have taken the first prize the following year, but for some reason or other there was no competition. In his third year and a few months after his visit to Tombe Abbey when the competition was again revived, he met with an accident at cricket on the very morning of the race, which destroyed his chances of winning it. Once in the deep water of the lake, Leroux, swimming with a strong sidestroke, soon reached the island in the centre, and selecting the easiest tree to climb in which some of the herons' nests were built, naked as he was, he lost no time in getting up to them. There were four eggs in each of the two nests he actually inspected, and transferring these to an empty sponge-bag which he had brought with him, and which he now held in his mouth, he soon reached the ground again at the foot of the tree without having broken or even cracked a single egg. A hasty look round assured him that no one was in sight anywhere in the park, so still holding the sponge-bag containing the eight large blue eggs in his teeth, he soon recrossed the lake to the mainland, and then lost no time in pulling his clothes over his wet and shivering limbs. But though his teeth were chattering, Leroux's young heart was full of joy and exultation at the successful accomplishment of his enterprise, and he thought but little of his personal discomfort. Once dressed he soon reached the boundary of the park, and early in the afternoon was able to report himself to his house-master, though he did not think it necessary to enter into any details as to his day's ramble, and probably had it not been for the fact that the great Midland school at this time boasted a natural history society, of which Leroux was a prominent member as well as keeper of the ornithological note-book, the incident of the taking of the herons' eggs at Tombe Abbey might never have been known to anyone but a few of Leroux's most intimate friends. However, at the next evening meeting of the society, in the innocence of his heart Leroux exhibited the great blue eggs, the contemplation of which was still his chief joy. One of the undermasters, Mr. Kitchener, was that night in the chair, and this unprincipled pedagogue, after having obtained the admission from Leroux that he had taken the herons' eggs himself, required him in the most unsportsmanlike manner to state exactly when and where he had become possessed of them. All prevarication was foreign to Leroux's nature, and when thus challenged he did not hesitate to tell the story of his visit to Tombe Abbey, and how he had swum across the lake and climbed to the herons' nests stark naked on a cold day in early March. The hardihood of the exploit, however, made no appeal to the mean soul of Mr. Kitchener, who not only confiscated the herons' eggs