was not so bad it would seem.

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A four-footed thief.

The Paris Figaro says:—­“On Friday a new kind of robber was arrested not far from a hatter’s, and holding a hat between his teeth.  When efforts were made to take the hat away he stood on the defensive, and there was a fight, which ended very badly for the hat.  The thief was a dog.  His master, who has not yet been found, had taught him to bring home goods to him for sale, and the hatter accuses him of having carried off no less than six hats within a week.”

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The performing monkeys.