An extremely pretty aquarium has lately been fitted up by a boy about eleven years old. It is not a very large one, and stands on a small table near the window of his room--too near, it may be said, for the sun these summer days having unusual power has caused the untimely death of two many-tailed Japanese gold-fish and four extremely graceful little silver-fish. With the exception of this mortality, the death rate has been quite low. The original occupants of the aquarium before these recent deaths consisted of two pair of Japanese gold-fish, two pair of silver-fish, two pollywogs--one small one, who worked busily all day trying to do his share of the work in keeping the place clean, and one big fat pollywog, who sadly neglected his duty and spent his time trying to turn into a frog as quickly as he possibly could. Six snails, who were put in the aquarium to keep the glass clean, worked hard and satisfactorily in accomplishing their mission (in the beginning one snail was at first relegated to this work, but the task was beyond his power, and, after making a superhuman effort to go the whole round, he yielded up his life). The water in the aquarium is changed twice a month, and when that is done the fish are lifted out very tenderly and carefully with a little scoop net, and put in a basin near by overnight, until every impurity of the sand shall have settled and the water is absolutely transparent. This performance is always one of deep anxiety, and requires unremitting attention to be sure that everything is replaced exactly as it was before, so that the fishes will know their home when they get back to it. There was a lizard put in this aquarium, to begin with, but he proved of a very quarrelsome disposition, and tried to bite the tails of the fish, so that he had to be removed to a basin, where he lives a life of solitude. The pleasure given by this little aquarium has far exceeded the outlay of money, and many a useful lesson in neatness and care has been learned in looking out for the needs of the fish. ANNE HELME. * * * * * MOTHER. "Jack, why is it you have so many holes in your pockets?" JACK. "I guess it's my money which burns through." PERILS OF THE NEWFOUNDLAND BANKS. BY W. J. HENDERSON.