This reminds me, while I write, of another instance of compensation, which occurred to my own knowledge. A great many years ago, a good old market-gardener, whom I well knew, and who used to go by the name of “Contented Sam,” lost a fine crop of early green peas he was raising for the spring market, by a violent storm, which literally shelled the pods when they were just ready to gather, and beat them into the earth. He was looking at the devastation somewhat seriously, when some one passing cried out, “Well, master, can you see anything good in _that_ now?” “Yes,” said he, rousing up, “I dare say God has some good purpose in it, somehow or other.” And so it remarkably proved; for the peas, _self-sown_, came up late in the season, when there were none in the market, and sold at a much higher price. To return to Messrs. Kirby and Spence. The friendship of these two good and eminent men lasted nearly half a century. During the course of that time, the letters that passed between them on entomology were between four and five hundred. These letters were mostly written on sheets of large folio paper, so closely, that each would equal a printed sheet of sixteen pages of ordinary type. These they called their “first-rates,” or “seventy-fours;” the few of ordinary size being “frigates.” But once, Mr. Kirby having even more than usual to say, wrote what he called “The Royal Harry,” alluding to the great ship “Harry,” built in the reign of Henry VIII., of which I have seen a curious print. This _noteworthy note_ was written on a sheet nearly the size of a _Times_ Supplement, and closely filled on three pages! Talk of ladies’ long letters after this! The correspondence sprang up, and was continued, some months before they ever saw each other. They then spent “ten delightful days together,” at Mr. Kirby’s parsonage, and devoted part of the time to an entomological excursion in the parson’s gig. At length, the idea occurred to them both of writing a book on entomology together, and in a popular form, which should allure readers by its entertainment, rather than deter them by its dryness. All the world knows how happily they accomplished it; and I have heard one of them say, the partnership was so complete, that in subsequent years neither of them could positively say, “This paragraph was written by myself, and this by my friend.” * * * * * This morning, as I was at work, enjoying the soft air through the open window, and listening to the blackbird and cuckoo, I heard a carriage stop at the gate, and soon afterwards, Arbell, carrying a parcel almost half as large as herself, came in, looking very merry, and said— “Good morning, Mrs. Cheerlove! Mamma thought you would like to see what I have been doing for Mademoiselle; so she set me down here, and will call for me presently.”