to him. In the year 1646 its garrison was obliged to march out, and surrender to Cromwell. Sad to say, the estate was sequestered and sold. The lead was taken from the roof; the walls, broken by the cannon, soon mouldered; and, while all has been done that can be done to preserve the ruins, yet it is but a ruin, although, perhaps, the most beautiful one in the kingdom. It is said that twenty-three staircases were removed for the sake of the stones.

King Charles I. found refuge here for a time from his enemies, and he has left on record high praise of its glory and beauty.

There are remains of the chapel yet to be seen, telling us that our noble ancestors did not forget to worship God in their grand abodes. We will hope that many of them were as true to the great King as they were to their earthly monarch, and that now they have passed away, and their fair abodes are all in ruins, they have entered a city, with its many mansions, that will abide for ever, because its builder and maker is not man, but God. And in that city, dear children, each of you may obtain a dwelling-place more glorious and more beautiful than any

of earth's lordly castles, and no enemy shall find entrance to deface or to destroy.

A TRUE STORY OF A
GOOD DOG.

CF course this is a story
for boys. Girls like
dolls, which they can
nurse and kiss the livelong
day; but boys like dogs better
than dolls. A doll is just the
thing for a tender girl; but
boys like something that can
run, romp, and play with them,
and so they like dogs.
"But
dogs are rough playthings, and
have very sharp teeth." Truly, as
all boys know. Yet dogs don't
bite boys who play with them
fairly, and treat them kindly.
And cruel, wicked boys, who
delight in teasing dogs, must
not be surprised if they both
see and feel the dogs' teeth.
To those boys who are pleased
to read of the sagacity of this
noble animal, the following story
will not be unacceptable.

Jack was a remarkably fine Newfoundland dog. His owner was a sea-captain, and he lived in a village by the sea-side. He had nothing to do but form the acquaintance of the sailors; look out when he chose upon the beautiful sea; be in attendance when the fishing-boats

came in; go, if he liked, a short voyage with his master; and behave himself like a respectable dog. No dog in the land might have had a better time of it than he; for he was not chained up in a kennel, or made to draw a cart, or kept on short allowance. He was at liberty to go where he liked; and, of the sailors, neither boy nor man refused him a bit when he asked it. And, to say the truth, he did not often lose his dinner because he was too delicate to ask it, or mopishly and ill-temperedly complain that there was nothing but trouble in the world. He would lie full length lazily on the sand, leap about among the boulders, scamper up the rugged cliff, rush into the water for the stick he was bidden to fetch, and, after giving himself a good shake, would gallop away to dry his hide. And if he enjoyed fine weather, he was not afraid of a storm, or horrified at the howling of the wind. He could bark if he wished; and on occasion howl too. A fine beast was he. But

Why, surely there was nothing amiss with Jack? Ay, but there was. Jack had his faults; and fairness demands that we name them. He took it

into his head that he ought to be, and would be, master of all the dogs in the village. His size and strength were very great, and he began to rule like a tyrant. It seemed as if he wished to have no dog but himself in the place; for he caused that the other poor brutes should have as little enjoyment as possible. He was such an overbearing cur, that if he met a dog anywhere in the street, or on the sand, he would pounce upon him, lay hold of him with his teeth, and give him such a terrible shaking as almost to frighten him out of his wits. The dogs, therefore, looked upon Jack with great dread, and did their best to keep out of his way. It was evident that he had a very great dislike to village dogs. Of course that was wrong of him, for he was but a village dog himself; but so the thing was.

Well, one day he was lying in the road, probably asleep, when a carriage came along, and ran over him. He was not killed; but he sustained such injury, that for a long time he was under a doctor's care, and could not leave the house. Indeed, it was doubtful whether he would ever recover. Gradually, however, he gathered

strength, and at length ventured to take an airing on the sand. Of course, as he was but an invalid, he could not have done much harm; but the dogs judged it prudent to keep out of his way. They did not then

know that Jack would no more

be the terror of the village.

But such was the fact. For when he was quite well again, it was found that his savage ill-temper was gone, and that he had become quite amiable. He never again sought a quarrel with the dogs, never molested them more. They might go where they pleased, do as they liked, and never have an angry look from Jack. If they did not choose to provoke or take liberties with him, they felt that they no longer dreaded him.

But the greatest change Jack underwent has yet to be named. His liking had ever been for

men; now it began to be for

pew-rent, he occupied one of the best places in the front of the gallery, as though he thought he could hear better if he were where he could see the preacher. It is said that dogs have no ear for music; but Jack, at any rate, did not object to sacred music, for he never missed the opening hymn, or went away till the last had been sung. He could not, indeed, sing well himself; but he did not disturb those who could. His behaviour during the whole service was admirable. One peculiarity, however, deserves mention. The moment the preacher began to pronounce the benediction, away went Jack; but whether politeness or regard for his own personal convenience led him to do so, is not certainly known.

One Sunday a preacher went to the chapel who had no knowledge of Jack, and seeing Jack come in, requested the chapelkeeper to "turn that dog out." Of course that was not the time to offer explanations, and, accordingly, Jack was put out of

religious men. And, strangely enough, he became a regular attendant at the Methodist chapel, and was in his place twice every Sunday, as well as at the week-evening preaching. not pretend to be pleased with How it happened that he chose such treatment, he went away the Methodist chapel does not without causing any disturbappear; such, however, was his

the chapel. Now, though he did

choice. And though he paid no stay, he ran to another chapel.

ance. But, as he might not