While on the ear the solemn note Of prayer and praises heavenward float, A butterfly with brilliant wings A lesson full of meaning brings, A sermon to the eye. There on an infant's grave it stands, For it hath burst the shroud's dull bands, Its vile worm's body there is left, Of gross earth's habits now bereft It soars into the sky. Thus when the grave her dead shall give The little form below shall live, Clothed in a robe of dazzling white Shall spring aloft on wings of light, To realms above shall fly! Changes were setting in all this time. The rick-burnings, in which so many foolish persons indulged, was going on in 1831 in many parts of Hampshire. They were caused partly by dislike to the threshing machines that were beginning to be used, and partly by the notion that such disturbances would lead to the passing of the Reform Bill, which ignorant men believed would give every poor man a fat pig in his stye. There was no rick-burning here, though some of the villagers joined the bands of men who wandered about the country demanding money and arms at the large houses. But, happily, none of them were actually engaged in any violence, and none of them swelled the calendar of the Special Assize that took place at Winchester for the trial of the rioters. One poor maid-servant in the parish, from the North of Hampshire, had, however, two brothers, who were intelligent men of some education, and who, having been ringleaders, were both sentenced to death. The sentence was, however, commuted to transportation for life. At Sydney, being of a very different class from the ordinary convict, they prospered greatly, and their letters were very interesting. They were wonderful feats of penmanship, for postage from Australia was ruinously expensive, and they filled sheets of paper with writing that could hardly be read without a microscope. If we had those letters now they would be curious records of the early days of the Colony, but all now recollected is the account of a little kangaroo jumping into a hunter's open shirt, thinking it was his mother's pouch.