family herald june 02 1860

8/8/2019 Family Herald June 02 1860

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FAMILY8 domestic Jftapjtw oi

NO CONDITION SO LOW BUT MA Y HAVE HOPES; AN D NONE

SO HIGH BUT MA Y HAVE TEARS.

HERALD ©artul information an* amusement

WHOEVER IS NOT PERSUADED BY REASON, VfllX NOT BE

CONVINCED B Y AUTHORITY.

No . § 9 2 . — Y O L . X V I I I . ] F O E T H E W E E K E N D I N G J U N E 2 , 1 8 6 0 . [ P R I C E O N E P E N N Y .

T H E E I F L E V O L U N T E E R .

" None but the brave deserve the fair "

s now the motto everywhere !

Go where you may, do what you will,The talk is all parade and drill.

My sisters' hei ds are fairly turn'dAn d have been ever since they learn'd

That I had joined the Rifles.

Before, with mo they scarce would go

o ball or picnic, rout or show,

f I butask'd, 'twas always no,

Because they had another beau;

But now they've bid their beaux good-bye

And would you know the reason why ?

They would not join the Rifles. "

Do what I woul d 'tWas riever right;

knew not how to be polite;

They always wish'd me out of sight,

For I was such a horrid fright;

But of me nowwith pride they talk,

An d say with me they'd rather walk,For I have joined the Rifles.

So now if I but don the grey,

" Dear Frank, for me one moment stay,

With you I'll go a little way,

For I have not been out to-day,

For you at home I have been stopping,

Thinking you'd go with me shopping "—

That's now I've joined the Rifles.

The nasty shooting made them illj

But now they'll go with me to drill,And midst the firing stand quite still,They're not afraid; but praise our skill;And all the Rifle Volunteers,

They call pet names, as ducks and dears,So young men join the Rifles.

I O T A ;

T H E S T O R Y - T E L L E R .

SELF-WILL; OB, THE HASTY MAEEIAGE.

By the Author of T HE MAN THAT WOULDN'T M A R R Y .

CHAPTER L

" M Y DEAR S I R GEORGE,—YOU are anxious to hear of me and o f my

ealth. I am as well as a m an can expect to ]je who is disappointed in the

rst wish of his heart. Edgar is impenetrable to all persuasion or solicita

on, and the long-cherished hope of seeing him united to the daughter' of my

d friend is at length relinquished. Yo u kno w with what unwearied solici

ude I have pursued this my favourite aim through the long years of his

nfancy and childhood; how I have tried to impress on his mind the necessity

fulfil the early engagement I had made for him, and the never-ceasingnxiety I have felt on the subject; but all in vain. I suspect he has formed

n attachment elsewhere, and his folly and pertinacity will probably be their

wn punishment. That a fit of my old enemy the gou t s hould h ave "suc

eeded the annihilation of my hopes you will not wonder; Lady Arden bears

, as she endures every adverse incident, with a fortitude that would astonish

ny one who is unacquainted with her superior greatness of mind. She

ertainly makes me ashamed of my own weakness; for her heart, not less than

mine, was fixed on the match; but such is the uncertainty of all sublunary

opes* and wishes. Ho w often have I repeated this, with a thousand other

ommonplace observations of the same kind, and perhaps fancied that I only

eeded opportunity to show how well I could practise the precepts I utterea.

ut at last I find all my theory insufficient to prevent the bitter repinings of

wounded spirit.

" If my complaints have not discouraged you, it would be charitable to

isit me at this period, for truly I need the consolation of your society. Lady

rden bids me say that your compliance will oblige her; she knows your

fluence over me. Edgar is gone to town to visit his friend Irvine; for my

spleasure, and his mother's looks of resigned disappointment, render the

all no very pleasant abode for him at this time. Irvine is a firm friend of

e Denbeighs, but notwithstanding Edgar is greatly attached to him, and has

und in him the same steady and unabated friendship as that which will, I

ust, continue to subsist through life between you and yours faithfully,

" A R D E N . "

Th e foregoing letter, written by Lord Arden to Sir George Cholmoudeley,

nd in the first effervescence of disappointment, will explain the situation of

ord Arden's family at the period at which this narrative commences. Edgar,

s only son, and heir to the immense estates of an ancient and honourable

mily, remained inflexible on the only subject which had ever caused

ssension amon g its members.

Lady Arden was enthusiastically attached to the mother of the young lady

estined by their mutual friends to be the wife of Edgar, and Lord Arden

ad an equally fervent affection for her father, and for many years it had been

e cherished subject of epistolary intercourse between the four parents; but

ain were all their long-indulged hopes; from the hour that his father, in a

oment of ill-judged ingenuousness, disclosed his future intentions, the

ertinacious young heir would never consent even to see Miss Denbeigh, but

ways contrived to evade comp lying with Lord Arde n's often-repeated pr o

osals to visit Denbeigh Abbey. In his college vacation he had promised

ome fellow collegian to join him in a tour, or he had given his word to visit

is old bachelor uncle, or his friend Irvine expected him to spend as much of

he recess as he could spare from his own family with him . An y excuse was

esorted to rather than be introduced to Miss Denbeigh, whose idea was clothed

in all that was disagreeable to a mind anxious to judg e for itself and impatient

of control.

Th e chosen friend of Edgar was a man of strong understanding an d

amiable character. Charles Irvin e had been his favourite college companion,

and though of a temper wholly opposite, the closest intimacy had always

subsisted between them; he was some years the senior of Edgar, but the

urbanity of his manners, the goodness of his heart, the versatility of his

talents, and the charms of his conversation, rendered him a general favourite

with the young and gay. To Irvine the inflexibility of Edg ar on the subject

of Miss Denbeigh was a source of serious regret. Sir Herbert Denbeigh had

been the most intimate friend of his father, and to himself since the death of

his parent had Sir Herbert's friendship extended. Part of every year, from

his,childhood^ had been passed at Denbeigh Abbey, and his sister, Miss

Irvine, was the cherished friend of Lady Catherine Newton, by whom Miss

Denbeigh had been reared.

Lord Arden's suggestion that his son had formed some other attach

ment was in truth well founded. In one of his visits, during his absence

from College, to a friend of the name of Stuart, in the South of England,

Edgar often rambled out with his g un ; but he was not a great sportsman,

and it was rather an excuse to enjoy the beauties of the surrounding country

than the pursuit of game which attracted his steps. His friend Stuart was

gooduatured, thoughtless, and ga y; he had married imprudently a pretty

girl, youno-, thoughtless, and gay as himself. A neat cottage in Hampshire,

and a suitable household was all the establishment their finances would

al low; but they had not yet learned to reflect, and were so cheerful and

happy that Edgar, with his wonted enthusiasm of disposition, bega n to think

that love and a cottage was not the chimera that wise people ^enera lly believed.

" N o , they are all mistaken," thought he ; " Stuart and Harriet have found

the true secret of happiness, and with a companion I loved I too could be as

happy as they are."

Whi le his mind, always framed for romance, was in this state, an adventure

well calculated to encourage it at once determined Edgar to reject th e

glittering prospects offered him with Miss Denbeigh, and to follow th e

example of his friend Stuart. Overcome with fatigue and thirst after a long

ramble one morning, during w hich his ignorance of the country had led hi mastray from the road by which he ought to have returned home to dinner,

he found himself on the acclivity of an eminence which overlooked one of the

prettiest valleys he had ever seen ; a small village was at one extremity, and at

the entrance of it a lo w neat building was a conspicuous object in the landscape.

Whi le deliberating how to reach it by the nearest path, in order to procure

some aliay to his extreme thirst, he perceived a gentleman advancing, wh o

seemed to have been out shooting. Edga r immediately addressed him and

requested his direction, saying that he was so warm and so thirsty that ii o

intended to make a claim on the hospitality of its inhabitants.

" That cottage is mine," said the stranger, " and shall afford you the

reception yo u wish; for my sister will, I am sure, be happy to supply yo u

with the refreshment you require."

" It is a pretty retired situation," observed Edgar, as they descended into

the valley.

" Yes ," said the stranger, " it is very secluded, but the society of those we

love makes all places agreeable, and when you have seen my sister you will

no t wonder that with her for a companion I seldom feel lonely."

Th e sister more than fulfilled the expectations which the brother had raised;

she was a beautiful animated girl of twenty; she had evidently not been

accustomed to fashionable society, but her manners were lively and interesting,

and her person more than commonly handsome.

An intimacy was soon formed with Woodley , the brother, who had been in

the navy; but having been disabled by a wound, he had retired to this cottage,

where his mother and sister resided on a small indepe ndenc e. The former was

no w dead, and her property descending to Woodley and Julia, they continued

to reside in the same spot—the former because he was glad to enjoy the calm

of retirement after the fatigues of service, and the latter because she loved her

brother and had no friends to draw her from seclusion. Stuart, who was a

ne w comer, had never been introduced to Woodley, but through Edgar an

acquaintance was now formed. Julia Woodley became the companion of Mrs.

Stuart, and Edgar, accustomed to walk, read, and converse with her daily, and

often an inhabitant of the same house, was, long ere he quitted Hampshire,

ages gone in love. When compelled to return to college, a correspondence

with Julia could alone soften the misery of absence; but a change soon took

place in her fate. Her brother was recovered and was again ordered on

service; Mrs. Stuart offered Julia an asylum with them, which was gratefully

accepted, and Stuart soon after was presented to a living near town, whitherJulia accompanied her friends, and thus was she enabled again to meet her

lover.

Just at this period Lord Arden, rendered impatient by the procrastination

of his son's lo ng-wished-for address to Miss Denb eigh, spoke seriously to him

on the subject; but ho w was he shocked when he found that the feeble

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68 THE FAMILY HERALD —A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [June 2, I860.

objections formerly raised by Edgar were • now become insurmountable, and

that, with resolution and obstin acy, he declared he woul d never agree even to

see the lady intended for him . He had always been told that she was highly

educated, and that her sense and accomplishments rendered her in mind superior

to the gener ality of her sex. Her education, he knew , had been superintended

by he r aunt, Lad y Caroline New ton , one of the cleverest wom en of the age.

" I could not endure a learned wife," said Edgar, in answer to some

observation of this kind made by his mother. " I assure you, my dear ma dam,

all these acquirements are therefore anythin g rather than a recommendation

to m e, " and eagerly he w oul d escape from any farther conversation on the

subject.

Al l his leisure time was n ow passed at the house of Stuart, delightfullysituated in a pretty village in Surrey ; but both Stuart and Harriet ha d con

nections in town, and through them Julia had been introduced to the London

world. Her person grew more beautiful and her manners rapidly imp rov ed;

that is, they daily acquired refinement and lost the artlessness which had once

distinguished her; but Ed gar was blinded by first love, and thought her

free from even the shad ow of a defect. No t so Irvin e, who , as he was also a

fellow collegian of Stuart, frequently visited at the house. He saw Julia, no t

with the eyes o f a lover but with those of her lover's friend ; he knew well

all that Edg ar would lose in Miss Denbe igh, and he grieved for the pertinacity

which prevented his drawing a comparison that, he felt assured, must be

decidedly in favour of the wishes of his family.

Tho ug h born with eve ry noble quality of heart and temper, Edgar had been

spoiled by education, and his naturally hig h spirit spurned the idea of contr ol

in a point on which his temporal happiness so materially depende d.

" Tha t I wil l not be compel led to marry a woma n I dislike is quite certain,"

said he, in conver sing with his friend I rv ine ; " and, therefore, that I shall

never be possessor of the Denbeigh estate is also decided; for, that I should

like this highly-e ducated , p edantic damsel I cannot be conv ince d. That shemay not, howeve r, accuse me of insult and curiosity, I will not so far risk

woun ding h er feelings as to solicit an introdu ction. No , Irvine , depend on

it, Miss Den beig h is not the wom an destined for me. I will be in no haste to

marry, though my heart is i rrevoca bly engaged , because I will not incur m y

father's displeasure by acting in direct contradiction to his wishes; but while

Julia permits me to retain a hope that my attachment is mutual, I will never

visit Denbeigh Abbey. But we will drop the subject. I see you think me

Avrong, and I am sorry for it ; but I ca n neither give up Julia nor endure the

idea of marrying a female pedant. Besides, you are not in love, therefore you

cannot judge of my feelings."

" N o , " said Irvine ; " we will not drop the su bject, because we cannot agree

in opinion upon it. It is true I am not in love now ; for I hope and believe I

am past the age when that headstrong feeling is likely to conquer my reason;

but I was once as far go ne as you are, and w ith the very wom an who has

principally assisted to form the mind and manners of her you reject with out

seeing her; and, if the pupil at all resembles her model, yo u may hereafter

deplore your blind infatuation. La dy Caroline New ton at two-an d-twe nty

had all the learning and information o f one of our sex, joi ned to all the

softness and diffidence of her ow n. I detest a pedant as muc h as yo u can, b ut

ignorance in the wife of a well-educated man must lead to satiety. I do not

wish to reflect on your choice, for I know little of Miss W o o d l e y ; but her

scrupulous attention to externals, I ackn owled ge, gives little cause to imagine

that the internal part is as well stored as it ought to be. That she is handsome,

accomplished, (in the common acceptation of the word,) and fascinating I allow,

and that she is certainly well calculated to shine in a fashionable as semb ly;

but whether she is prepared to appear to equal ad vantage by your own fire

side, or when she has half-a-do zen yo ung o nes who are to form their hearts

and understandings from hers, I much doubf. An d as a wife cannot or ought

not always to be in fashionable assemblies, but should very frequently be in

her domestic circle, and must, if she fulfils the duty of a wife and mother,

contribute to make h ome comfor table to her husband, and set a prop er

example to her children, it is I think easy to decide which is the most

natural."

Al l Irvine's reasoning and remonstrances were however alike ineffectual.

Edg ar th ought his friend unreasonably fastidious; and Ir vine with a sighdismissed the subject; for he plainly saw that time and experience only could

bring conviction to the mind o f Edgar.

CHAPTEB I I .

The ancient family of Denb eigh had for a lo ng series of years be en well

kno wn and generally respected in the county in whi ch they resided. The last

male representative of a long line o f ancestors was Sir Herbe rt Den beig h, a

baronet of amiable character, who having lost the wife to whom he was fondly

attached, had from that period led a life of retirement, though not of seclusion.

An only daughter was the cherished treasure that had preserved him from

giving way to the deepest mela ncholy on the death of her mot her ; and the

rational society of a younger sister of his wife, who had immediately resigned

her own establishment to become a permanent resident with the baronet, and

to superintend the educatio n o f her niece, had contrib uted to ameliorate his

grief, and to convinc e him there was yet much comfort in store for him.

Lady Caroline New ton was exactly what Irvin e had describe d to Edgar, and

under her care had the mind and manners o f Miss Den beig h been formed.

Having known no other mother, her affections were divided between herfather and aunt. Sir Herbert was an excellent man ; he had neither the pride

nor the irritability of Lor d Arden , and in his daug hter was centered all his

happiness. He had felt greatly surprised at the little intercourse that had

hitherto taken place between him and his intended son-in-law; and from

Irvin e he first obtained a kno wled ge of Edg ar's repugna nce to the marriage.

Shocked that he had suffered the negotiat ion to pr oceed so far, and grieved

that his belov ed Soph ia should h ave b een exposed to a rejection, he wrote to

Lord Arden requesting that an immediate termination migh t be put to the

affair.

Edg ar was su mmo ned ; and, an explanation succeeding, his lordship

found that he must at length be compelled to y ield the hopes he had so long

and so delusively cherished. But, though he had gained one point on which

he had set his heart, there yet remained no small difficulties to encounter on

the part of Edga r. In his father's present frame of mind it was impossible to

disclose his engagement with Julia with any chance of suc cess; and to time

he was obliged to com mit his cause. But, while in uncer tainty and suspense,

while th e 'mournfu l looks and suppressed sighs of his mother seemed to

reproach his disregard of his parents' happiness, he found home anything but

agre eable , and he hastened t o town to find in the society of Irv ine and Julia

a resource against his own reflections.

It was at this period that Lor d Ar den wrote to his friend, S ir Georg eCholmondeley, who readily obeyed the summ ons, and, by his cheerfulness and

friendship, contributed in some degree to soothe and amuse the irritated mind

of his friend. Edga r meantime arrived at the house of Irvine, with a cou n

tenance and manner that indicated internal disquiet. Miss Irvine, thoug h

past the bloom of youth, was an amiable, interesting woman. Edgar had

always been accustomed to feel for and treat her with distinguished respect and

regard, and seeing that he appea red dejecte d and far from tranquil, on a hint

from her brother she exerted her utmost endeavours to amuse him.

" As an admirer of the fine arts," said Miss Irv ine, " you must come into

this drawi ng-r oom, and give me your opinion of some paintings that my brother

has lately purchased."

She might have added connoisseur, for in all that related to the arts, Edgar

possessed taste and judgment. He followed her, examined and approved the

new colle ction of his friend, and then, as if to divert his mind from its own

subjects of uneasiness, he proceed ed to examine the other pictures in the

apartment.

" Irvine has great taste in this wa y," he said. " But here is a beautiful little

drawin g w hich I never recollect notici ng before. Pray is it one of his latepurchases ? I never saw anything more exquisitely beautiful than that head

of St. Cecilia. It is inimitably do ne. Do you know the name of the artist ? "

" I do, indeed," said Miss Irvine ; " and it is only your ignorance of that

artist that prevents yo ur reco gnisin g a style of drawing so peculiar, so

original, that, having once seen it, you can never again mistake the hand."

" It is uncom mon ly beautiful," said E dg ar ; "a nd , as you say, has an air

of originality shown by few of our m odern artists. I think I could never

weary of contemplating that countenance."

" Mak e him a present o f it, sister," said Iryine, laughing.

" I would with pleasure," said she, " if 1 thought that he would appreciate

it as it deserves. Do you not kno w, " she added, turning to Edgar, " that

the d rawing you so much admire was done by Miss Denbeig h ? "

The colour rose high in Edgar's cheek as he hastily said, turning away

from the pictu re, " N o , inde ed; I th ought she was too learned, too much

devoted to literature to attend to the fine arts."

" Ho w unjustly you judg e he r!" said Miss Irvine. " I hope you will one

day know "

" There is not much chanc e, my dear madam ," interrupted Edgar, " that

my judgm ent will ever be corrected by personal conviction."

Miss Irvine shook her head, but she had long since resolved never to oppose

prejudice, confirmed by long habit and indulgence; and the conversation, like

many others held on the same subject, terminated abruptly.

The following letters may serve as characteristic specimens of the two

fair rivals . Th e first is from Julia Woodley to her brother, Lieutenant

W o o d l e y : —

" Here I am, my dear brother, most happily situated within a few miles of

London, the seat of all that is gay and delightful. My rusticity, they tell me,

is daily wearing off; and at your return yo u wil l pro bab ly find me a different

being . Wh at a delightful place is Lo nd on ! The endless variety to be found

there absolutely makes me gidd y with pleasure. I should never be tired of

its amusements; and my past life appears to have been so insipid, that I

wonder I could ever feel satisfaction in such dull unifo rmity . But it was

your presence, my dear Georg e, that made even our stupid cottage appear

comfortable. An d oh! ho w I should enjoy your society here; where a cheerful

family and a constant round of company make us always ga y and happy.Stuart and Harriet are jus t as kin d as ever. Th ey hav e numero us friends in

town, where we go continually. Edg ar is our constant attendant; his attach

ment is unab ated ; and if it were not for the abominable pride and obstinacy

of his family, would long ere this have made me one of it ; but he is

determined to persevere.

" Th e learned lad y they have chosen for Edga r is more odious to him than

ever, and it is in vain that they continue to bo re him on the subject. An

intimate friend of Arden 's, a Mr . Irvine, of wh om you have often heard him

speak, is our frequent vis itor. I wond er he is such a favourite with Edgar ;

for he is so grave and quizzical that I cannot help feeling more than half

afraid o f him. He views me with such a scrutinising air that I suspect he

by no means approves the choice of his friend. In short, I be lieve he is

one of those most disappointed that Edgar has preferred little giddy me to

the beautiful, clever Miss D enb eig h. Since giis has occurred to me, I have

delighte d in teasing him, and sh owing him the extent of my power over

Arden. His sister also is sometime s a visitor here, bu t Harriet does not

much like her. She is prim and old-maidish, and it is very easy to discover

that she thinks me a madc ap. She is certainly very genteel, very grave, andthey say very clever, and 1 hear forms one of the numerous phalanx that

opposes the presumptuous hopes of your poor little Julia ; but I shall triumph

over them all yet, and their idol, Miss Denb eigh , must yield to my superior

claims.

" I hope Edgar will soon be tired out with their importunities, and resolve

at once to act lor himself; for I long to show the proud family of Arden that

the wom an he prefers will not degrade his choice, and that, insignificant and

inferior as they may think me, I have as much pride as they have, ajid this,,

sooner or later, they shaljl kn ow . I am deter mine d to stipulate with Edgajf



Juno 2, i860 ,! USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 67

at we shall live wholly in tow n; for no w that I have tasted its pleasures In never again endure the country.

" I have been almost the round of public places, and every day feel more thepossibility of being* tired of scenes so enchanting. I believe Edg ar is some

mes half afraid that he should lose me amongst the number of beaux wh o

owd around me, but he nee d not fea r; for, if it wer e only to mortif y hisectable relations, I will be his wife. The event I trust is not far distant,

g ar grow s more and more impatient, and I should not wond er if this wereprove the last letter you receive with the signature of JULIA WOODLEY."

Th e following letter is from Miss Denbeigh to L ady Elizabeth Keswi ck: —

" A t length, my dear Elizabeth, this affair is decided, and y our Soph ia is

ally rejected. A total stranger to Mr . Arden, it is impossible that I canl any other regret than what arises from the keen disappointment inflictedthe feelings of m y father, as well as on those of the excel lent parents of

at eccentric youth, for such I hear he is. Fr om my earliest infancy I

arned to revere Lord and Lady Ar den ; the former, though he has someculiarities, (and who is wholly exempt from them ?) I am assured is a trulyod man, and the latter I am told greatly resembles my own beloved mother,

cir cumstance alone sufficient to make me love her.

" Tau ght as I have always been to believe myself destined for their son, it

as natural that I should be anxious to know all relating to them, and oftenv e my father and aunt smiled at my numerous ques tion s; the former , Ieve to add, is dee ply affected by the late occurrences, and though it is

ident that he wishes to conceal his uneasiness from m e, I am sure he feelsutely. Every letter from L or d Ard en has added to it, and he looks at meif he could repr^flfh me for my undissemb led ga ie ty ; but i u truth what

ve I to regret, but that I am still left to enjoy unmoleste d the happiness of lot beneath the care of my amiable aunt, and the best of fathers, in stead

being brought forward to notice in a world which I have little curiosity to

ow more of, as the wife of a man whose unsettled character promis es illdomestic comfort ? Yet they say that he has genius and talents; I

cerely hope they will make some oth er wom an hap py, and cannot for antant lament that it has not been my fate to attract one whose disregard of filial duties has giv en me no favourable impressi on of the tenderness of

disposition. Ye t can I feel for th e vexat ion it must have caused him, tocompelled by partiality for another, to oppose the comb ined wishes of hisole family, and in my secret soul think it was ill-j udge d to aim at com

lsion on such a subject.

" You, my dear Elizabeth, w ho generally agree with me in opinion, must

rn to think as I do, and to abate so mewhat of that indignant spirit, whichu say a king woul d have roused h ad he rejected you r friend. Y ou mustmember, my Elizabeth, that even were I known to Edgar Arden it does not

low that I might have engaged his affections; and I am too great anopolist to be content with a share of my husband's heart. Long since, I

ve great reason t o believe, his vows were plighted to some unknow n lady,

o, from fear of his parents' displeasure, he has hi therto conce aled fromeir knowledge . Fro m my inmost heart I rejoice that he is now enabled to

aw her from that ambiguous obscurity which, to a mind of feeling, must beoductive of infinite mortification and distress. W h y did he not soonerdress my father with the candour whi ch w oul d have dis armed hi m of all

entment, and secured him a friend, rather than seek by evasion to postponeexplanation which would have set us both free, and saved his parents

d mine the p ain o f a tedious suspense ?

" Our invaluable friends, the Irvi nes, are little less hurt than my father.

y aunt, whose naturally great m ind seems already in her kindr ed heaven,ars with her wonted equanimity the d isappoi ntment of hopes so lon g and solaciously cherished, and extracts f rom it a lesson of submis sion to thosecrees which the finite wis dom of man in vain struggles to counter act.

" Your society, my ever dear Elizabeth, wo uld just at this period beore than usually acceptable to us all. Cou ld Lo rd and Lad y Keswick bersuaded to spare you to us for a short time, (I dare no t ask for more ,) I am

ured that your vi vacity woul d restore to us our accust omed cheerfulness.ne, I acknowledge, has suffered from observing the unwonted gravity whichspite of all my endeavours will pervade that revered countenance which

fore this event never beamed on me but with a smile. W ha t happiness tolect that no act of mine has caused the alteration! Come to us soon, my

eet friend, and by your natural animation help to dispel the cloud that at

esent hovers over us. In the mean time join your prayers with mine,at the blessed consciousness of contr ibuti ng to a parent's peace may ever

the lot of your SOPHIA DENBEIGH."

CHAPTER I I I .

Th e health of Edg ar decli ned from the extrem e anxiety o f his mind, and to

e eye of friendship it becam e evident that the hectic flush which oftenimated his countenance was rather a symptom of mental disquietude than of

al gaiety. Miserable to behol d him thus losing the springs of life in secretetchedness, Irvin e determined to break the silence whi ch Edg ar s eemedstinately bent on maintaining.

" Edgar, " said he one day,#fter having observed him lon g exert an unusual

gree of forced vivacity, " it is in vain to dissemble; you are neither well norppy. Fo r Heaven 's sake be candid with me, and if you cannot be prevail ed

to open your heart to your father, suffer m e to undertake the office of ediator."

" This is friendship indeed ! " cried the great ly penetrated Edg ar, at once

ruck with surprise and gratitu de. " But desirable, as such an interferenceould be, ought I, knowi ng how detestable such a task must'be, to impose it

you. No, Irvine, I cannot think of subjecting you to the ebullition of ragend disappointment w hich must succeed such a disc los ure. "

" 'T i s in vain to talk thus," said Ir vin e; " something must be done, and it

ay perhaps come better from me than from you. "

All the faint objectio ns raised by Edga r were speedily overru led by themness and friendship of Irvin e, nor could the cause have been in better

hands. To much natural good sense, Irvine joined.a coolness and consistency

of character, which enabled him to overcome difficulties that to the impassioned

mind o f Edgar wou ld have appeared insuperable, and he truly jud ged that theparental feelings of Lord Arden would be all in his son's favour, though, afterthe severe disappointment he had experienced in his favourite project, his

lords hip had tho ught it necess ary to s how his displeasure b y a distance andcoldness in his manner to his son quite new to the latter, and more mortifying

to his fiery spirit than any severity of language.

Th e mission of Irvine was happily accomplished. His persevering friendshipwould not suffer him to leave anythin g incom plet e, and he so forcibly repre

sented the dan ger and il l effects of an early disap point ment to a youn g man of Edgar's violent passions and acute feelings, that Lo rd Arden was at length

wroug ht upon to consent to his marrying Miss Woodley, a-nd with a sigli of bitter regret he yield ed up the last faint hope that unackn owledg ed had hungabout his heart,* that Edg ar mig ht yet relent and accede to the wishes of hisfamily. Lady Arden, though not a word escaped her lips, felt not less than

her lord this blight to their prosp ects; but a strong understanding, added to

much mildness of temper, sugg ested the n ecessity of suppressing all appearan ce

of regret on the subject, and the dignified compo sure of her general mannerremained undisturbed by the weight of anxiety that yet oppressed her heart.

Not even to her chosen and confidential friend, Miss Irvine, did this excellentwoman disclose all the anxieti es caused her by that darlin g son on who m allher earthly hopes were fixed. T o dilate on them was only to increase them,and she resolutely refrained from speaking on aught relating to Edgar.

When once Lord Arden's consent was given, no time was lost, nor had hislordship p ower, had he possessed inclination, to retract; but Julia was notsuffered to enter " the pro ud family of Ard en ," as s he chose to style it, w ithall the trium ph she had anticipated. Lor d Arde n expressly stipulated that

the ceremony should be privately performed, and that no rejoicings or entertainments should celebrate it. T o his decree the youn g people were obliged

to submit, most unwilli ngly on the part of Julia, wh o loved the pomp andshow of greatness ; bu t the feel ings of Ed gar were spared by the necessity forprivacy, and like all sublunary possessions, this his first .wish granted, yieldednot the happiness h e had expecte d till his father and m other could be brought

to approve his choice, and sanction it by their notice. To effect this, timewas ne cess ary; but here again the active friendshi p of Irv ine exerted itself,and again was successful.

Edgar was cordially received, and he was requested to bring Mrs. Arden tothe Hal l for the summer, his moth er first promisi ng to visit her in town.Edga r now thought himself completel y hajipy ; he had obtained the hand of Julia, and he ha d s ucceeded in persua ding his parents to recei ve her, and toforgive him the only act of disobedience he had ever committed, and heflattered himself that the charms which had attracted him would have equalinfluence over his father and m oth er; but he was not aware that in introducing Julia to La dy Arden, he subjected her character and disposition to

an investigation which both were ill fitted to encoun ter. Cool and dispassionate, of sound judgm ent, un swayed by prejudice or partiality, her lad y

ship hope d to find in the bride o f her son an excuse for all the an xiety he hadcaused her, and a w oma n whos e strong sense and amiable qualiti es wouldcorrect those errors in her son's conduct to which not even maternal fondness

could be blind.

Ho w far Julia was calculated to answer these high-raised expectations maybe guessed by what has been already delineated of her character. At first theexquisit e beauty of her person was in her favo ur; for there was an artlessness

in her countenance to which her disposition ill corresponded. The keen eyesof Lad y Arden rested with wonder and admiration on the lovely figure led

toward s her by her son, and she received her with all the war mth andmaternal kindness that even Julia herself could desire. Awed by the quietelegance of her ladyship's manner, Julia was timid , and spoke little, till

havi ng seen her ascend the carriage, and drive off, attended b y her son, Mrs.Arden flew to her dressing-room, where she h ad left her friend Mrs . Stuart,

and amused her by ridiculing the formal airs of her lady mother, as she called

her, and describing with wild vivacity the scene that had been acted.

At the appointed time Julia accompanied Edgar to Arden Hall and wasreceived with cordiality by its noble owners. Here, subject to the rigi d

observation of La dy Arden , and h avin g learned to detest the quietness of thecountry, she felt under restraint the most insupportable, and ardently longed

for the period when Edgar had promised her an establishment of her own intown for the winter. Compelled, however, to preserve appearances, and nothaving yet quite lost her early timidity of manners, if she did not con ciliate

the affection of Lady Arden she at least forbore to disgust her, though a very

few weeks' residence beneath the same roof had sufficed to convince herladyship of the fallacy of those expectations, which had taught her to hope to

behold in the wife of her darling son a model of what woman ought to be.Lively and goodnatured, but vain, frivolous, and uninformed, Julia's beauty

she plainly saw had been the chief attraction, and she dreaded to reflect onthe vacancy Edga r woul d find when the novelty of her external attractionshad ceased to delight, and he should discover that no intellectual charms

remain ed to render her societ y desirabl e. She well knew the mind of herson, and was assured that, misled by a lovely phantom, he had wandered farfrom the path of happiness, and wou ld not di scover his error till too late to

retrieve it. He r penetration soon discerned that Julia was guarded in hermanner, and from the repressed pettishness, whi ch at times was visi ble, herladyship suspected that the goodnatured naivete of general deportment was

assumed, and the imp atienc e evident in her whole appearance wh enever aresidence in town was mentio ned led to a suspici on of her real sentiments.

Thinking thus, Lady Arden could feel little satisfaction from Edgar'smarriage. She rather rejoiced to observe that her lo rd was far mo rereconciled to it. Th e beauty and affected simp licit y of Julia had powerfully

pleaded in her favour, and he seemed resolutely to shut his eyes to her faults.Not so the ever-watchful I rvi ne; he saw and carefully noted the demeanour

of Julia in her new situation, and beneath all her overacted gentleness clearly



DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF tJune \ 1300.

discerned dislike and fear of the superior qualities o f Lady Arden , and adread of her discernment. His sister, who was also an inmate of the Hall at

this period, perfectly coincided in this opinion, and next to Lady Arden Miss

Irvine was most feared and disliked by Julia. The calmness and mildness of

that lady ill agreed with the violent spirits which Julia was compelled to hi de

beneath an appearance of quietness that caused her much trouble to sup port ;and in their hours of retirement she wearied Edga r with solicitations to qu it

the Hall as soon as possible and take up their abode in town.

Sorry to see her thus anxious to quit his parents, but willing to attribute it

to the vivacity of youth unaccustomed to the restraint which he was aware therefined manners of La dy Arden imposed, Edgar readily promised to comply with

her wishes as soon as the advance o f winter rendered the scenery around theHall less inviting. Julia sighed, for she thoug ht no scenery the country

could present to the eye half so delig htful as tne crow ded streets and more

crowded public places of the metropolis, and mentally promised to recompense

herself, when once the hour of liberty should arrive, for all the restraint shehad endured. It seemed hourl y to grow more insupportable, and so dis

contented was she become before the time of emancipation arrived, that she

looked bac k almost with regret to the unlimited sway she had possessed over

the mind of her brother, and the indulgence he had yielded to all her wishes

when in their cottage residence. He had suffered her to dispose of her own time,

and wea kly given up his own judg ment to all her whims and wishes, a mod e

of conduct which, having been adopted first by her mother and pursued by

her brother, had laid the foundation of those faults and that self-willed violent

temper, which so fatally influenced her future life.

N ot all her endeavours, exerted at the anxious desire of Edgar, could

wholly conceal from Lad y Arden the real sentiments o f her daughter-in -law,and she augured little good from such unpromis ing dispositions. She feared

to o truly that the character of Julia was ill formed for domestic comfort; and

thoug h lively and talkative, she certainly possessed none of those brillianttalents which are calculated to shine in high life. Thus he who might fromhis birth, rank, and fortune, have expec ted reasonably to marry a wom an with

all those requisites, joined to high-bred manners and great abilities, had

selected a mere comm on-p lace miss, whose happiness woul d probab ly consist

in running from on e public place to another, while that of her husband was

sacrificed to his own weak infatuation. Tha t Edgar's eyes wou ld soon be

opened to his wife's faults she was convinced; and though his heart was

good, and his understanding excellent, she knew his natural impetuosity of

temper so well, that she dreaded the bitter effects of such a disapp ointme nt

on his own peace and his conjugal affections; and for this beloved son, whose

welfare was far dearer than her own existence, she foresaw only long years of discontent, of anxiety, of disappointed expectations, perhaps of misery.

CHAPTER I V .

The hour of emancipation no sooner arrived than Julia flew to London

with all the ardour o f a weak mind in pursuit of novelty. Edgar hadpreviously engaged a house in a fashionable locality, and here h er true

character soon unfolded itself.Short was the period necessary for the fulfilment of Lady Arden's prophetic

fears. A very few months beheld her daughte r-in-law foremost in every gay

circle, the leader of fashion, and losing every day mor e and more of what had

once been her principal ch arm. Eaised to aWuence and splendour, she no

longer retained the naivete of manner whi ch had at first attracted the suscep

tible Edgar . Gradually she assumed the habits and appearance of a woma n

of the first fashion ; it seeme d indee d the charac ter she was most a mbitio us

to attain, by her studious adoptio n of every prevailing mode, and her utter

disregard of every reproof, though conveyed in the most gentle and delicate

form that the natural tenderness of Edg ar could suggest. The passions andpropensities whic h had lain dormant in retirement had now ample scope to

display themselves, and, unchecked by reason, led her into unboundedextravagan ce and constant dissipation. H er beautiful person and unrestrained

vivacity procure d admirers in all who beheld her. She possessed a peculiar

talent for that species of repartee w hich passes current in some circles for wi t;and for the first winter she drew crow ds of gaze rs and listeners whe rev er she

appeared. But here the charm ended.

At home, Julia was a different bei ng. Lan gu id and spiritless, unless shehad a regular succession of com pany to amuse her, Edgar , as his mother had

foreseen, to o late discovered that a fashionable wife was not well adapted for

a rational companion , and that Julia's powers of pleasing seemed exerted tocharm anybody rather than her husband. Ye t still she was so lovely that he

could look at and admire her as much as eve r; but often while he" con templated her in compan y, her fine counten ance illumine d by gaiety, a sort of

regret crossed his mind that she woul d not be equally fascinating at homewhen only he was there to observe her. This regret daily increased, for every

day had he fresh and more cause for complain t. He was anxious that she

should pay another visit to his parents, inten ding, when once in the retirement

of the Hall, to remonstrate a nd to point out to her observation the beautiful

example of his mother, who , in the bloom of life and beauty, had, while Edgar

was yet an infant, renounced all public amusements, lived the greatest part of the yea r in the cou ntry, and d evo ted her time to her lord and a select circle of

friends; and, possessing talents that adorned her rank, highly accomplished,

and form ed to shine in the great wor ld, had confined all these attractions tothe society of those admitted to her intimacy, because it was the wish of her

lord.

Th e good effects of a constan t reside nce in the c ount ry, and the happin ess

they diffused around them, were visible to all, and had stimulated Lady Ardento persevere in the same pla n; b ut she was not partial to solitude, and she

loved to draw aroun d her the friends to wh om she was attached, and to rende rthe H all a constant scene of cheerfulness. No ne of its numerous visitors,

Julia alone excepted, ever thou ght it otherwise, for the fine mind and genius

of Lady Arden threw a charm around, which there was no resisting; and

Edgar still fondly hoped that, tired o f the gay world and crowd ed parties,

Julia would be glad to retire to the elegant and quiet pleasures of Arde nHall ; but he soon found his mistake; she would not even listen to any pro

posal of the kind , and openly ridiculed the idea.

Wi t h pain he saw that her vivacity often degenerated into levity, and, when

he gen tly hinted his disapprobation, the most violent invectives against his

harshness, tears and lame ntations , filled him with remorse, no t for hav ingexpressed wha t he felt, but for havi ng, as he feared, lost the confide nce of his

father and the appr ovin g smiles of his mother for the sake of a wo man wh ohad gradually lowere d herself in his opin ion from the time she beoame his

wife. Sick at heart, depressed and wretched, he sought in Irvine's friendshipa solace from these matrimonial bickerings, which seemed daily to increase.

" Persuade Mr s. Arden to quit tow n," said Irvine. " The Hall is now verydelightful. In the presence of your father and mother she will be guarded

in her condu ct, and in Lad y Arden she will have the most perfect model o f all that is right. He r example and conversation may do much towards con

vincing her of her own errors. At least, it is worth t ryin g."

" Oh ! " cried Edgar, " Y o u do not yet know Julia. And yet, why do I

say so ? Yo u do kno w her, and did kno w her always better than I did, for

yo u saw into her character, you were not blinded by passion. Yo u were not,

like me, infatuated, an d you would have removed the film from my eyes if I

would have listened to you . Oh ! too well do I remember all no w; now that

it can answer no purpo se but to distract me, I am sensible of all you woul d have

done for me."

" Do not talk thus irrationally, my dear Edga r," said Irvine, mildly. " It

may, and will still answer a good purpose if it only convinces you o f yourformer error, if it onl y teaches yo u to act in future mo re from the dictates o f

reason than the impulse of the imagination ; for you know I always told yo u

that your imagination, not your heart, was fascinated b y the charms of Miss.

Woodley. But all retrospe ctions are no w vain . She is you r wife; and as

such the happiness and respectability of both are inseparably connected by tiesindissoluble. Wh en those ties were formed you were compelled by every law r

human and divine, to protect and support her; and it is your duty to admon ish

her, if her conduct be contrary to your ideas of right. If admonition fails, be not

discouraged. Take active measures to prevent worse conse quences ; be firm,

but keep your temper, and treat her at once with tenderness and resolution.

Remove her certain ly from scenes that seem to have contributed to encourage

her in error while yet her p rinciples are uninju red and her heart unvitiated,and let no weak compliance give cause for future remorse."

Edgar was well disposed to follow the advice of his friend in removing

Julia from the world o f pleasure ; but he se cretly dreaded her resistance, he r

tears, and her d espair ; for he was yet sufficiently attached to reject with hor rorthe idea of distressing her.

Julia saw her influence, and scru pled not to abuse it. Ha d she exerted it

judiciously she might ha ve maintained her empire over him, and bid defianceto the interference of his frien ds; but her judgm ent was weak and her

passions vi olen t, and she saw the affection of her husban d decline dailywithout an effort and, it should seem, even a wish, to recall it.

To stifle the voice of self-reproach, Edga r p lunge d into every species of diss ipat ion; and he dreaded the inevitab le hours of loneliness when reflection

would come. Greater far would have been his remorse, his regret, as he-

reflected on the fatal effects of his ow n pertinacio us oppositi on to the wishes

of his family, could he then have been aware of the treasure he had voluntarilyrelinquished.

To all that was excellent in the female character, Sophia Denbeigh joinedthe most exquisite personal beauty, with an artlessness of manners that struck

all who kn ew the loftiness of her sentiments, the piet y of her heart, and the

strength of her understanding. To know and not to love her was impossible.

To every natural excellence was added every acquired grace that the most

accomplished instructress could bestow. Lady Caroline Newto n despised all

superficial acquir ements, and she had se dulou sly endeav oured to store the min d

of her ad opte d child wit h the firmest principle s of true religion. On this

foundation was the superstructure built. Rational piety was the prevailing

characteristic of L ady Caroline, and the most unostentatious benevolence guidedher actions. No cant or fanaticism marked her conversation ; and the cheer

fulness of a mind at peace with itself distinguished her general demeanour.

The deeply-felt disappointment of Sir Herbert in the rejection of his darlingSophia by the son of his old friend had cast a gloom over the generally happy

circle at Denbeigh Abbey, that all the natural vivacity of Sophia and her dear

friend, Lady Elizabeth Keswick, could not dispel. The latter was the counterpart of Miss De nb ei gh ; from infancy they had lived in habits of the closest

intimacy, and she now came, at the solicitation of Sophia, to assist in cheeringthe wou uded m ind of Sir Her ber t; but it was long ere he recovered the blow

thus given to his fondest hopes, and long er still ere he could wholly forgivethe hand that levelled it. No t all his Christian principles, nor the gentle

reproofs of Lady Caroline, could induce him to think of Edgar with forgiveness o r cordiality, and he scrupulou sly avoided the society of his old friend,

Lord Arden, that he migh t not be led by his feelings to show his displeasureagainst his son. Th e very same cause operated to deter the Arden family,

from motives of de licacy, from seeking to renew the intimacy, and gradually

their long friendship drooped.

Sir Herbe rt and La dy Caroline were both unwilling that Sophia should

encounter Ed gar and his b rid e; and as the celebrity of the latter, in the annals

of fashion, had reached even the seclusion of Denbeigh Abbey, it was deemed

advisable that instead o f visiting town during the winter, Mi ss Denbe ighshould accompany the Keswick family to Bath, whither, for change of scene,

an d that he mi£ht not be separated from her, Sir Herbert determined to go

also, with La dy Caroline, whose health it was thought migh t be benefited by

the waters. „ , r

CHAPTER V .

It is a painful task to detail the progress of folly aud infatuation. Th e

career of Julia in the world of fashion was destined to be splendid and brief.

With headstrong perverseness resisting all the remonstrances of her husband,



June 2, 1860. ] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 69

e gentle admonitions of his parents, and even the friendly influence of

vine, she plunged headlong into the gulf of dissipation. Indiscriminate in

er society, she was to be seen wh erev er fashi on pres ided an d pleasure held

orth its lure. To be celebrat ed for her beauty and splendour was the he igh t

her ambition, and this she speedily attained. Her home was never to be

ndured, except in the hours destined to recruit her exhaus ted strength, and

n those days when , surrou nded by every allurement that could attract theay and the dissipated, she received the homa ge of adm iring crow ds in balls,

oncerts, and routs, or dinners in her o wn magnifi cent mansi on, whi ch the

ondness of Edgar and the liberality of Lor d Arden had decorated with every

mbellishment that art could bestow.

While at the summit of fashion and celebrity, Mrs. Arden formed anntimate association with a Parisian lady, who, amidst the various impor

tions from the continent shone pre-eminent in beauty. Madam e la

Marquise de Bellecour was completely a Frenchwom an, and as such, perhaps

he worst companion Mrs. Arden could have selected. A widow in early lite,

e beautiful marquise was precise ly the character to comple te the ruin of the

eluded Julia. Her wit and vivacity procured her general admiration, and

herever she appeared she was the focus of general attraction. This circum

ance alone was sufficient to make her society soug ht by Julia, to whom the

ecommendation of high fashion was irresistible. Wi th a lively imagination,

nd all that sprightliness peculiar to the Frenc h in her air and manner, the

marquise was no doubt extremely fascinating, but un happily to French beautiful

ivacity she joined French morals and French principles of the lowest order.

h e weak mind of Julia was unable t o w ithstand the co ntag ion of such a

haracter. Th e residence of the marquise was the gener al centr e of ttraction to one class of comp any, and it was now the con stant resort of

Mrs. Arden. Who could absent themselves from the splendid parties of the

ovely marquise ? Assuredly not Julia, wh o there found an ample supply of

hat intoxi cating incense whi ch seemed now to be actual ly necessary to hercomfort.

On first leaving Arden Ha ll, in compli ance with the earnest wishes of

Edgar, Julia had attended divine service on Sunday wit h tolerable reg ularit y,

nd though it was easy to see that no heartfelt motives of jde ty directed her

teps to the holy fane, still it set an examp le to the ho useh old, and preserved

n habitual attendance in the worship in which she had been rear ed; but

where it is merely an outward form it requires little force to break the slender

ies that compel our attendance, and the conne ction wit h Madam e la Mar quise

oon banished from the ductile mind of Julia the few prejudices of educationwhich she had imbibe d in favour of religion. Very soon she quitted not her

dressing -room till lon g after the conclu sion of mor nin g ser vice, and a visit to

r from her friend, the business of the toilet preparato ry to the even ing

xhibiti on, and a drive into o ne of the parks completely occupied her time till

he nocturnal r evelry, at which she performe d her part with unabated zeal and

animation.

Al l this Edgar saw with daily increasing misery, but his remonstrances were

unregarded, his reproofs laughed at or ridiculed. The hope now entertainedof an event, whic h, by giving her new ties, new affections, and new emp loy

ments, mig ht render her more dom estic, and det ach her from he r dissipatedconnections for the present, hushed his loud repinings and to the ear of Irvine

only were they uttered; bu t that faithful friend indulged not the same

sanguine hope that Edgar did, for Irvine thought her incorri gible, and he

crupled not to say s o ; but Ed gar persisted in believing what he wish ed.

Wi th the most active anxiety he watched over her health and unhesitatingly-

granted every indulg ence her unreasonable wishes req uire d. As muc h aspossible he endeavoured to restrain that love of rambling, which often took

her from hom e for several days toge ther i n c omp any with the marquise and

her friends, and frequently h e inflicted on himsel f the punis hment of attending

her because he dreaded t he effects of her v iolen t spirit and genera l fondness

for comp any; and he fancied his presence always appeared somewhat of a

restraint on the excessive vivaci ty of the marquise.

Th e latter at first had tried to make herself agreeable to the husband of her

friend, and had endeavoured by all her arts to attract his attention; bu t

he taste of Edgar was purely Eng lis h; he could not admire the levity of

manners so inconsistent with the purity and innoc ence he had once adored inJulia ; and by degrees he had conceived such an aversion to the marquise and

her Parisian friend, that he would have rejoiced in any event, not absolutely

calamitous, that had separated Julia from the whole connectio n.

When such were his sentiments and wishes, his dismay and resentment may

be conceived when Mrs. Arden one morning very coolly intimated her intention

of taking a trip to Paris with her dear friend the marquis e. At first Edg ar

fancied his aural faculties must have decei ved him ; he could not believe Julia

would actually intend to put in practic e the schem e that, though she might

affect to believe otherwise, she must know wo uld have his decided disappro

bation ; but this appeared to have no other effect on the incorrigible Julia

than to stimulate her to increased opposition , and when, on an explan ation of

the plan, he declared that he never would agree to it, that the present state

of her health was too critic al to allo w of the hazard she would incur in such

a journey and the necessary.fatigue she must undergo, she flew into a violent

paroxysm of rage and avow ed her determination to go without his permission,

f he persisted in withhol din g it. An d now was perform ed one of those

fearful scenes of violen ce and weakness, whic h seemed for the tim e to paralyseall the faculties of Edga r, and render him a tool in the hands of his lady and

her new connections.

In the midst of the most terrifying hysterics brou ght on by her own

passion, I rvine was announced, and E dgar g ladly availed himself of the

pretext to leave Julia in the hands of her attendants and of the marquise,

who was just arrived, to join his friend below. To him as usual Edgarunbosomed his cares, declar ing himse lf w earied out by the continual calls on

his fortitude and temper.

"Rat her, " said Irvine, "con sid er them as wholesom e discipline. An

instance of the same pertinacity and resolut e sel f-indu lgence, whi ch yo u are

condemning in M rs. Arden, made her your wife, and since she is entitled

to that sacred title, shrink not, I conjure you , from the duties it impos es

on you, however deficient she may be. Yo u must by no means allow this

excursion. If you yield in this instance, your authority in future is lost, and

yo u are responsible for all the consequences that may ensue. Be firm; but

show no violence yourself, nor witness it in her. Wh en you have left her, it

will subsi de; and if possible do not revert to the subject.""

The advice of Irvine was good, but it was not implicitly followed. Provoked

by the continued determination of Julia to fulfil her engagement with the

marquise, Edgar was irritated to oppose her mor e resolu tely ; and a scene of

the bitterest altercation ensued. It ended by throwing her into a fit of passion

so violent as to compel her to retire to bed, where, secluding herself andpositively refusing to see Edg ar, she sent for the marquis e and pou red all her

grief into her bosom.

Fo r several days Mrs. Arde n was, or pretended to b e, too ill to see any

company except her fr iend; and when, after much solicitation, Edga r was

admitted, he was received with a passionate burst of tears and the most bitter

reproac hes. In the ev enin g, to his gre at surprise, he learned from the servants,

on his return from having d ined with Irvi ne, that their lady had gone out with

the Marquise de Bellecou r to the house of the latter, from whence she had a few

minutes preceding sent for her own woman, with an intimation that she found

herself too ill to return home that night.

Greatly alarmed, Edgar hastily flew to the splendid residence of the

marquise, wh om he found alone. * Her sweet friend, Julia, she said, had

retired to rest from fatigue, thou gh she had merely accompanied her in an

airing, assured him he mi»ht rely on her care and the general attention of her

household to his lady, and dismissing her wonted levity, wore an air of such

friendly anxiety to remove his apparent dislike to Mrs. Arden's absence from

her own house, that she finally overcame his repugnance, and he returned

home better satisfied, but still resolved on compelling Julia's return in themornin g. That, howe ver, was an event never destined to occur, and the

wonder, the horro r of the distressed Arden may be better conceived than

described, when he was informed that his lady and the marquise had some

hours before been on their way to Dove r, where they w ere to embark for

Calais, and proceed immediately to Paris.

To order his carriage and pursue them Avas a resolution E dgar no sooner

formed than put in practice, an I he reached Dov er in an hou r after they had

sailed. He crossed by the first packet to Calais, ami arrived to find Julia,

overcome by the effects of the voyage on a frame enfeebled by dissipation,

confined to her bed at the L io n d'Or. A violent sea-sickness, in her delicate

state, had reduced her so low that Edg ar thought her expiring , and the

marquise began to repent her persuasions, which had wrought on the weak

vain mind of Julia to induce her to undertake the journey.

Edgar attended Julia with unremitting assiduity; not a wor d of reproach

escaped his lips, and he declared his i ntention o f attending her to Paris as

soon as she was sufficiently recovered if she persisted in wishing to go thither.

A few days sufficed to recover her in some degree, and the party proceededonwards . But the fatigue was too great for Julia. Her own imprudence had

laid the founda tion of all she suffere d; and scarcely had she entered P aris,

where she had expected to be followed and admired by crowds, according to

the exaggera ted representations of the marquise, when she was obliged to retire

to the be d from whence she never more arose ; and the horror-struck Edga r

found himself i n one dread moment a widower in a foreign land, with no

friend near to sooth e or cheer him. His violent feelings were woun d up to

the highest pitch of agony, and he sunk their unresisting victim.

Fo r many days Edg ar suffered from fever and delirium of the most

alarmin g descri ption . In the earliest stage of his indisp osition , and while the

unburied corse of Julia lay in an adjoining apartment, with the art often

observed in insanity, he sent his valet below, and instantly rising, by the dim

light of the tapers explored his way to the room that contained all that was

left on earth of J ulia. Hastily he pushed aside the covering from the face,

and gazing with wild eagerness on that once lovely countenance, that

beauteous c omple xion, now pale and cold as the marble beneath which she

was soon to repose, he burst into a passionate exclamation, threw himself on

the bed by her, and was found by his servan t almo st as lifeless and exhaustedas the inanimate form beside him.

Roused by the terrified entreaties of Martin, E dgar started up, but pointing

to Julia, told him she had refused to speak to him , and wil dly deman ded to

have her aw akened, and conveyed with him to Englan d. The n pointing to

the moon, which darted its beams into the window , he told Martin he woul d

seek her there, and has tily leaping from the bed , said he had wandered the

livelong nig ht in search of her, and at le ngt h had foun d her in a regio n of

snow. Th e clay-cold touch of the form of Julia had doubtless caused this

ide a; and it was n ot till, over come by his exertions he had sunk down in a*

state of exhaustion, that Martin could persuade him t o quit the chamber of

death. Then seizing him in his arms he bore him back to his own apartment,

wher e a fresh access of fever bro ugh t him to the brin k of the gr ave.

It was during this fearful period that Martin addressed a letter to Irvine,

informing him of all that had occurred. It was answered by that faithful

friend in person ; and whe n E dg ar recov ered to a sense of his situation, the

first object on whi ch his eyes rested w ith any gleam of recogni tion was the

being whom of all the world contained he would have wished to behold.The friendly attentions of Irvine soon succeeded in restoring Edgar tohealth, but his mind remained in a state of the most fearful dej ection.

Sudden starts of ago ny at times seemed to threaten again to overturn his

reason, but the judici ous soothings of Irvine comm only produc ed a violent

and passionate burst of tears that afforded him temporary relief. To the

persuasions of his friend to return to Englan d, and seek consolation in the

bosom of his family , he at first oppos ed the mo st determined negat ive, and

declared his resolution to remain in Franc e; but Irvine well knew the

anxiet y of his father a nd mother , and ceased not his entreaties till ne pro

cured his assent to a jou rne y to En gla nd wi th him, and finally had the



70 THE FAMILY HERALD —A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [June 2,1m.

satisfaction of restorin g him to his parents in recovered health, thou gh

dismally altered in person and in spirits.

Now' that Julia was really gone, that he no longer beheld her ga y in health

and be auty, but could only think of her as he last saw her—pallid, dying,bereft of all those graces and charms which had too easily fascinated him —

Edgar could not endure to return to his own house. By the agency of Irvineit was disposed of, and he once more took up his abode beneath the paternal

roof. By degrees he be came more reconciled to the late melaneholy event,

but long was it ere he was restored to peace, and his mind recovere d its

wonted tone. y m , ,. , •(To he continued.)

THE LADY OF THE EELL HOUSE.

CHAPTER X V I I I .

Frank's conditio n continu ed to be one of great danger. The fever had left

him so weak that it seemed as if all the vigour of his young life would hardly

be able to cope with it successfully. Guendol en was constantly by his side,and was quite worn out by long watching ; and in the midst of all these came

suddenly another cause of anxiety. This was a note from Mrs. Mayfield,

telling her that Mrs . Martin had had a sudden and violent return of her oldcomplaint, and was not expected to survive many hours. Guendole n hastened

immediately to her aunt's bedside. She found her almost speechless, andwith her senses evidently wandering. Guendolen put a teaspoonful of wine to

her lips , in the ho pe of restoring the old wom an sufficiently to enable her to

say where the precious docum ent was conceale d.

" Send for Mr. Lorimer," murmured the dying woman; "tell him to come

directly, I have something to say to him before I die."

Guendolen started back at the sound of this man's name as though she had

seen an adder on her aunt's pillow. " Mr. Lorimer ? " she repeated , turning

to the nurse and the lady' s maid who stood behind her, " W h a t Mr . Lorim er

does she mean ? "

" It's the clergy man, ma' am, " replied the latter in a whis per ; " he camehere first about a month ago, and ever since my mistress has b een wo nder

fully taken up with him. I believe he is a Puseyite or a Catholi c; for I am

prett y sure my mistress used to confess to hi m. "

" Ah !" murmured Guend olen, " a month ago , did you say ? Can you tell

me what brought him here first ? "

" It was to get subscr iptions for a cha rity I think, ma'am, but I do not

know exa ctly . H e asked to see my mistress, and he has been almost every

day since except yesterday. It was not seeing him yesterday that fretted her

so and made her worse."

" She was wandering a good deal in the night," said the nurse, " talking

about Mr. Lorim er, and sometimes she thoug ht she was talking to him, andpromising to give something up to him, some paper or other that it seems he

wanted. But lor ! people talk such things when they are lightheaded that Inever takes no notice of them."

Guendolen administered another teaspoonful of wine to the old woman, and

then leaning over her and speaking in a low distinct tone she said, " I kn ow

Mr. Lorimer, aunt; shall I take a message to him from you ? "

" N o , no ," she replied, " I must see him myself."

"But he is ill, confined to his bed, and cannot come."

" 111, is he ? He is not so ill as I am. Tell him to get u p and come to

me, for I have something that I must give him before I die."

" H e is too ill to get up, aunt; the do ctor says he may perhaps not

recover." And on this fresh proof of his hostility and cunning, Guendolen

felt that she really cared very little w hether he died or not. " Tell me ,"

said she, " what I shall say to him."

But the old woma n had relapsed into insensibility. It was in vain that

Guendolen strove by every means to rouse her to a temporary consciousness

so as either to tell her where the document was hidden or to intimate it by a

message to Mr . Lorim er whic h, if she obtained it, she had no inte ntion o f delivering.

The nigh t was wearing away, and Guendolen knew that Frank needed herassistance. Mrs. Ma rtin continued in the same state, and the doctor said she

migh t remain so for a day or two. Guendol en, therefore, hastened back to

Frank, leaving word that she should be sent for with all haste, in case heraunt showed any signs of returning consciousness. No message arrived, and

at about twelve o'clock the nex t day she went again to Queen's Square. A

glance at the closed windows told her that death had claimed his prey. She

entered the house with a faint heart, and ascended to her aunt's chamber.

As she passed the dining-room door she.saw three gentlemen within; onewas Mr. Fowler, the lawyer; another was the physician; the third was a

stranger. H er aunt's body was laid out upon the bed on which she had

died, and th e nurse an d man y of the fema le servants w ere in the room.Guendolen turned the sheet from the face of the corpse, and looked at it with

the solemn feelings which such a spectacle must always inspire in o neunaccustomed to it. Mrs. Martin had been a cold, proud woman in her life,

and b ut little kin dliness o f feelin g had ever subsisted between her and the

niece who was now gaz ing up on her. But Guendolen heaved a deep sigh asshe replaced the sheet over the remnant of mortality, and forgot for the

momen t the injustice and wron g whic h the old woma n had done her. Sherather had a hop e, inspired by the cold, placid features, that repentance had

come at last, and that she had ma de ame nds by leav ing a ^message for her

with one of the attendants.

" Did consciousness return before she died ? " she inqu ired of the nu rse.

" N o , ma'am , not in the least," was the reply. " She went off just as you

saw her last night."

" And left no message ? " said Guendo len, despon dingly.

" N o t a word, ma'am."

*' And made no sign ? M

" She scarcely stirred," was the answer.

" Y o u said that she was delirious the night before last," said Guendolen,

catchin g at a faint ho pe, " and that she imagined she was talking to Mr.

Lorime r about a pap er; did she say where that paper was to be found ? "

" Oh ! she talked a deal abou t it, " replied the nur se; " but I can' t exactly

recollect. Stop ! Yes , she did say something about "

" Wa it a momen t," said Guendolen, interrupting her, " c o m e aside with

me . I d o not wish any one else to hear what she said about it. It is a paper

that belon gs rightfully to me, and I w ill give yo u five pounds if you promiseto tell no one else where she said it was."

" Lo r! ma'am , I'm sure I won 't tell anyb ody. She said it was in the little

black Ingee cabinet, in a secret drawer."

" I k now it," said Guendolen ; " it stands in a corner of the back drawing-room. Mr. Fowler is down stairs ; I suppose he has the keys ? "

" Yes , ma'am, I suppose he has, but there's seals put upon everything."

Guendolen stamped her foot impatiently. " Mor e delay," she exclaimed,

"and those seals, I suppose, will not be taken off until the will is read."

" Oh ! no, ma' am ; of course not. And there's Mrs. Martin's nephew

downstairs."

" Nep hew ? " repeated Guendole n. " I was not aware she had one."

" I suppos e he was her husb and's nep hew , ma' am ," suggested the nurse,

"because his name is Martin."

" True, true," said she ; " I had forgo tten all those people. An d I shall

have to cringe to this man ," she said to herself, " and beg of hi m as a favour

that I may take what no one on earth has a righ t to but myself. If it ba d

not been for that lucky blow it would have been lost to me for ever—worse

than lost. It woul d have been in Sir Frederick 's hands."

She walked towards a window, and while pretending to peep through a

crevice of the bli nd , she cu*t a five po"und note in two, and slipping one half into the ha nd o f the nurse, p romis ed her the o ther if she found that she could

hold her tongue." Y o u need not be afraid, ma'am," said that functionary, curtseying low,

" It is as good as gold to me already."

Guendolen went down stairs and into the d rawing -room to look at thecasket that contained her treasure. Seals were upon that as upon everything

else that had a lock and key . " I wonde r where the secret drawer is," she

thoug ht, examinin g the cabinet with great attention. " Should it open fromthe outside, I might get possession of the pa per at once. But it is sure not

to be so. I must wait, and try to obtain the cabinet by some means. Perhap s

it will be sold."

She did not hear the step of a person who entered the room ; but suddenly

her eye was caught by the figure of a man standing between the folding-doorsand watchi ng her attentively. She rightly concluded that this was the Mr.

Mar tin wh om the nurse had mentio ned, and she felt as tho ugh she had been

detected in the commission of a crime. Recov ering herself, however, she

bowed sligh tly, aud remarke d, " This is a very beautiful specimen of India n

manufacture. I believe that your unc le—for I co nclude I am addressing

Mr . Martin—brought it with him from Madras ?"

" I believe he did, miss," he replied drily ; " bu t I cannot say positively,

having had very little intercourse with either him or his wife for about thirty

years."

Guendolen felt no inclination to continue the conversation, for Mr. Martinwas a hard, dry, disagre eable man , wh o seemed to watch every tone and

movement with suspicion. She therefore examined some other objects in the

room with as much apparent a ttention as she had bestowed upo n the c abi net ;and all the time Mr . M artin stood with his hands in his pocke ts, narrow ly

obser ving her. As she was leavi ng the room she asked the automaton if

Mr. Fowler was below, and disengaged.

" He is in the di ning- room , miss, talking wit h the undertaker."

Guendolen slightly inclined her head, and went down stairs. The momentshe was go ne the hard-featured man went up to the cabinet and exami ned it

in all directions. He was very penurious, but he would willingly have given

twenty pounds to know what it was that interested her so much in that

article of furniture. He could see noth ing in it, and turned to the other

objects on which she had bestowed her attention.

He could make noth ing out o f them, how eve r; and with a disappointed

shake of the head he followed her down stairs, hoping to pick up some scraps

of conversation between her and Mr. Fowler . But when he entered the

dining-room, he found the lawyer seated there alone.

" Who was that lady," he "a«ked, " that I saw in the drawing-roo m just

no w ? She said she was coming here to speak to yo u. Do you know who

she i s?"

" A niece of Mrs. Martin's," replied Mr. Fowler, curtly.

" Ind eed ! The n I suppose she has left all her propert y to her ? "

" Y o u will excuse my answering any questions," said Mr. Fowler. " O f

course, having drawn up the will, I k no w how Mrs. Martin has disposed of

her pro per ty; but I am no t at liberty to say anything about it until the

proper time comes."

" Then I'll wish you good mor nin g," said the other, sulkily. " The funeral

will be on Saturday, you say, and I am expected to attend as chief mourner r"

" As the nearest male relative o f the deceased," said the lawyer, with ill-

concealed impatience, " it would be according to custom that you should do

so. But pray do not put yo urself to any inconven ience."

" Oh, I'll come, I ' l l come," said the othe r, carelessly. " I should like tohear the wil l read ; and the old wo man may have left me somethin g besides

that part of the estate which comes to me by right u nder my grandfather's

wil l ; and as for being a mourner," he added, chuckling, " no doubt I shall

manage to look as solemn as men generally do at the burial of a person that

has been standing between them and their property for thirty years and

more."

The la wyer did not answer, but bowed slightly, and turning his back,busied himself among the papers on the table.



une 2,1S60.] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT.

When Guendolen reached home she found that her little patient was still

apped in the deep sleep in which she had left him. Dr. Lyon s had just

led, and was then with Mr. Lorimer . She sent a messenger to request his

sence for a moment in Frank's room before he left the house, and in "theantime she paid a visit to Lady Elphinstone to tell her how r favourably her

y was goin g on, and also becaus e she had j ust heard that the poor lady wast well. She found her alone in her little oratory, cowering on a low seat,

th her elbows on her knees, her hands pressed over her eyes, and rockingand fro as if in bod ily or mental pain. She did not hear the opening of

e door ; and when Guen dolen laid her hand upon her arm, she started likeguilty thing; but instantly reassured by her visitor's kind voice, she caught

hand that had frightened her, and exclaimed, " Oh, I am so glad you are

me. I am so very, very wretched!"" But why are you so wretched ? " asked Gu endolen . " Frank is better."

" Yes, yes, " said Lady Elphinstone, u I know, and I am very thankful forBut that is a favour vouchsafed to you, not to me. Wh at have I done

the dear child ? Nothin g, not hing ."

" D o not fret about it," said Guendolen. " Y o u had not the strength torse him ; besides, there was no reason that you should do so. If that is allat you have upon your consci ence, the sin, I think, is easily atoned for."

" Oh ! If all my sins c ould be wiped away as easily ! " cr ied the unhapp yoman, bursting into tears.

" Y o u know where to apply ," said Guendolen, point ing to the prie-dieu

air, the open prayer-book, and all the ostentatious array of devotion.

" There ! Oh, no, no ! " exclaimed Lad y Elphinstone, in accents of terror.

N o t there*! No t there! If I dared apply there, I should not be soretched."

Guendolen was puzzled . She thoug ht that Lady Elphinstone and Mr.orimer might very naturally conclude that the blow in the dark had been

flicted by the avenging hand of an outraged husband, but she never

magined that any one would be so superstitious as to suppose that the book d flown at him o f its own accord, or been propell ed by any supernatural

gency; so she remained silent, expecting that an explanation would come

its own accord.

" I have had a fearful visitation, " sobbed Lad y Elphins tone, impelle d to

peak, when-she found that her grave compani on asked no questions. " Ias near committing a most deadly sin—something so dreadful that I cannot

ll you of it, s omething that you could not imagine—and that holy book,

hen no human being was in the room who could have done it, was t hrowna warning from its place there, where I dare not even look at it, to this end

the room. Ho w dare I raise my eyes and voice in prayer again wh en Iave had such a warning as that ? "

Guendolen reflected for a few moments. The belief that the book had beenupernaturally moved was certainly m ore likely to be beneficial in one r espect

Lady Elphinstone than if she had known that it was fiung by a merendictive mortal hand. But on the other side there seemed some grounds for

fear that the poor little woman's brain might become unsettled, if sheontinued under the belief in this interposition of Pro vid enc e; at all events,

he wished to spare her the humiliation of knowing that she herself had beene agent in this mysterious affair. j$he examined for a momen t the reading-

esk, on which the book was placed; the base of it was in the form of aipod, and Guendo len pro ceeded to demonstrate in a way that might have

onvinced a more logical mind than Lady Elphinstone's, that, if thrown off its

alance by a hard push, the book might be precipitated to a considerableistance.

" A n d yet," she continued, doubtfully, "as you were alone, that wouldardly account for it ; for your little foot and light weight would have been

nsuflicient to produce the effect."

Slip added this to avoid any appearance of suspicion; but the result she had

med at was already attained. She saw, as clearly as though they had beenxpressed in words, the thoughts that passed through her companion's mind.

Mr . Lorimer, in his struggle with her, had overset the reading-desk, missedis footing, and in falling had struck his head against one of the sharp angles.

he fall of the prayer-bo ok was no long er a miracl e; the blow that hadtunned the hypocritical priest was no longer a judgment of Providence.

hese were the thoughts that passed in a moment through Lady Elphinstone'smind; for hers was one of those impulsive natures which can never take a

alm medium vie w of an y subject", but darts always at a bound from one

xtreme -to the other. The c hange was more complete than the sage monitressad desired; and Guendolen heartily wished that the remorse which she had

ust dispelled could be planted in the pi llow of the vile would -be seducer. Fo rim she would feel no nity, no compunction for whatever torments she mighte the means of inflicting on him, although she would be most unwillinghat her hands should be soiled with his villanous blood.

Desirous of keeping up to a wholesome degree the r epentance whi ch seemedlmost to have vanished in the sudden release from superstitious terror,

Guendolen led* the penitent mother to her son's room, where the doctor found

er for the first time ; her f ew short visits having hitherto been paid duringis absence. She loo ked pale and carew orn from the effects of the frig ht she

ad endured. Dr. Ly ons, who had set her down in his own mind as a foolish,eartless, fashionable woman, ascribing her altered looks to grief for her child's

lness, gave h er a much hig her plac e in his esteem and regard than she haditherto occupied. He whispered his altered opinion to Guendolen, who was

oo kind-hearted to undeceive him. Duri ng the same whispered conversationGuendolen took the opportunity of inquiring after Mr. Lorimer's progress.

" He continues much the same, " replied Dr. Lyo ns. " I cannot understand

ow so severe a blow could have been inflicted in the way he states; I suspecthat he conceals from me the real cause of the a ccide nt, especially as he i sparticularly anxious that everything should be done to prevent delirium. Y ou

may depend upon it," he continued, wit h a sly chuckl e, " that the reverend

gentleman has been engaged in some adventure that he would not like to haveproclaimed in the market-place. Between ourselves, the blow looks marvel

lously as if it had been inflicted by a policeman's staff. Hi s sister is evidently

verv inquisitive about it."Their attention was here called to Frank who had opened his eyes, and

smiled at seeing his mother sitting on his be d; but he quicldy look ed round forthe face that was even dearer to him, the face that had beamed upon him

night and day during his l ong and painful illness, and that was associatedwith the voice whose soothing murmurs had encouraged him to bear it all with

patience. Gueudol en wras by his side in a moment, feeding him by teas poon-fuls wTith the nourishment that he was allowed to take. When that wasdone and his m outh held up for the kiss which he never failed to claim, shelaid his head gently back on his pillow, and then led his mother, w rho sat

useless and disconsolate on the foot of the bed, to claim one of the sweet kisses

which had so nearly been lost to her for ever. She kissed the boy , and with adeep sob and an emotion that she could not overcome, hastened out of

the room.

" She certainly has a great deal more feeling than I gave her credit for,"

said Dr. Ly ons , his admiration of her much raised by this half-controlledburst of feeling.

"S he is weak, " said Guendolen, "w ea k, and almost broken-hearted ; butotherwise one of the best little creatures l iving."

" I like to hear one womau praise another," said Dr. L yon s. " There is no wayof raising themselves so much in the estimation of our sex as by praising their

own, when the praise is heartfelt and genuin e. A coquette never suspectsthis, or if she does, her laudations are always followed by an ' i f or a 1 but.'

It is an accomplishment that cannot be acqu ire d; it is a natural gift that fallsonly to the lot of the really no bl e."

" Y o u think him decidedly better," said Guendolen, whose eyes had

been fixed upon Frank, and who now thought it time to interrupt a panegyricthat was too evidently meant for herself.

" Y e s , he will d o now, I have no do ubt ; I need not see him hencef orward

more than once a day, but as I shall have to visit that poor fellow Lorimerpretty frequently, I'll just look in upon Master Frank and see how he isgetting on ." " ' C h a p t e b X I X .

On Saturday, the day appointed for Mrs. Martin's funeral, Guendolen

repaired to Mr s. M ayfield' s house, wh ere she change d her dress for a suit of mourning, and then presented herself in Queen' s Square. Th e plume d

hearse, the single mourning coach, the mutes at the door, the hushed voices

and muffled footsteps o f the servants as they moved about with a decoroussolemnity of visage, (belied by their frequent glances of satisfaction at their

ne w black dresses,) the closed window s, and, above all, the consciousness of death that seemed to pervade the atmosphere, was altogether gloomy and

oppressive with out the digni ty of grief. Guendolen could not grie vefor the death of a womtan of whom she had known so little, and that little so

unen dear ing; but she had assumed decorou sly the outward appearance of mourning, and she very naturally felt saddened by the occasi on, as well as

being painfully anxious concerning that slip o f paper whic h was of suchimporta nce to her. Nevertheless, with the excep tion of the lady's maid, .vho

had been for many years in Mrs. Martin's service, and was losing a good

place, Guendolen was probably as sincere a mourner as any in the house.

Th e hearse moved off' followed by the mourning coach, containing

the doctor , the lawyer, and Mr. Martin, and Guendolen W in the drawi ng-room with Mr s. Marti n, a vulgar, coarse -looki ng woman, wh o assumed theright of doin g the honours of the house, pressing her to take wine andrefreshments, while she was suspiciously jealous lest the prop erty should inreality belong to her whom she studiously treated as a visitor. Guen dole nwould willi ngly have avoided her society, but she had no pretext for doing so,

and contrived to talk civil commonplaces until the return of the three

gentlem en, and the opening of the will .

Guendolen cared little ho w the p roper ty was dispos ed of, or whether heraunt had even left her a lega cy. Her sole anxiety was respecti ng that little

Indian cabinet. The feelings of the Martins were very different; tho ughthey were already sufficiently wealthy and would come in for a handsome

propert y, whi ch had been only life-rented by the late Mrs. Martin, they weregreedily covetous of that which had remained at her disposal.

As is not unfrequently the case, the last will and testament of the deceasedoccasioned much disappointment to all the hearers. In the first place aconsiderable part of her funded p ropert y was bequeathed to her dear niece,

Guendolen Ege rto n. This fell upon her ears almost unnoticed, while it filledthe Martins with rancorous envy. Next, there was a bequest to her husband's

nephew , Rich ard Martin , of the family plate. Nex t, came a few legacies toher servants ; and lastly, a bequest of the whol e of her remaini ng pr operty to

a publi c charity, concl uding with directions that the furniture, pictures, & c ,should be sold by auction, and the proceeds added to the latter fund.

When Guendolen quitted the house she was aware that her aunt had lefther a legac y, but what the amount was she could not tell. Of two facts only

she was quit e certain ; the furniture was to be sold by auction (including of course, that precious Indian cabinet), and Mr. Martin was co-execut or with

the lawyer. The nature of the sale woul d doubtless enable her to purchas ethat cabinet, but she felt the necessity of acting cautiously, and em ploy inganother person t o bid for it; for Mr . Martin had obs erved to her with a

disagreeable leer, " Y ou will be able to buy that cabinet you so much admir ed,Miss Egerton, if you attend the auction, or I w ill bu y it for you , if yo u

prefer it."" I am much obliged to you, sir," she replied, qui etly, " bu t i f I purchase d

any, I think it would be the inlaid one. It is much handsom er than theother."

He replied by a malicious grin, which seemed to imply that he knew better.

She had been rendered suspicious by the discovery of Sir Frederi ck's machi

nations, wh ich had onl y been accidentally defeated by the in jury inflicted on

his agent, Lowmer, and she feared that Richard Martin might also have beentampered with. Nay , she even dreaded that Mr. Fowler himself migh$



THE FAMILY HERALD—A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF P«*AMMI

think he was acting for her interest in promoting the baronet's views, as in

his recent con versations with her he had stron gly urge d her to assert her

rights, if only to extricate herself from the ambiguous position in which her

marriage and her aunt's attempted interference at present placed her.

She must empl oy some one to bi d for the cabin et; but whom could she trust ?

Mrs. Mayfield was true as steel, but too simple and confiding. She could be

deluded by any specious pretence, or frightened from her self-possession by

the slightest amount of bull ying . Fo r a momen t she thou ght o f Dr. Lyons,

but hi s manner towards her had been so unmistaka bly that of an admirer, if

no t of a lover, that delicac y precluded th e possib ility of asking of him the

slightest personal favour. She must find some one el se; b ut whom ? If she

employed a broke r he might be asked who emplo yed him, and if she bou nd

hi m to secre cy, the very fact of doi ng so mig ht make him talk. When shereached ho me she was as uncertain as ever what step to take . the safest

plan appeared to be to ask Mr . Fo wl er to employ some person t o buy the

cabinet for her.

Wh e n Guendolen entered Frank's room, she found Sylvi a reading to hi m.

Th e you ng girl had n ot been allow ed to see her b rother during th e worst part

of his illness for fear she migh t cat ch the fever; but for the last two days

the interdict had been removed , and she had spent as much time with him as

she was permitt ed to do. Sylvia' s youthful face looked unusually beaming

and happy as she rose to welcome Guendolen.

"Frank is so much better," she exclaime d; "D r . Lyo ns has just been here.

H e waited a long time to speak to yo u; but he'll come again this evening to

see poor Mr. Lorimer."

" I s Mr. Lorimer worse then? " inquired Guendolen, anxiously.

" No , I believe he is not wor se, " replied Sylvi a. " Do you kno w, Cousin

Guendolen," she continued, " I think it is only an excuse of the doctor's

because he was so disappointed at not seeing you this morning ? "

" It is very natural," said Guendol en gravel y, "a s I have receive d all his

directions during Frank's illness, and have acted upo n them to his satisfaction, that he should wish still to give his instructions to me."

" Oh ! he had no instructions to give," replied Sylvi a. " I was here when

he came, and he said that nothing further was wanted than the usual doses

of that nasty, bitter medicine, and the nourishing diet w hich Mrs. Elphin

stone's excellent good sense enabled her to superintend so much better than

he could pretend to do . An d then, dear Cousin Guendol en, he sighe d and

fidgeted and looked about the room, and took up a handkerchief of yours

from the dressing-table. It had your Christian name embroi dered in the

corner, you know. Wh y, bless m e ! " she exclaimed. " It's g o n e ! H e

must have taken it."

" Nonsense," said Guendolen, adroitly dropping another handkerchief on

Frank's pillow, and takin g it u p again, " this is my handkerchief, I think.

Yes, look at the mark."

" A h ! but you have d ozens marked in the same wa y, " persisted Syl via,

with playful malice.

" But my dear child , I d on' t walk about the house scattering ca mbric

handkerchiefs in every direction," retorted Guendolen.

" Well, we' ll say no more about the handker chief then," conti nued Sylvia ," the case is not made out satisfactorily either one way or the ot her ; but one

thin g is certain ; the doctor did take up a handker chief of yours, and h e did

look at the mark, and he did sigh. You can't contradict all that. I suppose ? "

" It is not worth cont radic ting ," said Guendol en. " Medi cal men must

see so much sorrow and suffering in the course o f the day that the wonder

would rather be that they could ever laugh or smile."

" Oh! but this was a different k ind of sig h," said the p rovo kin g Sylvia,

delighted to torment her grave friend and cousin. " I t was a sigh that said as

plainly as poss ibl e,' I wish Mrs%Elphinstone were here. How dull and gloomy

everything seems in her absence.' "

" S y lv ia , " said Guendole n, annoyed b y this childish prattle, " I must beg

of you not to talk so foolishly. This ki nd of silly quizz ing is more suitable

to a village girl than to a wel l bred young lady ."

Sylvia made a grimace expressive of mock penitence, and immediately

started on another subject.

" W e are goi ng to the opera to- nig ht," she said, "a s Frank is so much

bett er; and Captain Greville has returned from Paris, and is going with us."

Guendolen started, and the joyful tones in whi ch Syl via had announc ed

that Captain Grevil le was comin g to the ball suddenly recurred to her. " But

of cours e," she said, mentally , " they kno w that he is married, there is no

need for me to interfe re." She opened her lips to ask if his wife were going

also; but a choki ng sensation in her throat warned her not to trust her voice

to the quick ears of the keen-witted girl . If she had asked the q uest ion !

If' her curi osity had been stronger, or her emoti on less ! Evan geli ne knew not

that Gabriel's boat was passing within a few feet of her, but she felt

uneasy.

It was quite a relief to Guend olen when ' be light-hear ted girl left the

room, and she was able to think calml y upon what she should do. Should

she acco mpany Lad y Elphi nston e to th e opera, meet the perfidious Harry as

a stranger, and show him , if n ot by words, yet by her conduct, that she was

aware of the unmanly part that he had acted towards her ? No , she felt she

had not strength for that. Ye t the desire to see him once more was uncon

trolla ble. She still retained the ope ra-b ox whic h she had occupied when she

saw hi m last; she wou ld go there; she woul d watch him unsee n; she woul d

live over again in memory, the happy days they had passed together in

the cottage, and then she would tear his image from her heart for ever.

Guendolen made an e xcuse for not appearing at the dinner-table, be ing, in

fact, afraid ©f encount ering Harr y Grev ille, who, she reasonabl y expected ,

would be there. She was quietly sitting in Frank's room when a. knock at

the door was followed by the appearance of Sir Frederic k, look ing heated and

angry.

" Hush!" she whispered, pointing to Frank, wh o was asleep. " Do not

disturb him."

She quitted the room, as she invariably did when Sir Frederick entered;

but he followed her into the passage.

" You have great influence over Lady Elphi nstone ," he said. •i 1

Pray exert

it to br ing her to her senses. She refuses obstinately to go to the opera.

While Frank was very ill, of course it was out of the question ; but now that

he is quite out of danger, I think that even you might go with a clear con

science."

" I was just thinking," replied Guendolen, " that I should like very much

to go to-night."

She watched Sir Fre derick 's countenance, as she said this, and saw a cloud

come over it.

" As you will ," he said, with a slight hesitati on; then, evidently struck by

another idea, he continued , " Yes yes, dearest Guendolen, I have never beenblessed by your sweet compa ny at any place of amusement. Yo u will come,

will you not ? Yo u will be a sufficient chaperone for Sylv ia, and we can leave

Sophia at home."

" Thank you," she replied, coldly. " I cannot go to-night, I am otherwise

engaged. But I wi ll be your ambassador to Lad y Elphi nston e."

She passed quickly along the passage, Sir Frederick following, and admiring

her graceful figure as she walk ed. Th e door of Lady Elphinstone's boudoir

was half op en, and, as she stopped at it, she heard sobs proceedin g from

withi n. As her kno ck was not replied to, she entered, and found the poor

lady half reclining on a couch, and weeping bitterly. She sat beside her, and

took her hand.

" Sir F rederi ck has requested me to come and reason with- you," said

Guendolen, gently, "and I must say that your objection to going to the opera

to-night seems quite unfounded."

" Unf oun ded !" said Lady Elphinstone, starting up and looking very

indignan t. " I should rather say it was very inconsistent to go to such a place

with sickness, and perhaps death, in the house."

" I would not have advised you to go last week," said Guendolen, "n orwould Sir Frederick , I am sure, have prop osed it. He has too much regard

for appearances, even if affection for his child d id n ot restrain him. . But

Frank is now decidedly convalescent, and no one could blame you for

appearing in public again."

" Is Frank the only person in the house wh o is ill ?" sobbed the imprudent

little woman.

" I suppose you mean the tutor," said Guendol en, with a slight intonation

that might perhaps imply contempt . " I will go then and tell Sir Frederick

what your conscientious objections are."

She rose as if ;to g o ; but Lady El phinsto ne, perc eiving wh at might

be the co nsequences of her folly, caught hold of her dress and detained

her.

" No , no, no ," she said, " perhaps I had better go, thou gh it seems very

unkind when so good a friend is lying dangerously ill."

" It is very praiseworthy of you to be so considerate for your dependents,"

said Guendolen in a manner that unconsciously conveyed reproof, " but still,

in the case of a young man like Mr. Lorimer, it would be well no t to show

to o much c oncern . The world is malicious, and might put a wron g construction upon your charitable feelings."

" I will go, I will go, " said L ady Elphinstone, starting up and ringing for

her maid ; " tell Sir Frederick I will be ready directly."

" I shall not see him, " answered Guendol en; "y ou r appearance will be

quite sufficient."

She wen t aw ay satisfied wit h the success of her mission, tho ugh no t so

much in havin g accomplis hed Sir Frederick 's wish, as in having roused some

feeling of pride in the breast of his unhappy wife. She watched the car riage

drive off with Sir Frederi ck and Lad y Elphinst one, Sylvia and H arry

Greville; and then ordering her brougham, she made the simple addition

of an opera-cloak to her own dress of black silk, and drove after them. Th e

attendance was very full, and a long line of carriages blocked the way.

Guendolen leaned back unconscious of what was goi ng on around her, and

pondered anxious ly on the means she should adopt to obtain possession of tho

cabinet. * _ v v

CHAPTER X X .

About an hour before the opening of the opera a man of thirty years of age

was standing before an easel, givi ng a few last touches to a picture that rested

on it. The room in w hic h he wo rked was spacious, being in fact one of those

apartments that are so frequentl y built "in the rear of London houses, upon

what had formerly been a strip of garden groun d. It was lighted by large

skylight s, and warmed by a stove. At one end was a door, communicating

with the ho use ; and round the walls were pictures and canvasses, in various

stages of progression . The room bore evidence of either the poverty or the

carelessness of its owne r. In one corner b ehi nd a screen was a small bed ;

and i n a large closet, the door of which stood open, were a few 'culinary

utensils, plates, knives, &c., mingled with varnish bottles, paint-brushes, and

various odds and ends used in his profession. He wore an old blouse daubed

with paint, and lon g inno cent of the wash-tub ; but in spite of all, it was not

an unbeco ming costume, or perhaps it was that his tall, well -made figure,

and broad, muscular shoulders, would have set off a less picturesque dress.

Hi s face could not be called handsome ; but there was an expression of

candour and simple honesty about his frank eyes and good-na tured mouth

that wr

as more agreeable than mere beauty of feature. Duri ng the last hour

he had co nsulted an old-fashioned watch about a dozen tim es; and wh en

seven o'clock came he threw down his maul-stick and brushes, exclaiming

aloud, (a habit which he had acquired from being so much alone,) " N o w

then I will get ready and g o. Ho w often I have lon ged to go there ; but

money has always been too precious."

As he spoke he took from his waistcoat pocket and laid upon the table a

ticket for the pit of Her Majesty's Theatre, and then proceeded to wash his

hands an d dress himself. Dress himse lf!—al as, did he call that dressing, when

he put on a comfortable and gentlemanly frock-coat , wholly unconscious that



Juno 2, I860.] USEFUL INFORMATION A&D AMtSEMENt. 78

in the eyes o f opera check-takers dress consists in a coat of the uglie st shape

that even the mind of a tailor has been able to conceive ?

In high spirits he joined the throng that waited at the pit entrance; but

when he came to present his ticket, he was told that he could not be admitted

in a frock-c oat. He remonstr ated, bu t in vain ; and then loo kin g round, and

seeing that nobody else wore a froc k-coat, he retreated considerably crest

fallen ; for a coat of the particular cut called " dress " was not to be found inhis slight wardrobe. He made his way through the crowd with some diffi

culty, and felt more annoyed than a philosopher ought to feel as he more than

once caught the words " Oh ! f roc k-c oat !" or " Not in full dress ! " following

a hasty inspection of his retreating figure. He l inge red under the arcade in

Pall Mall, mecha nical ly eyeing the occupan ts of the carriages that waited their

turn to set dow n the gaily-dressed grou ps at the grand entrance. A beautifulface caught his eye, and riveted his attention all the more from the sadness

of the expression, and an appearance about the eyes as if she had been recently

weeping. By her side sat a blooming and happy- looki ng girl in full flow of

chat with a military-looking man, who occupied th e seat facing her, and who

leaned forward and smiled, showing his white teeth under his neatly-trimmed

moustache, and appeared delighted with her lively prattle. Opposite to the

lady he had first noticed sat a stern, though handsome man,'whose angryfrown was quite sufficient to a ccount for the lady' s sadness if she had the

misfortune to be his wife.

The carriage moved on, and our artist's attention was attracted by another

figure, that of a youn g man loi terin g about like himself, and apparently , also

like himself, with no particular object in view.

" I wonder ," thought the artist, "wh eth er he has been disappointed like

me." And, interested by this idea, he continued to watch him.

" Are you goin g into the pit ? " said another y oung man, comi ng up and

shaking hands with him." I was going," said the other, "but there is something wrong about my

ticket, and they wouldn't admit me."" That is annoying, " said his friend—" deucedly annoyin g. But I must be

off, or I shall not get a place. Good bye."

The moment he was gone the artist stepped up to the disappointed youth,

sayi ng, " Thi s ticket is heartily at your service if you like to use it, sir ; they

will not admi t me on account o f my dress; but 1 imagine t hey can find no

fault with yours."" I should rather think not ," replied the dandy, with a self-satisfied air.

" I am much obliged to you, sir, you are exceedingl y kind, " and taking the

ticket, he instantly retreated.

This had taken place close by the open window of a brougham that was

waiting in the rank, the occupant of which, roused by the conversation from

a reverie in which she had been striving to disco ver the means o f ove rco min g

a difficulty, had watched the countenanc e of the artist with great interest.

A slight touch on his arm with her fan drew his attention.

" Come in, " she said. " I can pass you into my box unobse rved. Ma ke

haste ! the carriages will move on directly."

She threw the door open as she spoke, and in another moment, much to his

ow n astonishment, he was seated beside a charming woman, whose compan yhe felt sure would greatly enhance the pleasure of listening to Moz art's m usic.

In a few minutes more he was in her box , gazing with admiration at that

magnificent theatre rapidly filling with beautiful, splendidly dressed women,

and distinguished looking men. Wh il e he gazed around him with all the

eager delight of a boy, his strange companion watched him narrowly.

" I do not know how to thank you," he exclaimed, turning suddenly

towards her, " for your great k indnes s."

" D o no t thank me any mor e," she replied. " Y o u have expressed quite

sufficient gratitude, and m uch more than that young puppy felt towards you

when you gave him your ticket."" But the case was very different,*' he replied . " I gave him onl y what was

of no use to myself, when you— when you—ma dam "

"Have done just the same," interrupted the lady, "since I could no toccupy that chair and this at the same momen t; and therefore one of t hem

must have been useless to me."" I do not feel the less grateful for you r kind ness, " said h e, " because you

will not allow me to express my thanks,"

"Perhaps I shall ask you to do me a service one day," she said, "a nd thenyour mind will, I hope, be no longer burdened by this great obligation."

" Instead of being a bur den as you say, i t is a pleasure that I should be

sorry to lose," he replied." Do you know this opera ? " she asked, smiling at his complim ent, but

not noticing it further.

" I know a good deal of the music, " he replied, " but y ou w ill think me a

strange Goth when I tell you that I have never before been to the opera."" So I concluded from your ignorance respecting the necessary costum e,"

said the la dy ; " and yet you are fond of music ? "

"Pass ionat ely," said he. "B ut ," and he hesitated and blushed, "there

are some positi ons in l ife in which every indul gence in a pleasure that costs

even the smallest sum, becomes criminal."" I understand," she replied kindly, " and I can understand too that the

strictest economy becomes even a pleasure when it is practised for the sake of

another."

" I t does, indeed," he said, with sparkling eyes, "a nd for the sake of amother a man can do what he would not do for himself."

" You arc happier than I, " she replied, sadly, " for I have no mot her ; butI can imagine ho w delightful it wou ld be to toil for her, if she were alive , and

forbear all pleasures and lu xuries , and even what many wou ld consider

necessaries, to contribute to her comfort."

At this moment the overture commenced and the artist was deaf to allsounds besides. Guendol en leant back and quietly watched him again from

the darkened corner.

" A man who so loves his mothe r," she thought, " must be trustworthy.

His face is full of candour and nobleness, and thou gh the manner of ou r

intr oduct ion is strange, I feel not the less incl ined to place confidence in him .

I have never known myself to be duped by a first impress ion—except once,"

she added, with a sigh, as she thought of Harry Greville.

Prompted by this reflection she looked towards Lady Elphinstone's b ox ;

a faint cry which escaped her lips caused her companion to turn round.She did not observe him, but following her fixed gaze to the opposite side of the

house, he saw that her eyes were rive ted upon the very same gro up of four

persons that ha d attracted his attention while their carriage waited in the

street.

Th e flirtation betw een the y oung lady and the milit ary man was evidently

progressing. He stood behind her, leaning over the back of her chair andwhisperi ng with an eager lover- like gaze into her ear, while h,er brig ht

careless glances were excha nged for downcast lids, a frequently changi ng

colour, and a heaving breast that bore witness to the beating of the heart

within. Guendolen watched them throu gh her glasses, and her face became

pale, and her lips compressed, and the hand that rested on her k nee w as

tightened as though she were suffering some acute agony.

"Have I been deceived?" she murmured, laying down her opera glass." He canno t be mar ried, o r her father w oul d not suffer such attentions to his

daughter. Shall I show myself and reclaim his waveri ng faith ? Yet, no—no . W h y break in u pon the happiness of two people, because I cannot bo

happy ? The bond, the curse still holds me. Oh, that I were free ! "

Th e artist caught the look of anguish, but could not divine its cause. It

was sufficient for him that she suffered and was unhappy, and, with thegenerosity of a noble nature, he longed for the opportunity of serving her

without once quest ioning the or igi n of her distress. After the first anxiou s

glance, he averted his eyes from her face, but he was saddened by that glimpse

of her sorrow, and the music had lost its charm. Guendolen kept carefully

out of sight, know ing that if Sir Frederick saw her with a stranger his

jealousy would know no bounds; besides which, the object for which she hadsought this acquaintance woul d be entirely frustrated if once the artist wereseen in her compa ny. She saw that her com panion from time to time cast an

anxious glance towards her, and she perceived the sympathy which he felt for

her, though he so delicately repressed every expression of it.

" W h a t strange scenes we pass throu gh i n this l i f e ! " she said, r ousi ng

herself suddenly out of a long reverie. " W o u l d you believe it, that this

morning I attended a funeral, and to-night I am at the opera? "" An d which was the most melancholy spectacle to you ? " he said, breaking

at length through his reserve.

She smiled sadly and shook her head. He moved suddenly to a chair that

stood near her at the back of the bo x." I cannot form any idea, mada m," he said, in a tone of great respect, " o f

the motives which induced you to act so kindly towards me this evening. Do

not for a moment imagine that I would presume upon your kindness. I ama man w ho kn ows the wrorld only from books; I have lived the greater part

of my life in the seclusion of a country village, with only nature, and her

rocks and hills and boundless sea, for my daily companions. A painter,

travel ling i n search of the pictu resque, gav e me my first instruct ions in his art,and I have since followed it eagerl y. Fou r years ag o I came to Lon don,

where I have lived the life of a hermit. I therefore know nothin g of what is

called life, being too poor and too un known to mingle in high society, and

far too proud to join that which was open to me. I tell you this to excuse

whatever may be abrupt or unconventional in my speech or manner. "" Nay , nay," replied Guendolen, with a faint laugh, "y ou must not apolo

gise to me for not being conven tion al, for I beg an our acquaintance i n a waythat would have frightened the proprieties into hysterics. Wh at lady who

cared in the least fo r convent ionali ties and the artificial rules of life wouldhave invited a strange gentleman into her carriage, and broug ht him into her

o p e r a - b o x ? "

" I was ind eed asto nishe d," he r eplied , " to find a lady of your apparent

rank so frank and good-na ture d."" It was a sudden impulse, " said Gu endolen. " I liked the way in which

yo u gave your ticket to that youn g fop. There was something in your facethat I liked , and further more I am at the present time in want of a friend

whom I can trust."

He opened his eyes wide and looked at her." Ye s, " she continued, in a half musing way, as if she were thinking aloud,

" we ar e far too strai ght-la ced and forma l in this world, at least in our arti

ficial civilised portion of it. I f t wo Englis hmen meet in one of the prairies

of North America, or in the heart of Africa, they do not pass by one anotherwithout speaking, because they have not been introduced. Nay, if even they

meet upon a hill- top, some few miles r emoved from towns and cities, it is

very probable that they begi n to speak. N ow what desert is so dreary as this

desert o f Lon don , wher e the grains of sand are represented by so many strange

faces ? You care no more for them than you would for so much sand, as far

as you are individually concerned . The only difference is this . that this

human sand is gifted with eyes that stare at you, with ears that listen to you,

with tongues that talk to and about you, and with powers of locomotion that

jostle you on your way. Wh en in the midst of this desert I encountered a

face wherein I recognised a brother, was it not very natural that I should

hold out the hand of fellowship to that brother r"

" V e r y natural," he repl ied; "b ut I should fear hardly safe. Wi tho ut

vanity 1 may say that in my own case you have run no risk; but I am quite

sure the experiment could not be often tried with impu nit y; or at least nottill forty or fifty years more have passed over your head."

" It is the first time I have tried it," she said, " and tho ugh it seems in a

fair way to succeed, it is not at all proba ble that I shall repeat it. It is not

likely that the same combinati on of circumstances will again occur; that so

much will depend upon some business being transacted by a person supposedto be wholly unknown to me ; and that I should encounter that very person as

if sent by the fates at the moment he was wanted."



THE FAMILY HERALD — A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OP tfme%im.

" What is it that you wish-me to do for y o u ? " he asked with a puzzled

look.

" Yo u shall k now in tim e," she r epli ed. " It is no very difficult or dan

gerous undertaking—merely to effect a purchase for m e. No w listen to the

music ; you are fond of it ; are you yourself a musician ?"" I was thought a tolerable amateur," he replied, "pla yin g on the violin

well enoug h to lead in a musical club that I bel onged t o ; and possessing a

pretty good baritone voice, but not much cultivated."" You know enough then to enjoy such mus ic as thi s," said G uendol en,

"ther efor e listen to "it, and do not think of me. I croak over life like a

discontented old Avoman, for the world has been a cruel stepmot her to me,and my happiest days have been spent in a kind of stagnation amid the

scenes of uncultivated nature.""AVonderful creature," thought the artist, resuming his place in front.

" Is she m arried or singl e, or is she a widow ? What ever she may be, I feelthat I coul d go through fire and water to serve her ."

This thought naturally suggested the painful interest which she hadevidently taken in the occupan ts of the large b ox opposi te, and he looked

towards them. Th e flirtation was progres sing, but his attention was principally

excited by the cond uct of La dy Elphins tone and her Ivusband.

(To be continued.)

NELLY'S NOSE.

Nelly and I stood by the bro ok—the brook that ran like a little zigzagstripe of silver throug h a shrubb y mead ow, flushing red and gold in the early

autumn. Th e glow of sunset drifted like a crimson mist over Nell y's whiterobe, and as she turned her h ead tow ards me , I saw that the ivory of her

slender throat was stained with the same pink lig ht. He r straw hat swung

by its broad green ribb ons from her arm , and the he avy braids of her softbrown hair, falling over the little comb of wrought silver that was almost too

slight to confine them, dropped their rippling lengths upon her shoulders.

Ah , my lover's heart, beating high with love and tenderness, called Nelly

beautiful, though I knew all the while that no eyes but partial ones would

have seen her so. Her features had no chiselled regularity—her complex ion,thoug h fair, was pale—her white forehead was quite too full and high for femi

nine bea uty. Her mout h was no rosebud—it s soft crimso n curve was not daint y

enough for that. But her eyes had something in their depths that reminded meof the flowing of the clear, bri ght waters at our fee t; a sunny sparkle and a

shadowy darkness, that sometimes, when they poured their full radiance upon

me from under the fringed shelter of their lifted lids, quite dazzled me intothe belief that they were nothing more nor less than stars prisoned in little

rings of azure. The hair drooping back in heavy curves from the whiteness

of her full forehead had a tint like the under side of a robin's wing . Theslightest possible flush of colour lay always on the rounded oval of her cheeks

—a colour at once so faint and so fresh, you could think of nothing but apple

blossoms while watching it come and go on her face. Her slender figure had

a mellow grace in every outline—her—but what is the use of goi ng further ?

I might carry my descr iption forwar d for ever, dear reader, and y ou woul dnever see her as I saw her then by the brookside—standing so near me that

the hem o f her fluttering garments swept my foot—the reflected light of thebloop-red sunset pouring over her like a rosy baptism.

W e had been talking about—a bout—I hardly like to tell yo u what, the

subject was so very singul ar an d unroma ntic for a pair of lovers to b e

discussing—about noses. Somethi ng suggested the t opic, and we were soondeep in a merry con trover sy upon the respective merits of the different styles

of olfactory organs distributed among the human family. Lo ng noses, short

noses—st raight noses and cro oked noses—flat "noses and hump ed n oses—thi nnoses and thick noses—noses big and noses little—hooked noses and pug noses

•—all came under our laughing criticism.

Now Nell y's nose, be it known, had just the daintiest idea in the world of

aspiring skyward—scarcely enough to be perceptible—bu t just sufficiently to

give an arch, piquant expression to her face. I to ld her o f it jocosely.

Goodness gracious, the tempest that I raised!

{Moral: Never joke a woman about her looks. The dickens may be to

pay if you do.)

Yo u will notice that I have departed from the stereotyped method of story

tellers, and thrown my moral in at the commencemen t. I am not accustomed

to giving any such instructive turn to my articles, and was afraid I should

forget it .

Well, Nel ly resented it. Alt houg h I had not thought to offend, the flushed

face, the poutin g lips—the indi gnant sparkle of the dilating eyes, showed me

that Nell y was not only wonderstruck, but provo ked by my impudence.

She vowed that her nose didn't turn up a particle—that nobody had everinsinuated such a thing before —that her nose was not any worse loo kin g than

some other folks' noses she had seen in her life (I knew by the way in which

she glanced at mine—a Roman on the largest scale—that that shaft was aimedat me ). She said her nose was deci dedly Grecia n, as any one wit h half an

eye might see—that Ned Hinton had said so (Ned Hinton was a sort of rival

of mine—I hated him , and she knew it) ; that if I coul dn't get anything

better to do than to find fault with other people's looks, she should advise me

to go where folks relished such meddling impertinence better than she did.

Ho w long her pretty red mouth could have discharge d such an un slackened

torrent of indignant words I don't know , for I interposed gently, "B ut

Nell , my dear "" Y o u needn't call me your de ar !" she retorted. " I won 't be i deared'

by any such great, cross, disagreeable, saucy man ! My nose turn up, indeed!1 tell you it's straight as an arrow."

" W h y , Nelly , I kn ow it's only just the slightest bi t in the wor ld—the

merest trifle; but then there is no use denying that it docs turn "

A great, wide-open flash of Nelly 's blue eyes checked the sentence. She

turned her back to me in a huff, shrugging her shoulders angrily, andtearing, with a little defiant moti on, the scarlet leaves from a bush that grew

besid e her, tossi ng them upon the brook , and watc hing them as they floated

awa y like bubbl es of fire upon its bosom.

I waited a few moments, and then laid my hand coax ing ly upon her arm.

She shook it off spitefully." Nell y ! " said I .

She did not answer me—on ly flung a handful of the flame-coloured leaves

upon the water, and set her dainty lips together as she did it." N e l l y ! " I repeated.

Another little clou d of fiery foliage fluttered gently down to the bro ok.

Nelly maintained a frigid silence.

" Nelly Heath, you are a little vixe n! " said I.She wheeled about with a suddenness that startled me .

" And y ou, Chester Mi lt, are a great unmannerly stupid! My nose is no

more of a pug than yours, and you kno w it ."

" I didn't say it was, Nelly."" Y o u did . "—"I d idn ' t . "—"Y ou d id ."—" I d id'n t. "

Thus words ran high. It was a regular out-and-out lovers' quarrel. Nelly

looked as though she had a good will to bite me, and I—ungallant fellow—if

I coul d have acted my pleasure, would have shaken the little tantalising witch

half out of her senses.

A blank silence of many minutes followed. Nelly twisted her hat ribbons

off and on her slender fingers, while I, confused and irritated, fumbled away

nervous ly at my side pockets . As luck w oul d have it, my fingers came incontact with a little folded paper, and a sudden flash of recollection, forgive

ness and d eligh t t hrill ed over me at the to uch. In it was a ring —a ring I

had bought for Nelly that very day. I had forgott en to give it to her befo re;but now I would make a peace-offering of it, I thought. I drew it quickly

from its resting place, and unwra pped it carefully. Nel ly caught si ght of it

as the light gli mmer ed and sparkled on it. He r head was averted instantly." Come, Ne ll y, " I said, reachi ng out my hand, " where's the use of quar

relling ? Let' s be friends."

The averted face was turned towards me a trifle—that was all." See, I have something for you, Nelly. Wil l you accept it ?"

The head mov ed another trifle. I saw her steal a sidelong look from underher lashes at the ring, and a ghost of a smile rippled across the redness of her

exquisite lips, as I crowded the fairy circlet on the end of my little finger,

and e xtende d it towards her . The n she gave her head a haughty toss, asmuc h as to say she wou ld not be conquer ed so easily—dr ew dow n'h er features

int o an expr ession of the m ost prof ound indifference, and yaw ning with a

pretty affectation of weariness, looked innocently up the brown, winding path

that led to her home.

I knew the battle was half won, and with a quick, daring motion, caught

one of her hands, and prisoned it firmly in my clasp. Ther e was a shortstruggle—a little burst of laughter that would come, in spite of her efforts to

restrain it, and then I released her . The ring was glitt ering on one of her

taper fingers like a thread of sunshine. She did not thank me, but stood

coquettishly .-iient, her head tipped archly on one side, her white lids drooping

till their lashes darkened her cheeks. A bashful colo ur drifted into her face—

a smile, half pleased, half pettish, prov oked her mouth, and she drew the

slender # circl et backw ard and for ward upon her finger with a chil dish air of

uncertai nty, coynes s, and em barrassment.

All at once she looked up into my face, openi ng her blue eyes to a dazzling

width, and arching her brows with a coaxin g, aggri eved manner peculiar ly

her own . The n she stole a little soft hand forward, and dropped it with a shyfluttering emotion , like the fall of a white dove' s wing , upon my arm.

" M y nose doesn't turn up, does it, C hellie ? Say no, there's a dear,good b o y . "

Chellie was a pet name she had given me, because, as she said, Chester was

so hard to speak, and Chet was a disagreeable nickname.. "Re al ly, Nel ly," said I, " I can't fib for you. Your nose is just the

sweetest, prettiest, dearest little nose in all Christendom—I think so truly—

but for all that I must say it has a slight, a very slight —but the deuce,

Nelly ! W h y need you get so angry about it ?"

She had snatched her hand from nry arm while I was speaking, and a quick

rush of angry blood suffused her face as I finished.

" Here, take back your old ring, yo u hateful, cross creat ure! I won' t wear

i t! " An d she drew it off wit h a gesture of superb disdain, and reached it

towar d me. "T ak e it, I say ," she added, with a stamp of her pretty foot,

seeing that I made no movem ent to accept it, " or else I'l l " She held

it threateningly over the brook.

" V e r y well, mis s," said I. " It is yours to do what you like wit h." I

folded my arms haughtily, for I had my share of pride as well as she, and she

had roused it. " There is no great loss, I have heard, without some smallga in, " I contin ued. " I shall at least learn in what estimation my gifts are

held. That will be some advantage."A scornful movem ent of Nell y's arm was my answer. The ring fell into

the dimpl ed Avaters. Ther e was a bub bli ng sound as it wound slowly down

ward throu gh the sil ver tide ; and we both watched it witli a sort of sym pa

thetic fascination till it settled, a tiny golden speck, on the pebbly bottom of the brook . The waters were shallo w, and a single dippin g of my arm m ight

have saved it. But I wou ld have scorned to act so boyi shly . I was

thorough ly angry, and drawi ng myself up proudly, I stalked away with themajesty of an insulted empero r. No t before I had seen the rapid cloud of

regret that swept over Nelly's face, howeve r. I carried that with me for atriumph and a consolation.

Strange as it may seem, I had no t walked half a doze n yards before my

wrath was entirely dissipated. I loved Nelly Heath to distraction, and NellyHeath loved me. W hy should I take such child's play to heart ? Were Ave

not engag ed lovers, and was not that the first difference Ave had ever known ?

Shoul d I let a mo ment 's auger conquer years of love? If I couldn' t bear



Juno 2,18C0.J USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 7 5

ith her coquetries and peevishness once, was I fitted for the dearer relation I ioon hoped to hold towards her ? I was ashamed of myself, and turned to I

etrace my steps, vowing, as I did so, with a returning rush of lover-likenderness, to reconcile her in spite of herself. ;

But I thought I would give her a surprise. I would see what she wasoing—notice how my sudden and angry departure had affected her. So I

ole back noiselessly by a roundabout path, dropped down quietly behind theery bush from whi ch s he h ad torn the leaves so petul antly a few mome nts ••efore, and pushing aside the branches, glanced through.

Jubilate! I could have kissed her with delight. She knelt on the bank, Jne round arm bared and dipped even to the curve of her polished shouldern the bro ok over whic h she was leaning eagerly. She was tryin g to reach jhe ring, I knew; but the waxen arm, outlining its ripe, firm whiteness in ' :

he water, was all too short for the task.

" What a ridiculous little goosey I am, " I heard her whisper to herself,to get so excited about nothin g. Wh at wi ll he think of me ? But, anya$, he ou ghtn 't to have said so about my nos e." Her e she threw herself |ack with a pout of exhaustion. " I' m sure it don't turn up a bit"—she ]outed, and with a disturbed smile drew her hand doubtfully over theuestionable organ, flattening the end of it with a comical gesture down upon ;

er lip. " If I thought it did, I'd— I'd— but it don't. "

An d with this consoling exclamation she returned to her task. In heragerness, she forgot to steady herself. The y ieldin g turf gave way beneather weight, and with a faint cry, and a vain attempt to save herself, she fell

orward into the water. Before I had time to rise from my crou chin g posture,he had struggled to her knees, and sat there in the brook, looking about her

with a glance that was made up of fright, cha grin, and mirth. She shoo k outer saturated hair, and a shower of pearls rain ed dow n about her dripping-houlders. The n the air trembled with a peal of the merriest, most deliciousaughter that ever issued from human lips.

1 sprang up and confronted her. Her face reddened instantly, and shemade an ineffectual attempt to rise ; but her l ong skirts (hoops were not yetome into fashion) were tangled in a clin ging, unmanageab le mass beneather, and held her.

At first she looked as if she hard ly knew whether to lau gh or cry ; then

he ludicrousness of her situation recurred to her again, and another musicalrill of merriment rang through the meadow. " Help me out, Chellie. "

I folded my arms with a grim smile of satisfaction, and re plied. " No ,miss, you are on your knees to me now, and I mean to keep you there awhile. Our positions are reversed from what they were a few m onths ago.You must promise better fashions for the future, before I help you."

"B ut , Chellie, my dear "" Yo u needn't call me your dear," said I. " I won 't be * deared' by such

a little shrew."

" Do—do—help me—I shall drown, Chellie !"" On one condition," said I.—" What is it ? " she asked." Y o u shall say yes to the next three questions I ask you."She hesitated—then said, " I won 't make any such promi se. If you was n't

a monster you wouldn't stand there so coolly. I tell y ou I shall drown i f you arn't good . "

" Do , dear," said I. " I should like to see you do it in two feet of water ."" Chellie, dear Chel lie," (she said it with a little gr imace) ^ " I prom ise ."" Well, then, don't yo u think your nose is a pug—a horrid pu g ? "" N o , I'll stay here for ever before I'll say yes."

" A l l right, madam." And I turned to leave.

" Chellie, come back ," said she. " I don 't know but it is a pug n ow ; butit won' t be if ever I ge t on dry land ag ain."

" No , that won't do," said 1. " Does your nose turn up ?"

"•Yes," she r eplied, " it is turning up at you this minute, you obstinateold tyrant."

" Very well answered, Miss Nel ly. No w for the second question. Do yo uove me best of anybody in the whole world ? "

" Ye—no—y-e-e-s ! I'l l pay you for this when I get able."

" A l l right ," said I, " An d now for the third and last. Will you marryme in six weeks from to-day ? "

Nelly's head drooped till her crimson cheeks almost burned upon the water.

Then she looked up reproachfully, and said, " For shame, Chellie! "But I was merciless. I had been tortured and tantalised and coquett ed

with long enough. I wou ld ^av e my answer.

" I suppose you don't like to give me a, plump ' ye s ' for that," said I.I'll be fund ; if you think * yes,' but can't say it, just put out your arms to

me, Nelly dear."

There was a struggle—I saw it daguerreotyped in her face. Then, as if rom a sudden, irresistible impulse, she made a loop of her white arms, andeached them up toward my neck. I stooped—put my head under her snowy

yoke, threAV one arm aro und her shoulde rs—and drew her up , half lau ghi ng,half sobbing, into my arms.

" N o w get the ring for me, Chellie," she said, struggling from my embrace." But the water is so disturbed, I can't see."

"Just try—that's a darling."

I was willing to do almost anything to oblige her just then. So I knelt downwhere she had knelt before me, and bent forward, looking long and searchinglynto the disturbed water. I coidd see nothi ng through the mud dy waves.

So I told her. Just then I felt her two hands on my shoulders, a littlequick push, a merry laugh, a triumphant clapping of Nelly's rosy palms—and, reader (gracious knows I hate to own it), 1 was floundering in thebrook.

" I told you I'd have my revenge, " she cried ; " I told y o u — y o u

monster! Noiv how do you feel? My nose doesn't turnup—I don't love yo ubest of anybody in the world, and I won't marry you till— I get ready !'

<&nd gathering up her dripping skirts she bounded away.

* * * * # *

A very demure litt le woman has jus t sidled up to my table, and read this

tale. It is Mrs. Chester Milt. No w she has me by the ears—Oh, mercy,ho w she pulls ! She says I must tell you , dear readers, that her nose isn't apug—that it's purely Grecian in style. Well, so be it—her nose doesn't turn

up an atom.

P. S. She has gon e (in confidence to fhe reade r). He r nose is a pug. Iswear it by yonder cradle. Adieu! M. V.

T H E P A R T I N G T O N P A P E R S ;BEING THE LIFE , LECTURES, AND LOVE MATTE RS OF MRS. PRUDENCE

PARTINGTON, RELICT OF THE HEROIC CDRPORAL, PAUL PARTINGTON.

T H E " C O R P O R E A L " I N T R O U B L E .

When my ma' skouted out " Save hi m! save h i m ! " my corporeal resorted," Shave him! ah, that I would, with a bear boddikin! "

Hereupon, he drew his weepon , and with a grimac ing an ger in his I ,sed that he would give the Helder a steel lozenge if he did not deploy with hisbequests.

" Fusjly," he continued, " you naufrageous villan you, produce the last willand testimony of the deficient Pod gers ; he cann ot have left his orphanprodigy here perfectly institute and unsolvent."

He pinted his weepon at the Helder's obnoxious 'art. Mr . Settle shiveredand groaned deplor ingly ; and his wife, whose census had quite evaporated,seduced the document which protruded from her pocket. " Take awl, " shecried; " b ut spare his vitali ty ! " Oh ! it was a promi nent situation, full of egregious feelin'. W e were all fours in a huge contamination,

" I t is not for the filthy look er I str uggl e," sed my hero, " but for the rites

of woma nkin d." He took the will and glanced over it with a problematicaleye ; " Oh, I see," ses he, " * to my darter Prudence Po dgers the some of aquarter of millyard of dollars '—that'l l do, git up, " ses he, and he gave theHelder an indigent kick. The Held er elevated hisself and scuttled awayyowling. ,

" A n d now mem," sed the offisir a sheafing his naked and deleteriousweepon, " and now mem, I must astrolo gise to you. I do not believe you area parsneps criminy in this matter; I wil l therefore be g you to jin e our handsand bestow a mother's malediction upon her children."

Wall, we jin ed our innoce nt hands, for we were but babes, altho ugh ab out toenter in to the rights and w rongs of awful pad lock , as the poet ses, and then we

jist sat togeth er and talked with ma' about o ur future prospectus. She gaveus good advice, ho w we were never to interdi ct one another, but to live like

lambs, to shear each ot hers pleasures, and to bare each others connections." Hif," she persisted, " you keeps my device, your lives will run away to theend of chronology, like a sw eet stream, with out any storms or cascades orother cruel inducti ons to ruffle its smooth and mellifluous buz zim ." Shetorke d beautiful, for you see she was the wife of a parsing and could

extremporise.

" Yo u have the elegance of tongue of the great cannibal, marm, " ses M r.Partin gton, " and he caused the ve ry hills i;o melt afore him. I Avill endeavourto decide by your seducing picter. And iioav, ware is the Helder, for he mustgive up your dorter's bowery."

Well , Ave circu msp ecte d ourselves a nd perspire d in e\ rery corner of thecompar tment, but the ob noxi ous varmint had elaborated, and as Mrs . S.pugnaciously persisted that he had locked up all the money, the corporea lAvas fain to go away Avithout the calculating medium so necessary for personsabout t o marry. But as he fondly denominat ed, " he Avould return Avhen thefust lig ht o f A Roa rer s hed its ruby splenders over the peramb ulator y skiesand fetch away the bride of his choice, and the Avoman of his most abnomialaffliction."

He had no sooner denounced this sublime confusion than in rushedElkanah, the mare of our town, the whole of the Cussed Hos Rotolorum, andthe remainder of the corporeal's regimen.

" H e has been perspiring to deform me," inno culat ed the Helder, "a lo ngwith that wicked gur l. " An d he vindic ated Mr. Part ingto n Avith his finger.

" Milingtary, do your dooty," prejaculated the mayor; " arrest your suferior

hofficer, the corporeal; there he stands. Sir, deliver up your harms ."The corporeal looked indigent, but drew his bagonet from the frog and givedit to the first file. " It do not become," says he, with the eleganc e of Sisera," fo r a city .son's soldier to use his arms agin the consecutive of the state.

Therefore, my men, I sawrinder. But, Mr . Mare, you will allow me to beheerd at onst, and before the bar of my country."

Oh ! Avhat Avas the contents agg ony of my 'art at that moment. I thort Ishould have fell doun in a fit of com ple xity . M y era Avas marched off beforemy I 's ; but he Avas not cast doAvn. He suffered no correspondency. N o ;he stood straight up as a bulrush, at least one inch taller than his captures,and glared around at that cousi gnin' elder Avith all the pra gnam imou svelocity of the lying, king of beasts.

" Hif ," he sed, as he gaily kissed his fingers to me and ma' , and turned

round to the Helder, " if you were a militfary man I should at once challice

you to a do-ill, but you are not, you are low er than a civil one, you are onlya poore tub-thumping parsing, your beneath my penit ence; but I appeal tothe bar of my country; justice and etoquette shall rite me; in the meantime,remember, I have the ' w i l l ! ' "

" For 'ar d!" shouted one of the shoulders; the fife and drum began to play ;Mr . Parti ngton shook the dog gym int before the eyes of the flustrated viilinthe Rev erend Settle, and I sunk doAvn in a soon; indeed, my nerves Avere

eliminated, my 'art personified, and the w hole of my spirits divaricate d.(To be continued.)

The gleeful laugh of happy children is the best home -mu sic ; and the

graceful figures of chi ldh ood are the best statuary.



76

T O C O R R E S P O N D E N T S .

GRAPIHOLOGY.—That veracious history, no t related byThucydides, nor found even in Dionysius of Halicar-nassus, which tells us of a " certain old woman who

lived in a shoe," might apply in its latter sentence to

us. Her trouble was children ; ours is correspondents.We have in fact so many on this particular subject thatwe know no t what to do. W e cannot devote our

whole sixteen pages ; we cannot answer each on foursides of foolscap per post; we cannot even give threecolumns of close nonpareil type to them ; but we canand we must answer them en masse. Some to whomwe have impute d carelessness are offended; somequerulous, others sceptical. We begin therefore witha vow to break our graphiologist's staff, an d bury it

fifty fathoms deep. But we do so by still avowingthe truth of the study, and our belief in it; the

instances we have ha d confirm us in this. Somewriters are careful, precise, exact, such as ARMINIUS

T E X T , and P ETER P ARRY, who in a very gentlemanly

way dissents from our dictum. He is possibly quiteright and we wrong. We can but guess at truth.Others are fond, affectionate, bu t hasty an d care

less, such as E M M A an d CONSTANCE, an d BLUE- EYED

F A N N Y , wh o is the most careless of the three ; but at

the same time these latter may and do show signs of qualities lacking in the others. Into this category

also fall naturally PURITY, wh o is very confiding andaffectionate, in spite of her wicked-looking eyes; and

M A R Y D A N SE Y , wh o is gifted with an esprit moqueur,a waggish sprite, which teases an d perplexes half

the young maidens and men about her, yet withplenty of little vices; th e latter pleases us moreso than poor perplexed FANNY STANLEY, who scolds

all the young fellows of Wellingborough, and who

exhibits both in her diction and manuscript pet-

tishness an d warmth of temper, and who marsher fine qualities by those faults. But others are

not precise, no r finnicking, nor careless, but likeCHARLES HANME*R, good, sensible, an d gentlemanly,if wanting in boldness. Othei-s are moro deceptive, like that young man who dates from "a

cottage near a wood, and who assumes the nameof JEANNIE MORRISON ; careless and cunning youngdog, but not cunning enough to spell well. H A N N A H ' S

character is singular, and we can only describe it as

crochety; JEMIMA'S is without much good in it; we,

for one, would not pop the question to her; whilstM A R Y BENNETT (she m ay address her clergy man as

" Reverend Sir," as she wishes to mark her respect,) isvery ladylike, but utterly feminine, and witho ut muchstrength or decision. Thus far, hastily omitting othersand putting only these as the heads of classes, and atthe same time insisting that it is not our will but our

space which forbids nicer discrimination, and urges us

to put a termination to our graphiological experiments. A WIL D IRISH GIRL'S writing betokens an

affectionate weakness of character. Th e superstitionabout the lock of her lover's hair is silly and unfounded,and was used simply for the purposes of romance.

W A R PI N G M ILL.—Th e intere sts of labou r and capital are

identical. What is capital without labour ? or the latterwithout the former'? If the one suffers from depres

sion, so does the other. They are the Siamese twinsof society. Nevertheless conflicts will arise betweenthem. Th e letter before us is not, however, on thevexed question of wages, bu t asks whether it ishonourable for large manufacturers to send spies towork at other firms, in order to pick up new designsand patterns ? We cannot believe that this disgracefulpractice prevails to any extent, for it is usual for all.

new designs to be protected by registration ; and evena simulation of them is prohibited by the law. Rivalryin production is stimulating and healthy; and we areconvinced th e great manufacturers of this country

only trust to their own energies and ability for success.As to old servants starting in business for themselves,and masters being jealous of them, that is th e oldstory. Grinding, avaricious employers, may be guiltyof such meanness ; but it is far different with the

general body, who are ever willing to lend a helpinghand to men who for years have served them faithfully. Most of the opulent manufacturing firms of Lancashire and Yorks hire were originally founded by

nWn who had been servants. Mancheste r was mainlybuilt up by servants, wh o having saved money,

applied that and their talents for their own benefit.So that it is a pity that an y petty jealousies on eitherside should sully th e noble partnership betweencapital and labour.

J. STAND takes a well-considered an d well-balanced

exception to our answer to H . I. W. on pugilism. W e

can only say that he has pointed out the very excepttions which we intended, and that we agree with himentirely. W e never asserted that th e "sport" wa sChristian or moral; unhappily, neither is the nationthoro\ighly so. W e have not yet reached th e highstandard of our Lord. But in times of danger, an dthis is one, we do need extra pugnacity, extra endurance, extra force of mind; these qualities alwaj 7saccompany a brave free natiou,and they seem necessaryfor freedom; and these qualities are taugh t and instilledby training and boxing, if fairly carried on. AVe do notadmire these qualities amongst perfect men, bu t withimperfect men they are very useful; and since wo cannothave pure good,we are content to take the best that wecan. A boxing nation is not a stabbing, slaughtering,

pistoling, or gouging nation. Of tw o evils choose th eleast, until we can overcome evil by good.

BRO K EN- H EARTED LI LY. — Hu mb old t says ''we owe im

perishable truth to those whom we esteem." There

should be no concealments, no half-confidences b etween

two youn g people who are betrothed. Expr ess yoursorrow for what has happen ed, and avoid all r epetition

pf such conduct for th e future.

CLARA TILLER seems to have managed the rudder of her

destiny very awkwardly; for although a Tiller, shehas been unable to steer her pretty craft into the portof matrimony. The cause lies wholly with herself.

She has received several offers, bu t declined them,and now has taken to the unmaidenly pastime of flirting.—We canno t comp are such conduct to any

thing better than the torture which cats inflict on mice*before devouring them. Nay, the cat is th e morehumane animal of the two, for it does ultimately pu t

its victims out of their misery, but the flirt plays withthem as kittens do with balls of worsted. The menthus treated reveal everything to their companions toput them on their guard, and thus a flirt's name is

spoken very freely of in society. No wonder then thatthe eligible yo ung me n hold aloof from such infatuatedbeings, and seek wives in circles where merit andsense are more appreciated than b eauty and levity.

CLARA must reform, or she will speedily be laid on the

"shelf," as she terms it. She is already on a lowerone, bu t if she gets to the top she may bid adieu to allhopes of matrimony, at all events to all hopes of a

felicitous marriage. It is such girls, if they havemoney, who become th e prey of unprincipled adventurers.—The above remarks will answer ANEMONE'S

letter. She is treading a crooked path, an d must

endeavour to regain her self respect.

W. W. is o ne of a family of twenty-one children, te n

girls an d eleven boys, five brothers an d four sistersbeing older than herself. She boldly says she is thebest-looking of all the girls, and being eighteen, wishesto be married, although she is reluctant to be the first

to break the family circle.—That consideration shouldnot weigh with her one instant, provided she couldcontract a suitable marriage. Families were made tobe broken up, and it is mainly accident that determines whether th e elder or younger memb ers shouldgo off first. In this case the young lady has two suitors,one in comfortable circumstances, the other rich ; but

if she married th e latter she would have to accompany him to India. As there does no t seem to be anydeemed love preference for cither, at the first blush weshould say be the wife of the rich man ; but, upon con

sideration, it must be borne in mind that the climate of India does not suit eve ry European constitution, thatof women especially, and the habits of the nation arenot calculated to inspire either confidence or admi

ration in delicate mi nds ; so that, viewing the matterin every light, we say the "comfortable" man offersthe best promise of a happy future to a girl so situatedas W. W. View the two countries thus: India, wealth,

sunken eyes, pallid features, and a diseased liver;England, rosy cheeks, bright eyes, a clear, healthycomplexion, and contentmont.

E. H . R . —Th e promise made to a dying parent isa sacred engagement, which no child can pass lightlyby, and by the exemplary way in which yo u havecared and provided for your a ged father's wants duringthe sixteen years since your mother's death, you havefulfilled the trust she reposed in you to the utmost of your ability. Th e self-sacrifices yo u have made havehad their reward. They have made you a thoughtful

self-reliant, pious w oma n, and Heaven's* blessin g hasrested upon th e labour of your hands, and provided

sufficient means for your daily wants. True, yoursingle pair of hands may make it a hard struggle by

needlework alone to provide for th e increasing wants. of your father at his great age and consequent inability

to do anything for himself; but, hitherto, like th e

Manna of the Israelites, th e food has been broughtdaily to your door. Do not copy their exam ple andsay, " There is nothing at all beside this manna," bu t

continue to follow the calling which has thus providedsufficient for the day, lest with the morrow no moroshould come. For the improvement yo u desire wecannot recommend any book more likely to prove of

service than Chambers's Educational Series.

RICHARD T.—Horsewhipping, like pugilism, has its

advantages ; bu t then th e punishment should only be

held in terrorem over th e heads of cowards; for it isonly that despicable class of m en who indulge in

slander. One of the reptiles wishes to undermine youin th e affections of your betrothed by defaming yourcharacter. Now when "a lady's in the case," thegreatest discretion is requisite. Th e introduction of

her name into a police report would wound her

delicacy, and make her the subject of satirical remar ksamong her acquaintances. Th e exposure would alsoshow by implication what little faith she had in theman she once professed to love, by allowing herself foran instant to listen to the " veno med tongue " of aslanderous eowai'd. In such cases it is the better course

to trust to the heart and understanding of the younglady. True love repels gratuitous insinuations withscorn, and boldly appeals for an explanation to theinjured party. Violence is the last weapon to beemployed. The loss of a wife would be a good groundfor an action for slander, because special damagescould be proved.

CARRIE an d C L A R A . — Y o ur complaint applies no t onlyto the young gentleman of Peckham, but equally so toAltrincham, Balham, Clapham, Downh am, Evesham,Farnham, Grantham, Horsham, Thornham, Petersham, ltichingham, Swaffham, Topsham, Mentham,and indeed to all the hams and hamlets in existence.—The remedy is in your own hands; make home attractive, and leave th e rest.

G. H . W.—Apply to Mr. C. Goodman, bookseller, No.407, Strand, W.C. , who will furnish yo u with a list;

there is no uniform edition of his works, nor are they

all published by th e same firm.

A N N E P.—Acquaintance must commence somewhere;

why not at church ? It was but common civility to

offer "half the book ; " bu t have no secrets from your

parents.

Miss GRACE EGERTON, ohe out of numbers interested in

our dear old friend Mrs. Partington , writes to ask uswhether her memoirs are genuine. We of courseforwarded the letter to the author, from whom we

received this characteristic reply ;—" Mr. Harrold, sir,

does your co-respondent wish to consult me by doubting m y voracity? I feel quite recriminated by her

question; but the curiosity of the female sects is

inimitable, and knows no bonds, espeeially withJuvenals, I feel so consulted, that I must commandan astrology, a simple astrology, from your youngfriend. M y memorials are genu wine, so I D claret;you have m y M . E . S S . letters to show it. If any onetries to expose upon you, your illegal adviser can

obtain a conjunction in Dootor Commons's. Witnessmy <fe and sele, Yrs. P. P."—This will surely set thematter at rest.

A LOVING ONE.—Why no t follow our advice ? Many a

joke has ended in earnest; besides, if inclined to treata maiden's leap-year popping as such, and to pay the

fine^of a pair of gloves to start fair again, the measureof the hand must be taken to secure a good fit, and a

pretty hand and arm are very bewitching, as theauthor of the Mill on the Floss has illustrated. We canbe spiteful, too ; but not full of spite as your way of

spelling th e word would indicate your determination,to be. Our final syllable, ful, is kindred to the Italianv<fk, inclining to, but not full of.

D A V I S. — A l l depends upon the lady's taste; she might

prefer th e new volume of the Family Herald, or more

serious reading, Milton's Paradise Lost, or the illus

trated edition of Thomson's Seasons, the Vicar of

Wakejield, A c , all well adapted for birth-day presents.

FLORENCE and BRUNETTE. — To clear the complexion,

make a mixture of equal parts of carbonate of magnesia an d precipitated sulphur. Take a small teaspoonful in milk before breakfast once a week for a.month. See also Nos. 783 and 799.

NO TES A N D Q UERI ES . — NO ; the Navy is the younger .twin, men fought by land before they did by sea, an d

the old school rule holds good: seniores priores, age*before honesty.

A N N A B.—Let your example and precepts show her th evalue of a courteous and cheerful demeanour, an d

always let your reproval of her conduct be kind and

gentle,

A. N.—Read "Nelly's Nose ; " if you cannot take a hintfrom it how to become reconciled, break off the engagement, for such a woman is not likely to make a manhappy.

J. DALSTON.—It is an every-day case ; turn your hand to

anything honest which you think you can accomplish;

why not seek a situation in your former trade ?

OTHER COMMUNI CATI ONS RECEIVED.—E. H . Q.—J. B E L L .

—C . C—W. B.—A. B. C. — CAROLINE EDITH (bright

auburn; pretty good). — DIVORTIUM (the principalonly; th e interest and accumulation are his).—C. J. J.(too vapid) .—GENEVEVA(send it for perusal, post free).—W. N. ("give a dog a bad name"—you know the rest;his political writings have still admirers).—MYRTLE (at

any fancy shop in the suburbs).—W. Y. (yes ; and canbe baptised now, if she will).—JOHN B. (too ana

creontic).—S. G . E. (very o ld; everybody has readthem).—IM P E R I T U S (forward it , post free, for approval)—W . F . A . (only persons of experience are engaged).—FLORENCE S. (improved; yes, with practice).—J. P .

(consult your medical adviser) .—EMILY A. (yes, if approved; send real name and address).—MOURNFUL

M O N A (w e cannot advise unless we know why hethinks so).—THOUGHTLESS ROSA (such folly can only

end in misery).—PAULINE (send them to W I L L Y ) . —

L E W E Y (illegal). — W I LD CARRY (yours is a case for

medical advice, and no good can come of delay in

seeking i t ) . — FA N N Y (as you grow older it will subside).— R E ST I L (provided there is no other obstacle, th emarriage would be legal ; your step-mother is not yourmother) .—FANNY FEARLESS (too minute; bu t ladylike).—W M . W. (thanks ; we have such an abundanceof th e same class, that we cannot find room lor it).—W. J. (Bridge Street, Blackfriars).—ARIANNA M. (onlyto be obtained by personal recommendation, or

through an adverti sement; passable). — M. C. (see London and Paris LoMeS Magazine of Fashion, price ls.X

— M A R Y S. (Venus).—MARK L A N E (yes, if done for emolum e nt; 13 and 14 Vi c, ch. 97).—MILES (yes; advertisefor what yo u requiro in the Western Times, throughMitchell, Re d Lion Court, Fleet Street).—GRACE M .(send us further particulars).—EXCELSIOR (apply tothe Civil Service Commissioners; see our article inNo. 880).—W. B. (not much chanoe at either place;parties receive their appointments before leavingEngland in most cases).—LILY H. (give us the name,and we will do our best to furnish the address ; lady

l ike).—REGINA (you have all been playing a game of

PubS in the Ring; play it out, and all will come rightin th e end).—W. M. A . (with flour of sulphur or sulphur ointment; apply to a chemist).—E. J. (quite thecontrary).—P. E. A. (from any book on the subject).—H A R R I E T T L U C Y (yes).—CAROLINE W. F. (not if it

has already been sent up to the lady of the house ; and

only when that person is absent when the call is made).— I N A M O R A T O (bide your time, working your way upwards by industry and perseverance, always hopingfor th e best).—QUIETUS (consult Canada, its PresentCondition and Resources, Stanford, Charing Cross, W.C.).

—MORPHEUS (the clerk will put you in t he way).—LURLINE (yes ; soe also No. 881).—GUENDOLEN (can

only be done by a practical silversmith).—ENQUIRER,

03 (see N os. 710 and SfO).—SHAVER (see No. 007).

— M A R I A N (see Nos. 089 and 0 9 0 ) . — I N E Z and N E L L Y

G R A Y (the fourth finger of the right hand ; seeNo. 740).—E. D. (see reply to FLORENCE, and alsoNo. 520).— W. H. E . (see No. 113).— BA*LDOCK (see

No. 772).—L. M. (see No . 8 7 5 ) . -J . W. B. (see No . 110) .



June 2, 1860.J USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT.

FAMILY H E K A L D .

IS W A R A NECES SITY ?

The more quiet and dispassionate a thinker is, the less biased and the moredetermined to look upon the question on all sides, the deeper will be his con

viction that, if matters proceed as they are now proceeding, we shall soon have

a European war. "Whenever it commences it will be a sanguine and a disastrous

ne. There is Water loo to be avenged by one people, Solferino and Magent ao be wiped out by another, and a little credit account of Sebastopol to beooked into. Pro bab ly we shall find in this result a solution of Mr. Cumming's

Great Tribulation coming on the Earth but we need not go to Daniel andhe Revela tions to foretell tribula tions; they are of that sort which write their

advent pretty plainly in political events, in arming and fort-building, in theprepara tion of fleets, and in the inventi on of all kinds of model instruments of destruction, all of which are to be noted no w, and whic h are not very com

ortabl e things for a philoso pher to conte mplate . These , indeed , are the true

igns of the times, and those who read them need not be inspired.

W e all know that Lor d Chesterfield foretold ve ry accurate ly the Fre nchRevolution, simply by look ing around at the gaunt and angry faces, and thestarvation and tyranny, which were to be seen any day and every day all overFia nce before 1793 . So now when we read Fre nch news papers, and. listen to

French talking and gossiping, and see moreover a fleet grow day by dayand an army of 600 ,000 men maintaine d with out an y actual necessity for it,we may well look up and expect the coming storm. And yet there is nothing

more certain than that all of us hate wrar. It is a hungr y, abominable,

detestable, wick ed thin g. It is plainly murder on a large scale, and no thin gelse.

" Wa r is a ga me which, were the people wise, kings should not play at."

A very deep and wise sentence ftiat, though written by a madman. Butpeople are not wise. W e dream of the yera of peace, but dream onl y. W e

bid the joyous Christmas bells to " Rin g out the thousa nd wars o f o ld, rin gn the thousand years of pea ce, " but we are jus t as quarrelsome and vindict ive

and full of fight as our nei ghb our s; and a very good thing it is that we areso, as we shall presently see. W e paint pictures of Peace and W a r : the one

smiling, sunny, and swe et; the other bloody, horrent, full o f dying men andhorses, of shou ting and nois e, of crackli ng flames and cloud s of smo ke and

dust. W e chronicle the horrors of war, the tears of the orphan an d th e

widow; the lon e age of the moth er an d father; the maimed and defaced

mage of G od, which begs through the streets in a bowl, or drags its brokentrunk to die in a ditch. Ther e are not twenty -four more horri ble picturesetched than those of Jacqu es Callot in his " Miseries of Wa r ; " they we retrue two hundred years ago; they are true now . Of the other abominationswe speak not; in our heart of hearts we all hate them, and sigh for the

fulfilment of old Merlin's prophecy, and the advent of Kin g Arthur, whodying, s a i d - ' zcome a g a i n

With all good things, and war shall be no more.

But we know now that this good time has not yet come. W e are nearly as

far from it as we ever were; there is at all events no immedia te sign of themillennium. Th e exhib ition of 1851 gave an immense prominen ce to the arts

of peace. It was, as it deserved to be, wonderfu lly successful. Aggr essi on,fighting, sieges, battles, and batterings seemed to be forgotten. The

aristocracy of labour drove the oth er aristo cracy quite out of the field.Fighting was reckoned absurd, and people who saw the grand results of peacewere to be knit together in one holy bond of universal broth erhood, and wer eto beat their swords into pruning-hooks, and to make knives and forks of their

spears. But yet in 1852 there were several hundreds shot down in the streets

of Paris ; France was at war with herself; and in 1854-5 France , En gland,and Turk ey wer e at war wi th Russia, in spite of the remonstrances of those

three members of the Peace Socie ty, who travelled all the way to St. P eters -burgh to ask the Emperor Nicholas what he meant by it.

Then came the reports of the first battle. Th e very papers whic h had be enpreach ing peace " sent out word-painte rs of great force to describe a field of battle, the scattered brains, the lo pped limbs, the strange contortions of the

dying ; the surgeons with their bare arms dipped to the elbows in blood; thedead° some stiffened into a se micircle in their agony; some on their knees,

some with clenched teeth and hands as if still fighting in death; the field of battle by nigh t; the lanterns of the relieving parties; the hasty trench, andthe burial of the dead. W e soon gre w used to horrors ; to whic h the des cription of the grea t fight between two boxe rs, whic h has lately shocked us, is b ut

a flea-bite.

Our imperial ally, and our imperial enemy, soon grew tired, and a pea cewas patched up a gainst the will of this peaceable nation, whic h was still i nove with war; but, other wars succeeded. Five powers had been engage d in

wa r; another— Austria—was drag ged into it, and Italian principalities took

heir share. All this seems to give direct c ontradictio n to the assertion , that

as nations grow more civili sed they g ro w less addicted to war. Th e taste for

blood is somewhat tigerish, and the appetite increases by what it feeds on.

W e may at least question whether this be an sera of peace. Since the year

1815, when the peace was concluded, and our troops we*e yet in possession of France, a period of.fo rty-fo ur years, our c ountr y has haa at least for ty-fou rwars on hand. Our soldiers have cover ed themselves with glo ry, and ournation has made fine strides in civilisation, but we have no t been at peace :Burmese, Affghan, Chinese, and Continental wars have filled our hands, and

the trade of soldiering has been pretty busily carried on. W e have been more

"civilised," to use a general ter m; but it is to be doubted whether anyhundred-and-tw enty years have been so full of wars as those whic h ran ge

from 1740 to 186 0. There is no real foundation for Buckle's assertion that

" this barbarous pursuit (war) is in the progress of society steadily declin ing.

In the middle ag es," he continues, " there was never a week with\

At the present mome nt war is considere d a rare and singular occurvIn the face of facts this is a rather bold assertion. Wa rs are perha^broug ht so elosely home to us as they wer e; but whe n almost every famuEngland can tell of some one lost in the Crimean campaigns or Indian fig\ we cannot say that war is of rare occurrence. ^

N ow the great question is, since we all admit that war is a material curse—although like other curses it may bring blessings in its train—the greatquestion is this : Is war a necessity ? Can nothing be don e to put an end tocarnage, and to that tremendo us and useless expen diture of the lives and

moneys of a count ry whi ch war carries in its train ? Can we not throw back the six hundr ed thous and armed m en, the finest me n of the nation , who areno w idling in marching and counter-marching, in drilling, and the manual

exercise in France, into agriculture and trade ? Can we not set free our owntw o hund red thousa nd, the m illio n soldiers of Russia, and the two or three

millions belon ging to the other states ? An y one who could really solve this

question woul d indeed benefit all mankind. Loui s Napoleo n himself dreamt,

or pretende d to dream, about this. " It wo uld be an easy matter," he wrote, in

1832, " for the sovereigns of the w rorld to consol idate an everlasting pea ce. Le t

them consult the mutual relations and habits of nations amongst themselves ;let them grant the nationality, the institutions which they demand, and they

will have ar rived at the secre t of a true political balance. Then will allnations be brothers; they will embrace each other in the presence of a

dethro ned tyran ny, o f a worl d refreshed and consolidat ed, and of a contentedhumanity."

This is all very fine; but whic h sovereign is to begin ? Louis Napol eon

will not begin, that is certain, but on the contr ary has, by his con tinualarming, placed this country under an enormous burden of taxation for defen

sive war. Nor will Austria, smarting unde r a defeat, do s o ; nor will the

Pope, who has at last made his sham army v ery like a fighting one ; nor willRussia; nor Prussia, aiming at the chief place in German y; nor Sardinia,

emerging from the state of a third to that of a second-rate power . W h o willbell the cat ? Plainly no one now. W e have had our dream of peace. W oare now entering upon a cycle of war. Before this is terminated, it is nodoubt but that the whole face of Europe will be considerably changed.

Presu ming we cannot ge t rid of war, let us try the e xperim ent upon asmaller scale. Can we get rid of " l a w ? " Not of that power which

controls us and binds us to each other, but that which is vulgarly understoodby those three letters—the power which two men have of worrying eachother so that a third party may reap all the benefit. Wil l any one who has afine estate disputed, or one who fancies he has a right to mone y, or simply no

right but a chance thereto—wil l any of these give up their rights withoutla w ? If we were to advise our readers to do so, would they act upon ouradvice ? W e think not; and yet better counsel could not be given iror

followed. W e may state upon the authority of a very learned jud ge that itis better, far better for a poor client to give up his rights than to enter on a

chancery suit. Laws were made for rich men, not for the poor; so war, theultimate appeal of kin gs, seems to be fit on ly for rich nations. " The last

Louis d'or ," said one great mon arch, " wins the ga me. " " Victo ry is, after all,'

upon the side of the biggest battalions," said another conqueror. Certainlymany large nations have been made smaller by wa r; it is very seldom that

we find small nations made larger.

The cost of military preparations is, we learn from a peace authority, inAustria, 33 per cent, of the whole expenditure o f government, exclusive of the

interest of the debt. In Prussia, it is 44 per cen t.; in France, 68 per cent,

(fifteen years ago it was only 38 per ce nt .) ; in Great Britain, 74 per cen t.;and in Amer ica (Un ite d States) , 80 per cent . Th e difference in the per c entageof the latter arising from the very cheap way in which the executive is there

carried on ; not on account of the greater war preparations of the States. N ow

no one can but wish that all this expens e were saved, and that we, for onenation, only expended twenty pounds sterling where we now pay one hundred.Nay, as we pay considerably more for the interest of the debt incurred throughfighting than we do for the whole of the executive, there is positively a

difficulty in calculating the advantages which would have arisen, had we

always secured to ourselves the blessings of unbroken pea ce.

But every ledger has a debtor and creditor account. Everything has its twosides of the argu ment ; and every evil has its distinct compensation. Mannersgrow ripe and rotten in a continued peace; corruptions are rife, tyranny

increases, the insol ence of the ri ch and t he mi sery of the poor are equally

enlarge d. But w,ar bind s a nation toget her, teaches it the value of its poore r

?eople, brings out promptitude, despatch, fortitude, bravery, and many virtues,t shows it also that there are many other qualities t o be admired besides

success in trade; it brings people upon their knees before G o d ; its reverses

are more keenly felt, its punishments more viv idly recognised than perhapsany other. No r are its lessons soon forgotten. The French remember themyet. It is a pity that they still do so. " Ah ," writes one of their authors, " weare far from Wat erl oo now . W e have more than half a million of armedme n; we have an enorm ous fleet of ships ; we are wealth y, and not reduce d

to our last franc and last soldier as we were then." And the moral hepreaches is, of course, reve nge. Thi s is very terrible. W e feel that we have

on the opposite shore a neighb our full of courage, vigou r, and thirsting forrevenge and gl ory ; a word understood by him in only one way. W e find that

he is eager to b e the first na tion in Eu ro pe ; to have his deeds cons tantlytalked a bo ut ; " the most brilliant and the most danger ous of the nations inEurope, adoring chance, force, success, splendour .more than true glory, and

best fitted to become by turns an object of admiration, o f hatred, of pity, of terror, but never of indifference."

W e bow to this decision of one of that brilliant natio n; we cannot beindifferent. W e cannot rest in tranquillity when this nation is re-arranging

the bound aries o f Eur ope , and talki ng of the old possessions of Fran ce now-held by England. We re we only to oppose gentleness to our aggressive

neighbours, we know from an old fable what tho result would be. The



7 8 THE FAMILY HERALD —A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [June 2} 1800.

proposition of one enthusiastic quaker that we should let an army of fifty

thousand m en land, and march on to London, and welcome but not oppose

them , and so shame them out of their outrage, will not hold water. W e

sigh, therefor e, but buckl e on our armour. Man is a splendid animal, but

cannot get on without war ; nor will he do so till that Great D ay when all the

kingdoms of all ages and all the armies that were ever mustered, all that

(Ja3sar led or Ne ro oppressed—all that Xer xes assembled, the Pharao hs and

the Ptolemies enrolled, the Consuls, Alaric, Attila, Mahomet, Genghis Kha n,

the Crusaders, and the k ings o f the East and the West and their generals,

from Narses and Belisarius to Turenne, Marlbo rough, Napoleo n, and

Wellington, enlisted and led to battle—till all these rise again from those

graves into which ambition or oppression hath hurried them. Til l then, man

will still indulge in war.

THE F I R S T R O SE OF S U M M E R !

'Tis the first rose of summer—

Oh, hail it with joy !May the sweetness it brings

Be unmix'd with alloy !

May the hopes and the hearts

That bloom with it to-day,

Flourish on to the end,

Without change or decay !

May the buds of affection

Expand in the breast

Of each friend that we love

And the one we love best !

And the light summer zephyrs

Their brightness impart,

Not to nature alone,

But still more to the heart!

May the love that we cherish,

The friendships we prize,

Day by day grow more deep,

And more dear in our eyes !

And the friends whom in life'sEarly season we knew,

Be our friends in life's autumn,

As faithful and true !

And when the gay spring-time

And summer are o'er,

And the flowers they brought us

Are blooming no more—

May the bleak winds of winter

Our hearts never chill,

But the " First Rose of Summer"

Be blooming there still J C. J. B.

FAM ILY M A T T E R S .

Nature hangs labels upon the dissolute, to testify her disgust at the

example.

Keep a scrap-bo ok if you like, but don't put into it everything you can

manage to scrape up; that is, don' t let you r scrap- book be a mere scrape

book.

T H E MAN TO BE E NVI E D .—A popular author says, " I have no propensity

to envy any one, least of all the rich and g rea t; but if I w ere disposed to this

weakness, the subject of my e nvy would be a healthy y oun g man, in full

possession of his strength and faculties, going forth in the morning to work

for his wife and children, or bringing them home his wages."

NEVER. DESPISE AN OL D COAT .—Never laugh at the s canty garments of

the poor. Pove rty has a str ong tide of s orrow to stem, and a frail bark to

guide at the best. It has dashed so often against the rocks that it hardly

holds togethe r. Sink it not with your unkindness. Sneer not at the old

clothes. They are often made holy by l ong sacrifices, by careful fol ding saway that they may last until the dear ones are prov ided for. If many an

ol d coat could speak, what tales they would tell of the noble hearts beating

underneath!

LITTLE HUNGRY MINDS .— I f there is one lesson we would impress upon

parents, it is thi s: don 't stifle your ch ildre n's desire at pr oper ti mes to ask

questions. This i nvolu ntary self-e ducating pr ocess of the child 's is of more

importance! to its future than many parents are aware of. It sometimes, nay

often, costs an effort to break up a train of thought in whic h you may be

interestedly occupied; but it will pay. Li ke the sticks and straws whi ch the

winged bird bears long distances in its bill to construct its nest, these slender

twigs of informat ion may be wor ked into a structure which will afford

comfort and protection from many a life storm, a safe retreat for quiet reflec

tion , when the spirit o f evil is pro wli ng about for careless stragglers , w ho are

beating the air because there is nothing else left for them to do. Do n' t turn

your child off with a lazy, fibbing , abstracted, " I do n't know." Rouse

yourself, and give him food for thought in your answer, or that spirit of evil

may take possession of the apartment which you are too indolent or penurious

to furnish.

A H I N T .—T o guard against s ummer complai nts : eat little, and drink less.

To MAKE GINGER BRANDY .—Take 1 lb of raisins, the rin d of one lemo n,

and 4 oz . of bruised ging er. Steep these ingredie nts in a quart of the best

brandy for a fortnight, then strain it, and a dd £ lb of powd ered loaf sugar.

S C I E N T I F I C ^ A N D U S E F U L .

New coal fields have been discovered in Aust rali a; and licenses to search

for iron ore have been issued. It is believ ed that iron ore exists in vast

quantities in certain districts. One of the latest discoveries is of plumb ago, in

a very pure state.

IMPROVED NAILS .—A French mechanician states that nails formed with

two slopi ng edges may be driven into thin* wood witho ut risk of splitting it,

provided they are made to cut the wood across the grain. He recomm ends

manufacturers to make nails of this kind in order to save carpenters the

trouble and loss of time involved in using a gimlet or bradawl.

ELECTRICITY CONVERTING SUGAR INTO ALCOHOL .—At the sitting of the

Academy of Sciences at Paris, M . Niep ce de Saint Victor read a paper giving

an account of some experiments which showed that, under certain circum

stances, electricity prod uced the same effect on sugar as fermentation does,

transforming it into alcohol. He found that, by passing an electric current

thro ugh very sugary whit e wine, the wine loses all its sugar, and becomes

much more alcoholic.

N E W REVOLVER .—A series of experiments have been completed at

Chatha m for testing a valuable patented improv ement in rev olving and

repeating firearms, by means of which the inven tor, Sergeant G. Sturrock,

has succeeded in doub ling the nu mber of shots fired from a revolver, making

it, in fact, a revolv er of fourteen or sixteen consecut ive shots witho ut any

necessity for reloa ding. Th e new weapon, although double-b arrelled, has

but one cylinder, one trigger, and one lock and hammer,

EXCAVATING I N W A T E R ,—A new machine has been invented by Dr.

Pay erne, for the excavations under water at the por t of Fecamp, whic h he

calls the " hydro stat. " It consists of a wroug ht-i ron case, divided into three

parts by two horizontal divisions. The lower story, or, if we may so call it,

the working chamber, rests on the bottom of the sea, and presents an area of

8 m. square by 2 m. hig h. The double sides, enclosed at bottom, contain thenecessary ballast for the sinking and stability of the structure. Thirty-five

men can work at ease in the working chamber.

COPPER DEPOSIT .—The richest and mos t extraordina ry copper mine in t he

world, it is said, is no w opening at Acton, in Lower Canada. The great

Burra Burra of Australia is said t o sink into insignificance, and the richest

mines of Eur ope to be pigmi es, beside this mineral giant. Here presents

itself a great bed of or e, so vast, so pure, and so wonderful, that it is almost

as much past belief as it is beyond all previous experienced Where the deposit

has been opened up there is ex hibited a mass of ore from 3 0 to 4 0 per cent,

pure, 6 0 feet long by 3 0 feet wide, and of an unknown depth. A single blast

put into the mass threw out 7 tons of ore, worth 1 , 0 5 0 dollars. Th e expendi

ture of £ 3 0 0 has already sent to market at Boston 9 0 tons of ore , which

realised 1 5 0 dollars per ton, or £3 ,125 .— Montreal Commercial Advertiser.

A W O R D TOR THE NETTLE .—Growing on waste and neglected places,

flourishing alike on bre ezy commons and in the dirty ditches of the suburo s of

towns, the nettle has neither beau ty nor fragrance to recommend it to the

ordinary observer. Ye t it is well worth careful inspection on accoun t of thebeauty of its structure. True , it has a sting, if handled ginger ly ; but seize

the plant heartily, and it will give you little discomfort. The nettle is a very

common, low- bred , vulgar plant, but, nevertheless, in its family and alliances

may be found some of the noblest m embers of the vegetable k ingdo m ; such

are the bread-fruit tree, the mulber ry, the hop, the hemp, the fig, the stately

banyan, and the deadly upas. It has not been withou t its affectionate admirers,

as the following anecdote will testify:—A worthy floriculturist (not a native

of the south of England) was showing his green-house to some ladies, when

one of them said to him, " Wh at is that in the flower-pot ? It is very like

a nettle ! " — " Indeed, ma'am, it is just a nettle ; but it grew up sae bonnily,

puir thing, that I could na' think to pu' it ." It is not for its botanical

beauty or respectable connections that we wish to put in a wor d on beh alf of

the nettle,, but for its uses, whic h are too muc h overlooked. Although

growing everywhe re, it is ver y partially appreciated, and then only by the

economical. As an old wife's remedy—and a very good one, too—nettle-tea

as a sprin g drink is used in scurvy, jaund ice, &c. Th e stalks of the old

nettles are l ittle inferior to flax for making linen cloth, being used for that

purpose in America, Siberia, Germany, and formerly in some parts of Englandand Scotland. The famous Indian grass-cloth, Chu-Ma, is woven from the

fibres of a nettle. An excellent rennet is made from the nettle. The expressed

juice makes a permanent green dye for wool. The root boiled with alum

yields a good yellow dye . Nettles dried and used as fodder are capital for

cows, increasing the quantity and i mpro ving the quality of their milk. And

one of the least o f its virtues is, that if fish be packed in it, it preserves the

colour and bloom infinitely better than any other grass or umbrage , dried or

green. An d yet riot for these uses, but more especially for its edible qualities

for humans, do we wish to say a word in favour of the nettle, and as the time

is at hand when green meat, tho ugh very desirable, is not very plentiful, we

hope the wor d may be in season, It is as a pot-he rb that we would advocate

its use, and the spr ing is the best time for gathering nettles for that purpose.

Its flavour assimilates it with spinach, perhaps from the association of ideas,

havin g eaten it dressed in a similar manner. The following is Soyer's

meth od:— " Was h the nettles well, drain, put them in plenty of boiling water,

with a little salt, boil for twenty minutes, drain and chop them up, and serve

either plain or put them in a pan, with a little salt, pepper, and butter, or a

little fat and gravy from a roast, or add to a pound two teaspoonluls of Hour, agill of milk, and a teaspoonful of sugar, and served as spinach with or without

e ggs . " '— W. A . R . in the. Field.

S T A T I S T I G S .

The public offices and buildings are to cost the nation this year £ 1 1 9 , 5 2 0 .

A return shows that the total amount expended from April 18 , 1 8 5 0 , to

March 3 , 1 8 6 0 , at Enfield Factory, was £ 2 1 5 , 5 7 7 . The number of musket

rifles, made by machinery, was 8 7 , 4 0 5 .

Of the 3 3 , 0 1 8 children born during the year 1 8 5 9 in the eight principal

towns of Scotland, 1 6 , 8 8 3 were males, and 1 6 , 1 3 5 females; which gives the

unusually high proportio n of 95*6 female to every 1 0 0 male births. Duri ng

the previous year, the proportion was 93*4 female to every 1 0 0 male births.

At the last Confer ence of the Primi tive Methodists it was stated that they

had 6 1 0 travelling preachers, 1 1 , 0 0 0 local preachers, above 7 , 0 0 0 class leaders,

6 , 0 0 0 chapels and preaching places, 2 , 0 0 0 Sabbath schools, 1 6 0 , 0 0 0 Sabbath

scholars, 2 9 , 0 0 0 Sabbath school teachers; and now in this, the jubilee year,

they had no fewer than 1 2 0 , 0 0 0 members.

Th e value of wrecked property saved by that useful and gallant body o?

men, the Coast Guard, amounts for the year 1 8 5 9 to a sum of upwards oi

£ 8 0 0 , 0 0 0 ; and the number of persons rescued by them from a watery grave

during the same period to no less than 1 , 2 5 0 . The total charge for tho

Coastguard force provided for in the estimates for the past year was £724 , 9 5 8 ,



June 2, 1860. J USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 7 9

The London diocess contains, as nearly as can be calculated, 2,500,000

nhabitants, and is divided into 438 parishes or parochial districts, which are

erved by 855 clergy. Thre e parishes in the diocess have populations

xceeding 35,000, four have betwe en 30,000 and 35,000, five have between

5,000 and 30,000, six have between 20,000 and 25,000, 16 have between

5,000 and 20,000, and 32 have between 10,000 and 15,000.

ODD FELLOWS' AND FORESTERS' SOCIETIES.—The official returns of these

reat societies have be en compiled, and the result of the past year's experi

nce shows that it has been one of the most flourishing kn own . The return

f branches and members of the Manchester Unity on the first of January,

8G0, is as fol lows:—441 districts, 3,333 lodges, and 305,214 members,

eing an increase of 12 districts, 131 lodges, and 17,641 members over the

eturn of 1859. The Ancient Order of Foresters' return on the 1st of

anuary, 1860, is 181 districts, 2,239 courts, and 168,576 members, being an

ncrease of 6 districts, and 191 courts, and 20,014 members over the return of

859. N o other societies approach in any way these gig antic proportions.

he largest lodge of Odd Fe llows is in Sussex, and contains 59 5 members.

There are several other lodges over 400. The largest Foresters' Court is in

Cheshire, and contains 434 members.

T H E RAGGED SCHOOL U N ION.—The number of Sunday schools in con

ection with the Union is now 199, with an average attendance of 24,860

cholars. There are also 146 day schools, with an average attendance of

15,380 scholars, and 215 evening schools, with an attendance of 9,050, making

a total of 560 schools and 49,290 scholars. As, however, many week-day

cholars attend on Sunday, the committee reckon the number under their -care

as 25,000, or about one-half of the aggregate number. The school buildings

ow number 170, the voluntary teachers 2,690, the paid teachers 400, the

ndustrial scholars 3,700, and the paid monitors 380. The scholars placed

n situations during the past year number about 1,650. The number rewarded

or keeping their places for twelve months with good character is 870, being

a much larger number than usual, as in former years it never exceeedcd 570,and the average for the last six years is 384. The number of shoe-blacks, as

eported by the various societies, is about the same as last year (see No . 843).

Their earnings are rather more, amounting to no less than £4,548. The

efuges for destitute children still continue fifteen in number, with about 60 0

nmates.

SAVINGS BANKS.—The annual accounts have been issued of savings banks

and of friendly societies that deposit their funds with the, Government. The

accounts include the whole United Kingdom, and show that the depositsdue

o the public amount to the enormous sum of £40,997,630. The number of

depositors in savings banks is 1,479,723, nearly half of them having deposits

below £1 0. Fro m first to last, the Government has paid (in money, or by its

being turned into principal), nearly £33, 000, 000 for interest; and, owing to

he rate paid, and money being chiefly deposited when the funds are lo w and

withdrawn when they are high, there is a deficiency or loss to the country of

nearly £3,500,000. Last year the sums paid in by savings banks exceeded

he sums they drew out by £1,577,399—a'significant proof of prosperity.

Small life annuities are granted by the savings banks; and there are 6671

annuities no w payable amounting to £136,680 a year. There are also 899deferred annuities which have no t yet begun ; and no less a sum than £47,000

has been at one time or other returned, in consequence of persons who ha d

contracted for deferred annuities havin g died before the annuity commenced,

or been unable to continue payment of their instalments*

VA R 1 E T I E S .

Of thirteen deaths from suffocation in one week, eleven were those of

nfants suffocated in the bedclothes.

It was a law of the ancient Britons that no one should be permitted to

guide a plough until he could make one.

The Court Journal, amongst other curious gossip, contains the following

paragraph:—In the parish register at Glamis there is the following curious

entry, dated 1 6 7 6 :— " Nae preaching here this Lord's day—the"" minister

being at Gortachy, burning a witch."

A NOVEL OCCUPATION FOR WO ME N .—A sub-contractor, on the Formartineand Buchan Railway, has employed women as navvi es! To see these buxom

navviesses wheeling their barrows, and still retaining that natural regard for

their invincible charms, betokened by broad parapluie-hats, is a sad sight.

H AND IN H AND V. AR M IN A R M . — A lady, who died in 1 8 4 0 , and whose

eldest daughter was born in 1 7 9 8 , told me , that when she first saw a lady

hook herself to the arm of a gentleman in a ball-room, instead of being led

out by the hand, she felt so indignant that she remarked to a friend:—" If

my daughter were introduced, and did that, I should take her home imme

diately."— Notes and Queries.

A FIELD-NATURALISTS' SOCIETY.—The formation of a new association

has been announced from Manchester, to be called the, Manchester Field-

Naturalists' Society, the object of which is to provide those residents in and

about that city, who possess a taste for natural history, with frequent opportu

nities of social intercourse; thus bringing together persons of congenial

spirit, and encouraging the arts and sciences that have immediate relation to

the works of nature. The plan seems to have been commenced with a spirit

which promises success, above tw o hundred members having already join ed

the society.

VICTORIA'S FIRST MOMENT OF SOVEREIGNTY. — William the Fourth

expired about midnight at Windsor Castle. The Archbishop of Canter

bury, with other high functionaries of the kingdom, was in attendance.

As soon as the king had breathed his last, the archbishop quitted Windsor

and made his way to Kensington Palace, the residence at that time of the

Princess Victoria, where he arrived before daylight, and announced himself,

requesting an immediate interview with the Princess. She hastily attired

herself, and met the venerable prelate in the ante-room. H e informed her

of the demise of the Crown, and did homage to her as the Sovereignof

the nation. She was at eighteen Queen of the only realm, in fact or history,

on which the sun never sets. She was deeply agitated. Th e first words she

uttered were these—" I ask your prayers in my behalf." They knelt down

together, and the young sovereign inaugurated her reign like the young king

of Israel, by asking from on High " an understanding heart to judge so great

a people, wh o could not be numbered, no r counted for the multitude."

A REVOLTING PENANCE AT LORETTO .—The well-known story of a

channel being worn on the pavement immediately surrounding the Holy

House, by the knees of pilgrims, is not in the least exaggerated. There are

two distinct furrows in the marble, traced there by the thousands who haveyearly dragged themselves in this attitude of devotion for a given number of

times around its walls. At the moment of our visit several peasant-women

were thus shuffling along, seemingly without much inconvenience, with the

exception of one whose attitude and appearance produced a painful impression

on my mind. She was workin g her way round on her hands and knees,

drawing as she went a line with her tongue upon the pavement. I knowno t

how long she had been in that position, but it was horrible to v iew; he r face

was black and swollen; her eyes starting from their sockets; the veins on

her forehead standing ou t like tight-strained cords, and mingled blood and

saliva flowing from her mouth. Our conductor looked unconcernedly at the

poor wretch as we passed, and said, in answer to my appealing glances, " I t

is only a great penance ; you may be sure she richl y deserves it . There are

many who come here in this wa y to expiate their sins; " and then -walked

on, leading the wa y to the treasury, as if the subject were to o commonplace

for further consideration.—MRS. GRETTON'S Englishwoman in Italy,

T H E FIRST DEBT .—Admiral Jervis, afterwards Earl of St. Vincent, ia

telling the story of his early struggles, speaks, among other things, of his

determination to keep out of debt:—" My father ha d a very large family,"

said he, " with limited means. H e gave me twenty pounds sterling at starting,

and that was all he ever gave me. After I had been a considerable time at

the station (at sea), I drew for twenty more, but the bill came back protested.

I was mortified at the rebuke, and made a promise, which I have ever kept,

that I would never draw another bill witho ut a certainty of its being paid. I

immediately changed my mode of living, quitted my mess, lived alone, and

took up the ship's allowance, which I found quite sufficient; washed and

mended my own clothes, made a pair of trowsers out of the ticking of my bed,

and having by these means saved as much money as would redeem my honour

I took up my bill, and from that time to this I have taken care to keep within

my means." Jervis for six years endured pinching privation ; but preserved

his integrity, studied his profession wit h success, and gradually and steadily

rose by merit and bravery to the highest rank. It is easy for a man who wilt

exercise a healthy resolution to avoid incurring the first obligation ; but the

facility with which that has been incurred often becomes a temptation to a

second, and very soon the unfortunate borrower becomes so entangled that no

late exertion of industry can set him free. The first step in debt is like the

first step in falseho od, almost invo lvin g the necessity of procee ding in the samecourse—debt follows debt, as lie follows lie.

THE R I D D L E R .

TH E RIDDLER'S SOLUTIONS OF No. 889.

PUZZLE : Bacon ; no Cab. ENI G M A : Thought. CHARADE : Red-breast.

REBUS : FortunE; RaveN; EalinG; EzehieL; BiphtheriA; Ori>haN; MustarB.—

FREEDOM ; ENGLAND.

The following answer all: Lilly.—Frederick.—Edmund.—Olivia H.—J. C. M. Puzzle, Enigma, and Charade: Jt

r

arbledown.—Edmund.—M. A. S.—D. W. Puzzle,Charade, and Rebus: B. T. H.—Martin.—J. Luck. Puzzle and Enigma: Dora.—Horace.—J. G. P. Puzzle and Charade: Lemuel.—Curtis. Enigma and Charaie:Winton.—Tootell.—Charade and Rebus: D . S. D.—Magyar.—H. 8. B.—Tunstall.— Puzzle : Mills.—C. F, W. Enigma: Rymer.—Hastings,—Blackie,—Grocers.Charade; Wardle.—W. J. R. Rebus: Bright.

A R I T H M E T I C A L Q U E S T I O N S .

1. The Masons paid 20 shillings ; the Bricklayers paid 1$ shillings; and the Labourers

paid 10 shillings.

2. The velocity acquired down the plane will be equal to that of a body descending freely from the height of the plane. Using the expressioire for the accumulated work of the train,

* " , = 50 X 2240 X 20 -5 0 X 8 X 120= 2192000- = = 1259-09. Before64$ ooo

the train stops on the horizontal line the work of friction must be equal to the accumulated work of the train during the descent on the inclined plane. Let x — the distance required.

1259-09 X 3 X 50 X 2240 _ n i n n 1259"09 X 336000 423054240& 1~ = 5 0 x 8 x z , o r 4 0 0 z = -

T 7 2 0 0 ~

= 5480 feet, or 1 mile, 66 yards, 2 feet, nearly.

3. The Sun will enter the tropic on the 20th cf June, at 17 hours, 42 minutes, 42-445 seconds, astronomical time; or June 21st, at 5 hrs., 42 min„ 42*445 seconds A. M. civil time.

The following agree with all: Veritas.—Edmund.

With 1st and 2nd.—Anchora.—Wardle. With 1st and 3rd.—Sadler.—D. S. D.

With Is*.—Hinde.—Mills.—Buglass.—S. T. —Harbledown. —Doll.—J. P. H . B. —Lemuel.—Steele. —Ottoway. —Tootell. With 3rd.—E. Arnes.

Solutions which arrived too late to be inserted in their proper places in No. 890: —G. J.—Sweeting.—Adah M. (within ten days after their publication in the weeklyNumbers).—Guendolen. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

T H E PARLOUR LABORATORY.— Melting Lead in a Paper Crucible.—A neat

experiment for boys, and one which gives a very impressive lesson in regard to

the transmission of heat, is the melting of a bullet in the blaze of a lamp or of

gas; the bullet being contained, at the time, in a wrapper of thin writing-

paper. All that is requisite is to fold the paper tightly over the bullet, and

ru b down the folds very smoothly. It may then be held in the flame

until the lead melts.



80 THE FAMILY HERALD. [June 2, 1860.

R A N D O M R E A D I N G S . '

Th e man w ho " dropped a remark " had better advertise for it,

W h y is every teacher of music necessarily a good teacher ?—Because he is a

sound instructor.

W h y is a horse the most miserable of animals r—Because his thoughts are

always on the rack.

A traveller says that Mou nt Vesuvius never sleeps. It mus t be sleepy, for

it is always yawning.

A n old bachelor says that during leap year the ladies jump at every Offer of

marriage—hence the term.

Elder ly unmarried ladies are consider ed by some persons the least enviable

of all kinds of ivaiiing maids-.u W e don't like promising y oung men ," said an Oxford trader the other

day ; " we*cl much rather they'd pay."

•Give us what y ou think the finest specimen of gold in the worl d, and we

will wager its value that it can be beaten.

Jack Ketc h, the hangman, being asked on what gr ound he claimed the

clothes of those he hanged, answered—as their executioner.

Most of the vessels sail for the Di gg in gs on Sunday. Is it because "the

better day the better d e e d ? " or are bumbailiffs pow erless on that day ?

Dr . Johnson left it on record, that as he was passin g by a fishmonger wh o

was skinning an eel, he heard him curse it because it would not lie still!

One of the latest interpretations of the character of Hamlet is that he was

a gambler, for he says, " H o w absolute the knave is ! we must speak by the

card,"

A little boy, returning from the Sunday-school, said to his mother,

" M a , ain't there a kitty-chkm for little boys? Th is catf-echism is to o hard

for me,"

A tailor, being reproached by a silly fellow as only a ninth part of a man,

retorted by say ing : " Still, I am better off than you ; f or a fool is no part of

a, man at all. "

Y o u may always disting uish a City ma n by tw o things —his trowsers

and his gait. The first never fits him, and he always walks as if he were an

hour behind time.

An admirer of dogs, having had a new litter of a fine breed, a friend wished

liim to put him down for a puppy / " I set you down for one a great whil e

ago," was the answer.

Th e Scandinavians had a god, Kvasir, w ho was suffocated by the multitud e

of ideas sticking in his throat, because he could not find any one who could

question him fast enoug h to get them out of him.

A country doctor bein g disturbed one ni ght by a burglar, and havin g nd

ball or shot for his pistol, noiselessly loaded the we apon with dr y, hard pills,

and gave the intruder a " prescription " which he thinks will go far towardscurin g the rascal of a very bad ailment .

A quaint old gentleman, in speaking of the different allotments o f men, by

which some become useful citizens and others wo rthless vagrants, by way

of illustration remar ked, " So one slab of marble becomes a useful doorstep,

while another becomes a lying tombstone."

A cockney sportsman gave a high figure for a well- bred pointer, but the

poor cockney did not kn ow what poin ting was. So when the creature made

a point, lifting a l eg as usual, and standing motio nles s,'o ur cockney friend

declared he had the cramp, and took him up iu his arms and earned him

home,

A teacher asked a br ight little girl , " Wh at count ry is opposite to us on

the globe ? " — " Do n' t know , sir," was the answer. ' " W e l l , now," pursued

the teacher, " if I wer e to bore a hole thr ough the earth, and you were to go

in at this end, where would yo u come out ? " — " Out of the hole, sir," replied

the pupil with an air of triumph.

A n old wom an received a letter through the post-office. Not knowing how

to read, and bein g anx ious to know the contents, supposi ng it to be from one

of her absent sons, she called on a person near to read the letter to her. He

accordingly began, and read—"Adelaide, June 2 3 , Dear mother;" then

making a stop to find out what followed (as the writing was rather bad), the

ol d lady exclaime d—" Oh !*—'tis my poor Jerry—he always stuttered."

Wh e n Sir Humphrey Davy was in Sicily, he was studying geology, and the

rap and clatter o f his hammer amon g the rocks astonished the Catanian

peasants, who account ed him mad. The y told their priest of the dange r from

the maniac, but Dav y had seen the priest before th em ; his reverence quietly

intimated to the peasants that it was a foreign gentleman from a far-off laud,

wh o was practising a penan ce! Davy was then regarded by the Catanians as

a saint.

After Pop e had written some bitter verses on Lady M . W . Montagu, he

told a friend of his that he should soon have ample reven ge upon her, for

that he had set her down in black and white, and should soon publish what

he had written. " Be so good as to tell the little gentle man," was the reply,

" that I am n ot at all afraid of him ; for if he sets me down in black and

white, as he calls it, most assuredly I will have him set down in black andb l u e . "—MALONE.

L E A P YEAPt.

Come, let us nerve our bashful hearts, An d write thereon in letters plain,

An d quell each timid doubt, That those may read who run—

H o w TO KEEP Y O U R FRIENDS.—-Ne ver ask any of them to do you a

service*

A M A X I M BY A MISANTHROPE.—The last place in which I should look

for the mil k of human kindness is the pale of civilisation.

A N O V E L BIRDCAGE .—A countryman who saw for the first time a hooped

skirt, hanging at a shop door, called to ask " what bird they kept in that

cage ? " ••"}

_ •, -

SENSIBLE ADVICE .—Those wh o would enjoy good eating should keep good-

natured ; an angry man can 't tell whethe r he is eating boiled cabbage, or

stewed umbrella.

H o w TO MAKE A PROUD G I R L . — " Mr. Smith," said a little fellow, the

other evening, to his sister's beau, " I wish you wouldn 't praise our Anna

Maria any more. Yo u have made her so proud n ow that she won't speak to

cousin Laura, nor help mother the least bit."

T H E T H R E E DRAUGHTS .—An apothecary in the country lately sent a lady

three draughts, and on being asked what effect they were intended to produce,

said, " Th e first, m adam, is to warm you , the second to cool you, and the

third is to prevent the excessive effect of either."

FEMALE E C O N O M Y .— A fair denizen of fashionable Pains, whose extravagance

bore rather hard on her husba nd's purse, was taken to task by him for her

Want of economy. " X kno w what you say is true," replied the repentant

belle ; " bu t what shall I do to reduce our expenses ? " — " Wh y , Ma chore"

replied the husban d, deligh ted with her submission, " you ride a great d eal ;

wh y not take an omnib us occasionally instead 6f a carriage ? That will save

something, surely." The wife agreed, and as soon as her husband was gone,

she rang for her maid. " Mariette, call me a poach that I may get to the

omnibus to go to the Madeleine. I must economise."

DISCOVERING A S EC R ET—The pretty and pleasing art of photography has

become very popular in Selkirk, as elsewhere, A little knowle dge of this art

can scarcely be called a dangerous^thing; and from all we hear the practice of

it in this quarter is likely to increase. Tw o country bumpkins , who had been

getting their "likenesses" taken by a professor, adjourned afterwards to a

" pub lic ," for " rows and ale; " and in discussing the " vittals," discussed also

the secrets of phot ogra phy. " Wh at was the use o 'i m, " says Sanders, "g a' in

into yon black hole oo to ' si ch t? "— "I 'm shure I dinna ken," quoth Jock ;

" but he needna t ry to hide wha t he's do in' noo , for a body kens a'thing aboot

it. It' s nae use ga' in into a corner w i ' t ony lan ger ; it should a' be dune

afore fouk noo!"— Border Advertiser\

" THE CHAP THAT BOWL'D THE PLATES ."—Standing the other day at

that part of the Polytechnic where Messrs. Lockwood's large model of the

iron troops hip is pla ced, we felt ourselves pulled gently by the arm, and, oh

looking round) pe rceived a, little sandy-Whiskered man i n, an attitude of

inquir y. " Aw say, maister," said he, with an unmistakeable burr, " will you

read us this ca rd ?" W e read the card, which described the proportions,

builder s' nam e, & c , of the vessel aforesaid. " Is there owt about the chap

that rowled the pl at es ?" inquired he, anxiously. " N o / ' responded we*

rather smilingly. " Wh y, aw's the chap that row l' d the plates, and theyhannut put m y name o' the card. If aw ony could write mesel aw'd put it

doon." Ex it the Northumbr ian in disgust. Thi s is a parallel story to

Handel's bellows-blower, who made the great master say we instead of I wheii

speaking of his playing.— /Stockton Gazette.

N E W L A C O N I C S .

T o retain a .good appetite, don' t eat when hu ng ry ; to keep a constant

thirst, drink (not water, tea, coffee, & c , &c ) , when not dry.

Sound the depths o f a man's character by his pocket .

T o drive the wolf from the door, starve him out.

Be not forgiving, but forgetting ; get all, give nothing.

Poverty is the poor man's firmest friend.

Bu n no risks except with other peo ple' s mone y.

Wh e n asked for money for charitable purposes, put your hand in your

pocket and keep it there.

Trust in yourself; if you don't , other people won't trust you.

An oily tong ue lubricates the wheels of conversation. ^

Never sink the sh op ; allow no opportu nity of advertising you r wares to

slip.

I f business is poor, talk of your immense trade.

Never look down before a man, no matter how much you may feel inclined

to do so.

Be charitable to the rich:

Leap before you l ook ; if you look first, it may be too late to leap.

I f rich, talk of your poverty.

I f you want a cracked crown, crack jokes at other people's expense.

Never ask a rich man if his wealth makes him happy.

Keep the pot boiling, somehow.

Look out for your own comfort everywhe re ; other people always do.

Praise everything you see, ever ywhere; it don't cost anything, and does a

heap of good.

As k no man to dine unless you are sure he has dined.

Study the art o f grum blin g ; a grumbler always gets the best of everythi ng.

I f honest, let other people know it.Put new wine into old bottles, it sells better.

It's good to be wise ; but better to be rich; what is wisdom clothed in raga

and hungry ?

Published by BENJAMIN B L A K E , 4 2 1 , Strand, London, W. C., to whom all

C i ti f th Edit t b dd d

family herald june 02 1860

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