and before the owner discovers his loss, the
animal is slaughtered and eaten, or sold to a
butcher.

GUIDO'S MODEL.

GUIDO RENT in a Roman palace chamber
Sat one pleasant summer afternoon
(Twas the old Farnese's sumptuous palace).
The walls were blazoned with the gilded moon
In crescent, and sweet tangles of those flowers
That blossom into faces, while birds play,
Fluttering from twig to twig, and lizards run
Below, and jewelled beetles crawl from spray to spray.

The great hall window, reaching to the floor,
Stood open for the vine to ramble in;
The birds were in the garden down below;
The silver-column'd fountain, tall and thin
As a magician's wand, rose in the air;
Great yellow clouds, laden with sunshine, passed;
The sky, one flawless sapphire, floated there.
Guido was painting, half entranced in thought;
Guido was painting that pure, gentle face
You've seen in lonely chapels oft and oft;
Calm, sweet and radiant, with a saintly grace;
Chaste as a virgin martyr glorified;
Without one thought of earth, pure as the snow
Upon the Alp-peak, with no stain of sin
Sullying her form, save where one rapturous glow

Of coldest sunshine lit her marbly breast;
The dove-like eyes were all intent on heaven.
A Sabbath sanctity was in the air,
And not one glare of Passion's burning leven.
Where was the proud and dark-eyed beauty then,
The painter's model? Where the peasant-girl
All love and happiness? Where, then, was she
With throbbing bosom and with lavish curl?

Only a blear-eyed crone in a low chair,
Facing the central window, dozed or prayed.
Her cheeks were wrinkled leather, and her hair,
In one grey, half-starved knot of grizzled braid,
Crowned her old nodding, semi-palsied head.
Her breviary was resting on her knees,
Nor recked she what the chiding painter said.

In came the cardinal, grave, and coldly wise.
His scarlet gown and robes of cobweb lace
Trailed on the marble floor; with convex-glass
He bent o'er Guido's shoulder; soon his face
Grew wistful, and then curdled to a smile,
As he beheld the crone, and looked again.
"Where is thy model, Guido?" Guido said,
"I keep her, cardinal, locked up in my brain."

ALL MOONSHINE.

THERE is a belief general in this kingdom, in
all European countries, and probably in
countries not European, that the moon exercises a
direct influence on the weather. It is not
confined to one class, nor to the uneducated. The
peer, who is anxious with respect to the effect of
the weather on the hatching and growth of his
pheasants and partridges, is just as likely to
look at the almanack for the time of the
moon's changes during the critical period, as
the farmer who is thinking only of the weather
in connexion with the harvest. Nearly everybody
appears to take a lively interest in knowing
what the weather will be a day, three days,
or a week hence. It is, moreover, a weakness
with almost every man to consider himself a
judge of the weather.

With the majority of people, the influence of
the moon on the weather is accepted as a fact,
without their being able to give any reason
for their faith. But there are those who
argue that if the moon, with the aid of the
sun, causes the ocean tides, it is far more
easy for the moon to exercise a powerful
influence on a fluid so mobile as the atmosphere.
The sun, they say, raises vapours from the sea,
lakes, rivers, and swamps, into the atmosphere;
clouds being thus formed, the influence of the
moon intervenes and acts upon those clouds and
upon the atmosphere in which they float, in the
same way as some say it acts on the sea in
raising the tides. The combined effects of these
atmospheric tides and heat, produce winds, which
drive the clouds; hence rain, snow, or hail.

It must be admitted that there is something
plausible in this hypothesis, and, if it were
supported by recorded observations even in a
very slight degree, it would meet with ready
attention from scientific men. Many persons
who have read the arguments in support of the
theory naturally say, "All this is perfectly
clear. It explains the mode in which the moon
exercises the influence attributed to her, in as
simple a way as possible." Unfortunately for
the makers of almanacks who venture on weather
predictions, it is not sufficient to start a theory
without supporting it by facts, when facts are
obtainable; and observations have been
recorded for a sufficient number of years, of the
daily changes of the weather, to allow of the
affirmative being proved if there were any real
proof to be got. It cannot be denied that these
observations fail to establish a very strong negative;
but this is only what might be expected
if the moon were altogether without influence
one way or the other. The materials for making
this calculation exist at various places—at Paris,
Rome, Vienna, Geneva, and several other cities;
the observations extend over long periods; and
yet no evidence in favour of the moon exerting
the influence claimed for her, can be obtained
from these records. Of course it suits the pockets
of almanack-makers to maintain the contrary,
and it is a curious circumstance, that, although
they may be wrong in their prediction as to what
the weather will be on a certain day, ninety-nine
times out of a hundred, it is sufficient to be
strikingly right in the remaining instance, to
preserve the faith of the purchaser, in a robust
condition. The compilers of Old Moore's
almanack do not now venture to predict what
the weather will be on a given day twelve
months in advance, but some less popular
prognosticators do. There is a M. Mathieu,
whose name is continually in the French
newspapers as a weather prophet, and some very
remarkable instances have been published of the
fulfilment of his predictions. The inhabitants
of Venice will have an opportunity of verifying