The Cardigan Observer and General Advertiser for the Counties of Cardigan Carmarthen and Pembroke

THE RECRUIT. A little group of half a score I see about a carriage door, Where a lithe lad, a young recruit, Is starting on war's tortuous route; Oh, may he know, when lightnings fly, The magic might of their good-bye! As the bell sounds, all draw apart, Except the one who shares his heart, Fondly he vows, till he come back, In barrack or in bivouac, He'll love her whom he leaves behind, And keep her only in his mind. Her fingers on a bow of rose, Are trembling at a host of foes, At comrades wild, and fiery drams, And flashing warlike telegrams But not so feared are guns and swords As woman's witcbing eyes and words. Go, soldier, and whate'er allures Your roving fancy, she is yours more fair, and forms more slight, Will often pass before your sight; But never break a plighted vow For coral lip or pencilled brow! Poace, parted souls, I could but say, May your love strengthen by delay May tender troth, so signed and sealed, Survive all shocks of flood and field Then home return, adventurous youth, And reap the fruits of holy truth! -The Quiver.

THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR, TWICE WED. CHAPTER VI. MOTHER. ■^AME RULLOCHS stood at the door of her cottage, patching the pale dawn as it peeped sadly above the p^rizem, stealing up with drenched face, as the bois- kfous night fled away, like a timid child watches the departure of the cruel stepmother who has caused its tears. The dame had not closed her eyes that night; her j>0y8 were all at sea; and what she and htr good man had suffered through those storoiy hours was known •lly where their prayers were heard. As she stood straining her eyesight far out her only where their prayers were heard. As she stood straining her eyesight far out her was already away to the was aware of some object swiftly hurrying up the craggy Pathway from below, becoming every instant more visible in the increasing light. All her attention was soon fixed upon this object, as she first made it out to be a woman—then that she Was bareheaded, her long, dark hair flying behind her with the haste she made, for the wind had fallen at daybreak. The figure stumbled, fell more than once, then climbed upon hands and knees; then, looking up, ■pied the dame, who had gone nearer in her wonder: 'We was a cry then, and the arms were thrown Upward. "Gracious mercy!" cried the old woman—"it can't be—yes, it is—it is—why, my Nelly, my dear girl 1" and with a step forwards, 8he caught in her arms the unhappy creature, panting, white as death, and as cold. She uttered no sound, but grasped the dame with hands that were bleeding from the cruel rocks, and hurried her into the cottage. s. — Shaking all over, holding by the table to steady her limbs, with clenched hands and chattering teeth, she stood before the horrified dame. She opened her lips, but the power of speech was Evidently gone, as she put into the old woman's hand scrap of paper, then stood with fixed eyes glaring at her as she read by the light of the lamp— Nelly, you wia never see me again in this world I I know aU your deceit and wickedness. I can bear no more. When you get this I shall be gone for ever The good soul dropped the paper, as she clasped her hands, and the tears started from her eyes. "Tell me, dear Nelly—come, come to me, dear!" and she turned to the wretched creature who stood as if turned to stone beside her. But the other never moved, never shed a tear; her teeth were now locked firmly together, her hands Clenched, her eyes fixed. Speak to me, my dear J" cried the kindly old body; don't take on so, don'tee, dear! he'll come back—he Will, my pet! don't, my own child, don't/" At the words, He'll come back," the unhappy wife slowly shook her head, then suddenly uttered a cry so piercing, the house rang with the sound. She shook off the old dame, who would have held her back, and, with another shriek, darted out of the cottage. She is out of her mind Oh! Lord, have mercy lipon her—she will be killed 1" cried the old woman, as she ran out, but Nelly had already disappeared. But the cries had been heard already from the cottages up and down in the rocks and on the beach scared forms appeared; happily for the distraught creature, she was intercepted, and brought back, with bleeding feet and garments torn, to the poor dame, Who met them on the way, and had her carried into her own cottage. Strong convulsions seized upon her; and while one fan for the doctor, a long half mile away, the rest helped the dame, or, for the most part, stood terrified in dutab amazement. What is it ?'' What ails her?" "Where be Franklen?" "Who's been to their place t How came she here ?" These were but a few of the questions put, and Which none could answer. The damo had thoughtfully put away the scrap of Writing; but, alas! Nelly's remorseful ravings soon made concealment impossible. I have been wicked I killed him Oh come back, Aaron—husband dear, come back, and 111 Dover, never say such things again! Oome back! comeback—I'll tell you everything, dear—everything, if you'll forgive your poor Nelly!" Such was the substance of her exclamation, varied by shrill cries and fearful struggles, which they with difficulty overcame. I must go," she cried; let me go, and bring him back-he will not say me nay; he will come for me. Oh! you cruel, cruel men-you will let him drown. Leave me go, I say "Poor lamb! poor dear soul cried the good dame, While the tears fell fast over her wrinkled cheeks; "see, sir, her dear pretty feet all cut with the stones —-eh! if he could but see this now, he'd give his heart's blood to heal them, so he would, for he loved her, sir, if ever a man loved a woman." Alas: they were already speaking of the absent husband in the past tense. "Where is this paper you speak of?" asked the Burgeon, when he had administered an opiate, and dressed the wounds of the miserable girl. "Is it her husband's writing? Do any of you know it ?" A crowd of heads bent over the paper the doctor held. But three were competent te judge; two of the men had been at school with Franklen, and de- cided at a glance that it was his writing. The third, a woman whose letters Nelly used to write to her husband at sea, and which Aaron usually directed, could swear tp it. The mftm of medicine moved towards the dame. "Are you acquainted with Franklen's handwriting ?" lie asked. The dame took from a shelf a large Bible much yised, and opened it. On the blank page was written: ''Jessica E. Bullocks, from her loving godson, Aaron Franklen." That was his, sir," she said in a choked voice. The surgeon laid the paper beside the writing in the ~ook. Again the heads clustered round, and a sorrow- fulmurmur went through the little crowd. The gentleman shook his head, and, returning the P^Per to the mistress of the house, passed in to the ^daide of his patient.. Even in that forced sleep she was starting, con- "^ulsive throes agitating her every limb. The dame Prayed the doctor not to quit the cottage. "I fear she'll not get over it, sir; you see at this time The good man made a sorrowful assent. He, too, had his fears. A slight bustle outside announced the safe return of 8ix young fishermen with their father.. But the joyful shout that would have greeted their Providential escape from the perils of the storm was **shed. The universal interest was centered on a ore painful and mysterious subject. As soon as heard all, ere they had tasted a mouthful or taken a garment, the young men ware off again, accom- panied by others, to the cottage of the Franklens-to beach—-to the cliffs. The hollows, the bay, the lo»npe<^ and Deepgang were searched; high and seal' ,i r and near, the hardy young fellows climbed, h0i, rocks, and penetrated caves, chinks, and fej. °W8 in vain. The day passed, the tides rose and 7"~watched with a melancholy eagerness by the ^oienUS Bearchers. They awoke the echoes, but no ^ade answer; they set a watch through the seen morning dawned and nothing had been mhada pCa.r^u' conviction was borne in upon the other n° ranklen's boat was gone—the nets and had^f-ir';en&nces.1'emained in the little stone hut Were **or their shelter but the boat and oars He the eldet^6 in a passion like, maybe," said the nearoK i young Bullocks—who kept up Wards, longest—as they slowly returned home- Ay, and that awful night needed all a man's cool- ness and thought," added the younger. Neither spoke of that which was the inevitable conclusion; they paused as they came to the dear of the cottage, and heard the plaintive voice within, in that incessant wail, which, since her violence had abated, the bereaved creature never ceased. How is she, mother ?" Oh, lads, it breaks my heart to hear her, poor child, it just do. She thinks she's going to be married, and keeps talking about her things, and tells me how it's all to be, just as if he was to come to fetch her in the morning-oh! dear, dear heart, that such things should come to pass! Thee'll have to go sleep again at the cottage, for the doctor says it's the only chance to save her sense at all, and maybe her life; to keep her from a sight of things at home." Ay, ay, mother, that's all right, don't be troubling about us." They all vied who should show her most kindness, and each lent his or her mite towards the easing of that terrible burden which had fallen upon her. Struggling against probability, Dame Bullocks and her husband still held to the belief that Aaron would yet return but at the end of ten days-ere yet Nelly had spoken a rational word—some boys came running to the cottages with the tidings that Franklen's boat was below the point, among the Shark's Teeth (a low reef, of broken, dangerous rocks so called). It was true enough—they brought it off at high water-a large hole was stove in its side; it must have filled at once, and gone down. But as if to leave no ray, even the faintest, of hope or possibility, some days later Aaron's coat and a hoot were picked up among the, sedges on the Point. These the dame took charge of, and imposed the most solemn promises on those who found them, that they would in no way, by sign or look, let the uncon- scious wife know of their discovery. The time was at hand when life would succumb to the new trial, or the faculties be restored by the now im- petus given. On a bleak, ungenial morning in May, Nelly Franklen became a mother-still unconscious of her loss, un- awakened from that mysterious swoon into which reason had fallen though the few words she had uttered gave more token of coherency. A girl." The same tender hands waited on her as had done in her first agony of grief-the good doctor and the dame, with a gossip or two, without whom such events are not duly honoured. "Good-" The medical man checked himself in the exclamation, as he handed the child to the dame, who, in her turn, gave but one glance at the newly-born, and turned her eyes upwards with a ges- ture of horror and dismay. The gossips approached; one busied herself about the young mother, the others had turned to the child Merciful- Heaven save us!" > "Hush!" uttered the dame, in an authoritative whisper, indicating the bed and its occupant by a sign. The gossips drew near, and, with vehement gesticu- lations and dumb show of terrified wonder, compen- sated for their checked utterance. The doctor approached and attentively examined the child. "Poor lamb! poor innocent!" said the nurse, and she held a whispered conference with the surgeon. A clear calm voice spoke from the bed, rational as any in the room. Is it dead ?" she said. A faint cry seemed to answer the mother's question. Bring me my baby." Dame Bullocks hesitated, as she looked at the medi- cal man. He signed- that she should comply. The newly-made mother clasped it in her arms, turned her languid eyes upon its infant face, then uttering the words— My husband!" a glance round told her he was absent-she burst into tears. The first she had shed since that terrible night. CHAPTER VII. AFTER THE STORM. YES, she was saved to life, and from worse than death; those blessed tears seemed to lift from her heart the icy numbness of despair, which had op- pressed it; and though she now wept and bemoaned his loss—whom she felt must be gone for ever, since he came not at such a moment—it was less terrible to behold her natural grief than the stolid apathy of despair, which had, till now, wrapt her in oblivion of all their tender consolation. At first, she took but little notice of the new little claimant on her love; she seemed rather to mourn that any inducement should have been sent her to prolong the life which could no longer have any charm for her; but her good attendants, with a sensible ap- preciation-humble as they were-of her feelings, let her weep her fill, and by-and-by she grew more calm, and turned, as for consolation, to all that was now left of him; as dearer than any hoarded memorial of love -for was it not himself, in some sort, come again ?- and a shade of regret passed over her face as she learned her child was a girl; had it been a boy, she might more fully even have realised her fond fancy. In a while, her violent fits of weeping had given way to quieter grief, and as they stood aloof, those about her would anxiously watch, while she half raised herself to bend over the sleeping infant—evidently seeking, feature by feature, to trace some resemblance to the beloved husband she had lost; and when some infant trait or mimic turn in the small, waxen face struck upon her memory, she would sink back, weeping softly, then turn again to her babe; and, gently encircling it with her arm, draw yet closer, as if to guard the precious legacy of his love. So she would fall asleep, most frequently a wandering tear glittering upon the unconscious little cheek beside her, as if the babe, too, wept in slumber for the uncertain fate of the father whose heart it could not make glad. In her yet uncertain state, they carefully guarded from her knowledge the strange visitation entailed upon thA hapless innocent: it was not difficult, for the hild was quiet to a miracle—sleeping for hours at a time, and, when it awoke, would lie with its eyes wide open, fixed on vacancy, but seldom making any sign till some one came to take it up. It be a uncommon child, for certain," said one of the gossips, making one of the usual levee attending the morning toilette of the little stranger, presided over by good Dame Bullocks. It beant natural-like for a babe to be so quiet at all times, and that strange look in its eyes-" Ay, that's what I say, Kitty," put in another; why, mine, I'll wager. you'd ha' heard 'em two mile off-my man's many a time said he heard their squall soon as he come round the Point——" It beant right no-hew-I'd wonder if it was all right in its head like," whispered the fint, touching her own forehead. Dame Bullocks shook her head. "Poor larnb," she said, softly, it be right enough, never fear—it be right enough; it's just the weight of her trouble like, poor soul; and no wonder, is't, Xitty ? the wonder be, I think, how she come thro' at all. But look at the sense in them dear, pretty eyes, bless 'em! Why, one might a'most think she heard you, and understood what you was saying of her, pretty creatur'l" And the dame fondly kissed the child, as, in answer to her kindly chirrup, it looked up to her motherly face with something more nearly approaching a smile than the spasmodic symptom usually visible at that early period of existence. (To be continued.)

SATIRE is an ugly weapon in the work of reform. It tears asunder, it cauterises, it blisters. No one is really made better by it. The one assailed, though he may fear the sting, will never be better through its application, though he may seem so. A satirist lives all the time in boiling water. JESUS AT THE FBAST OF TABBRNACLM.— And suddenly, in the midst of all the murmurs and discussions of the Jews, in the middle of the feast, Jesus, unaccompanied apparently by His followers, unheralded by HiB friends, appeared in the Temple, and taught. By what route He had reached the Holy Oity-how He had passed through the bright thronged streets unnoticed—whether He joined in the innocent mirth of the festival—whether He too lived in a little succah of palm-leaves during the remainder of the week, and wandered among the brightly-dressed crowds of an Oriental gala day with the lulab and citron in His hands—whether His voice was heard in the Hallel, or the Great Hosannah-we do not know. All that is told us is that, throwing Himself, as it were, in full confidence on the protection of His dis- ciples from Galilee and those in Jerusalem, He was suddenly found seated in one of the large halls which opened out of the Temple courts, 'and there He taught. For a time they listened to Him in awe-struck silence but soon the old scruples recurred to them. He is no authorised Rabbi; He belongs to no recognised school; neither the followers of Hillel nor those of Sham- inai claim Him He is a Nazarene He was trained in the shop of the Galilsean carpenter; how knowelh this man letters, having never learned?" As though the few who are taught of God-whose learning is the learning of a pure heart and an en- lightened eye and a blameless life-did not unspeak- ably transcend in wisdom, and therefore also in the best and truest knowledge, those whose learning has but come from other men It is not the voice of erudition, but it is, as the old Greek thinker says, the voice of Inspiration-the voice of the divine Sibyl —which, uttering things simple and unperfumed and unadorned, reacheth through myriads of years.— .Dr. Farrars Life of Christ,

JACK'S MOTHER-IN-LAW. --+- I PRESUME you didn't know Jack Robinson in the days of his glory. So much the worse for you, then, for you missed the acquaintance of one of the jolliest and beat-hearted dogs that ever wore trousers. He was the life and soul and whisky punch of a crowd of us young fellow about town. No pleasure- promising project was ever afloat in which he did not take the lead; no party, or ride, or sail, or pic nic, was complete without his exhilarating countenance and jocular Ha, ha." In short, he was the kindest fellow that ever helped a fellow out of a scrape, and he was the most obliging fellow that ever backed a note for a friend, and he was tbitgallantest fellow that ever lifted a lady over a puddle, antl he was the toughest nut at a billiard board that ever chalked a erne. Business called him down east—I don't know where, exactly, but some place in Maine or Canada, or there- about—not the town you live in, however, but a long way further to the eastward, and there in that down east town Jack Robinson met his destiny. She was a great bouncing, rosy-cheeked, bright eyed, sentimental creature, was Jack's destiny, deeply read in novels, particularly indolent and helpless, and in everything subject unto her mother. There were sheep's eyes, and lending of books, and idiotic verses in albums, and delightful rides, and romantic walks, and somebody's arm round, somebody"s waist, and kiases, and all the rest of it. The east wind, or sompthing else, occasionally brought to us boys vague rumours of Jack's galli- vanting, and we were not disposed to interpose any stumbling blocks, for we knew there was and is a vast multitude of number-one girls in the orient, and we had some little confidence in Jack's judgment and ?ood taste. By-and-by Bob Bangs had occasion to journey towards the rising sun, too. "TelJ ye what ID is, boys," said Bob, in great ex- citement, when he returned to the city and to us, 'tain't goin' to do, by Jove, for Jack to fool round that gal any longer, now mind I tell ye. She's no more the wife for him than I am she's got no more mind of her own, or decision of character, by Jove, than a handsome sheep. Her mother's a regular field-marshal in petticoats, and is dismally strong- minded. She says she has but one daughter, and )nly lives to see that dear child happy. It is a langerous fix Jack's got into, for it's a little bit of a town, not much bigger'n your fist, by Jove, and she's the only pretty girl in it. I s'pose Jack's just fool enough to think that if he marries anybody down ;here, it'll be that gal. No such thing. He'll marry the ole 'ooman, and she'll swaller him, by Jove, that's what she'll do. Now, Jack's too good a feller to be wasted in that sort of style, and we ought somehow to ihake him up, and make him come to his senses. Here, Jinx, you write and tell him what we think ibout it." So Jinx squared himself at a sheet of paper, and From the dictation of half a dozen highly interested gentlemen, all speaking at the same time and to different purposes, wrote such a letter aa a wise rather might write to his son. The epistle evidently made an impression, for Jack wrote back that he would be cautious and consider well before he acted. And doubtless, he did but the result was the old itory. On one side was a frank, open-hearted gener- ous young gentleman, believing all men honest, and all women angels on the other, a managing, design- ing, intriguing mother of an only daughter, the only handsome girl in town, and she, like a few, a very few more of her own sex, a natural born Sapphira, putting on her most fascinating airs, and saying, by word and action, to him who would estimate her charms and merits, Yea, for so much," when all the time she knew herself to be on the tip-topest pinnacle of her good looks and behaviour. Well, Jack married and fetched Mrs. Jack down to the city, and took a nice little house in a nice little street, and set up a nice litMe establishment. Nothing could be more snug and comfortable. For about a year all went merry as the marriage bell, and the reading of Rosa Matildaish poetry, and the delightful rides, and the romantic walks went on, and it was dear, and duck, and dove, and darling, and what not, just the same as before the knot was tied. Although not a courtship, it was "the same subject continued." But ere the twelfth moon had sneaked out from the little end of her horn, a change comes o'er the spirit of Jack's dream. Shop-boys began ringing the door-bell with bundles of linen, and flannel, and narrow, bleached diamond-spotted towel stuff of some sort; then came an extra domestic of a comfortable, roomy, and matronly aspect, and last of all, one woful, black, and dismal day, came Mrs. Jones, with a hundred bandboxes. Ah, unsuspecting Jack! ah, gentle Robinson! little didst thou dream, aa with teeth-displaying smiles thou diast hand thy beloved mother-in-law from the door of that unhappy coach, that all those seemingly innocent bandboxes were henceforth to be te th«e and thy houso as though they had been bequeathed to thee by the late Mrs. Pandora. They didn't call its name John, after its father, as its father would have liked, but Adoniram, after the worthy divine that Mrs. Jones sits under." As Mrs. Jones was kini enough to come to town npon the occasion," and as she was only to stay a month or six weeks at furthest, the best room in the house—Jack's study—was prepared for her accommo- dation, or rather, she had it prepared for herself. It was a plejsant relief to Jack when Mrs. Jones kindly teok charge of the keys, and the marketing, and the ordering of the servants. "Mrs. Jones, my wife's mother, is really a verv superior woman," said J nek to Jinx, and Jinx shook his head dolefully, for if there is anything ominous and superlatively hateful to that gentleman, it is a superior woman." The month or six weeks went off promptly, as is the punctual custom of months and six weeks; but Mrs. Jones by no means followed their excellent ex- ample. On the contrary, she sent for another hundred bandboxes. "Lizzy was always delicate from a child, is far from well now, and requires a mother's care. It would be the height of imprudence and cruelty to leave the poor thing with so much to attend to." Thus said Mrs. Jones, though Lizzy looked and was as robust as a "beef creeter," and in the days of court- ship it had been her mother's boast that she never had known a sick day, Mrs. Jones has been a great help to all of us, and a comfort to Lizzy, since she has been with us, and she thinks it advisable to remain a few days longer," said Jack, with a perplexed and troubled look. When Mrs. Jones's "things" arrived, there also comes to hand a span of gawky boys, Mrs. Jones's two youngest sons, from whom she cannot think "Of being separated, and who must not lose such an ex- cellent opportunity for attending school at Boston during the winter. Of course they are quartered upon Jack, and hook his cigars and borrow money from him, and of course, when their education is com- pleted, Mr. Robinson is a heartless, unfeeling brute, because he does not forthwith get them situations in some flrat-claas bank or insurance office at a salary of £ •200 each. When Jack's own mother and sisters call upon him, what can be more natural than for Mrs. Jones to let them see, severely, that they are poking their noses into that which does not concern them, and when they venture, in a friendly way, to inquire or suggest the slightest thing, what more Proper t'ien for Mrs. Jones to give them a piece of her mind. Does Jack timidly remonstrate—herself, and her daughter are not going to be imposed upon in their own house by those who had better be attending to their own affairs, if they have any to attend to. If some people want to create a division in the family, thank goodness she is dear-sighted enough to see through it all, and will prevent it, he may set his heart on that. And so on, without end, until Mrs. Jack who is completely under her mother's influence and thumb, gets worked up to an hysterical pitch, and grabs her young one froral the crib, clutches it convulsively to her bosom, and hopes, amid a bucket of tears, that at least thev will net tear her unfortu- nate child from her, and that she may mercifully be permitted to die before they hare taught it, too, to hate and despise her. At this the offspring, who, like a little stupid cherub as it is, can't see any sense in its mother a sudden violence, begins kicking and striking out with its shapeless legs and arms, and giving vent to a chorus of dreadful shrieks and screeches. Jack, indignant, opens his mouth, but it is instantly closed by a volley from Mrs. Jones. Unfeeling wretch, he is killing her daughter, and does he think that she, as a mother, is going to stand by "nd permit it? He little knows, and never de- served the treasure that has been thrown away upon him in that dear creature. It is plain that he will be only too happy when the poor, suffering child has gone broken-hearted to her grave," &c. etc. For the first half year or so Jack buoys up his heart with the fond, feeble belief that his mother-in- law must, in the nature of things, some time or other take her bandboxes and her departure. Vain hope! it gradually becomes evident that even if she should return home, it would shortly become necessary to send for her again post haste, and so, fur the sake of peace in his steadily increasing family, he meekly yields to his fate. Faeilis descensus avcrni, which is, being interpreted, he who knuckles to Mrs. Jones is a gone goose. Jack becomes nobody in his own house, or rather he is supposed to infest Mrs. Jones's establishment, pro- vided he interferes with nothing during the day, and comes home to bed at a suitable hour at the early evening, for a latch-key, look you, is not for the likes of him. The doors of the temple of the drama, and ef his old accustomed club-room, are closed to him for ever; his harmless wine-glass is turned up- side down, and his cigar put out. If he smokes at home the curtains are so irretrievably ruined that a new set, at double cost, has to be put up forthwith, and if he smokes abroad, he is a dissolute, profligate,, wretch, who wishes to make his innocent children blush to own him as their father. His bachelor friends are, as a matter of course, intolerable nuisances. Once, when Jinx had the temerity to drop in of an evening, he was received with frigid silence on the part of the females, and a forced, fidgety air of reckless gaity, painfully overdone, on the part of Jack. Jinx soon saw the state of affairs at a glance, and not desiring to keep .his friend in agony, he abridged his call, and carelessly mentioned, as he rose to depart, that, as it was quite early, he should run down to the club, and see if there was any later news from Paria. Jack grabbed his hat, glad of any excuse for getting out of the house for an instant, and inti- mated that he was exceedingly anxious to hear from the seat of war. At this Mrs. Jones trod upon the toes of her daughter, causing that estimable spouse to remark, in an appallingly distinettone of voice," John, my de-ar, you surely are not going out at this late hour of the night it is almost eight o'clock besides, mother is going to have your feet in hot water and a plaster on your chest—it's absurd to think of going out now." Before Jinx was fairly off the stoop, Mra. Jones proceeded to fulfil her promise of putting Jack in hot water. Such disreputable individuals should never pollute her house, she could tell him. Do you hear, Mr. Bob-'meon ? when su h persons are introduced into this house by you, who, if you were a man, would scorn such associates, me and my daughter leave it— that we will. I'd have you know, Mr. Bob-inson, scorn such associates, me and my daughter leave it— that we will. I'd have you know, Mr. i?o6-inson, that I'm not to be trampled on we have borne with your abuse and ill-treatment quite long enough, sir and though it is the study of your life to insult and tread us under foot, I'd have you remember, sir-I say, I'd have you remember, sir, that even our patience may be worn out at last," and—more—of—the—same -sort. When upon the street Jack sees any of us boys afar off, instead of running and falling upon our necks and kissing us, he darts round the nearest corner and off out of sight, for fear we shall ask him to go some-; whfre, or insist upon his inviting us to his home to partake of the fatted calf, as he did during the first year of his wedded life. He loses his spirit, his inde- pendence, and his good looks, and becomes a very sneak and sloven. MftI. Jones arranges everything i and manages the household; Mra. Jones attends to all; the shopping and dealings with tradesmen, Jack not: being thought of, nor does his name appear except at, the summit of long and frequent bills. The servants sneer at him in the kitchen, and treat him disrespect fully in the parlour. He may ring his bell till be is black in the face, but unless the servants are parti- cularly good-natured, and Mrs. Jonea has nothing for them to do, he will ring in vain. Once, and only once did he make a determined effort to throw off the yoke. Mra. Jonea had taken herself and her daughter and the children to the aea- side, and Jack, in jubilant spirits at his temporary I emancipation, had us fellows up to a jolly spread at hia own house. Champagne and confidence abounded, as in the daya of old. We rallied him upon his domestic affairs, and he pleaded guilty. He was a miserable dog—had been a weak fool, and be knew it —nobody was to blame but himself." As bachelor's wivesand mothers-in-law arenotoriously well managed, we, of courae, were competent to give htm any quan- tity of the very best advice, and we did it. "You are right, boys," said Jack, with a flash of his old spirit, thumping the table with his fist till the glasses jumped with astonishment at hia rebellious danng. I have been led by the nose long enough— too long, and I won't stand it another day. It's time to assert my authority, and I'll do it, though the heavens fall. Lizzy and I got along tip-top till that horrid old woman came into the house, and we shall when she's gone, for go she shall, as sure as my name is Jack Robinson. I'll be master in my own house, see if I don't." Jack stuck to this excellent resolution like a hero, and when the queen bee returned, he marshalled his forces and a battle royal ensued, which lasted all night and attracted the attention of passers-by, so fierce and sternly-contested was the fight. Crossing the common next day, I met an interest- ing domestic procession. First came Mrs. Robinson, bundled up in a hundred shawls and leaning upon the arm of Mra. Jonea, who had a triumphant expres- sion upon her countenance, and aevere silk dress upon all the rest of her person. Immediately behind these I two came a four-wheeled go-cart, in which were the twins, sitting face to face at the stem and stern of tin vehicle. The motive power which impelled the de- testable willow contrivance, was a cross nursery- piaid, who waa sharply scolding a meek and frightened looking individual in nankin trousers, who was shading the infants with a thundering great blue cotton umbrella. For an instant our eyes mpt, but he dropped his to the ground in confusion, pretend- ing not to see me. Let me die if the thing in nankin trousers wasn't Jack! I could havekic-kfd hiiu. I I turntd away, sick at my stomach. Jack was ex- tinguished.

TACT.—Tact is to manner what genius is to talent. There are many people in the intellectual world who are clever, erudite, sharp, yet who are utterly destitute of genius whilst in the social world the number of persons who are ambitious, plausible, and agreeable, and yet totally deficient in tact, is legion. Ho frequently do we hear questions asked which should be avoided, and subjects discussed that should never be introduced! How constantly do the scheming and the worldly-wise show their hand, and thus mar their game, by a plausibility so palpable that it never deceives! How often is hate defeated by the intensity of its spite and its clumsy malevolence! If men and women exhibited a little more tact in their walk through life, the snob would talk less of his intimacy with the great, Dives would boast less of his wealth, women would be more careful in their dis- paragements of each other, the jealous would pretend I less to indifference, and the acrid would mingle a little more honey with his gall. We read of an am- bition that overvaulta itself and falls on the other side. It is quite as possible to fail from overdoing as from never attempting. A well-bred display is one thing, the ostentation of the vulgar another. To know a lord does not necessarily imply an incessant refer- fence to the aristocracy. The possession of wealth is not always evinced by allusions to the balance at our banker, the extent of our property, and the Bplendour of oar establishment. Familiarity is always silent; it is novelty that is always intrusive. — London Society. STRUGGLING TO BE BjMTEB.—We are now all of us asking again, how shall the people be kept from the public-bouse ? And some of us are asking also, how shall the dull Philistinism or emptiness of the other classes be healed? And we have made some steps towards the true solution. We say, it is not enough to tell people to be religious, you must occupy their minds and give them a taste for some- thing better than drinking. And we get up penny readings and popular lectures and working men's colleges. Dimly at the same time we see that the deficiencies of the better classes are radically of the same kind and require the same remedy. What takes the working man to the public-house is the same defect which ties the city man to his desk and makes his life monotonous and unlovely. It is the ignorance of anything better —the want of occupation for his higher life. And something begins to be done for him too. We have begun to purify the idea of culture, and to understand that we must present it for the future as something precious and beautiful in itself, and 110 longer merely as a means of success and money-making. These are the new convictions which practical reformers have lately acquired. They have led to a practical rebel- lion against the clerical revival ef the last age, for they amount to a conviction that no such revival can by itself regenerate the country. And the clergy are acknowledging this by enlarging their field, by taking into their province much which hitherto they regarded as secular. They do so under the plea that that which is in itself secular, such as music, architec- ture, popular science, may be made indirectly service- able to religion. But meanwhile a great change and advance of opinion has been taking place among the professors of the so-called secular pursuits thus newly patronised. The future historian, describing the present age of English history, will mark it aa the period when the English mind first clearly grasped the ideas of Art and Science. Look at our present clear conception of Art in its different varieties all equally te be honoured, the poet recognising himself as the colleague of the painter or musical composer in the same great guild, and see what a space has been traversed since music was scarcely known and paint- ing regarded as an ungentlemanlv pursuit, while "try acknowledged no connection with the sister arts, but rather classed herself with wit or with learning. In like manner, what a change since science asserted her- self with the commanding aelf-conaciousntsa which now diatinguishea her! Not long since she lay huddled up indistinguishably with metaphysics and Greek scholar- ship and theology. Now she proudly stands aloof from all such association, and declares herself called to regenerate the world. Both in the case of Art and of Science it is a consequence of the new distinctness with which they are now conceived that their dignity is greatly raised. They take a reli- gious character. The artist would be ashamed to J speak of himself as a humblw caterer for the public amusement, as, for instance, a Walter S.ott always did. He is now in a manner bound to exalt his art if not himself, and to call himself a priest of the reli- gion of beauty. Nor can the latter any more be content to speak of science as an elegant and liberal pursuit; it is a point o £ honour with him now to pro- i1 claim himself a votary of the religion of the future.— Maomillan's Magcuine.

LADIES' COLUMN THE FASHIONS. A walking costume, says a writer in the English' woman's Domestic Magazine, for very cold weather, is of seal-coloured vigogne cloth, trimmed with deep bands of sealskin fur, sprinkled with tiny tips of pea- cock's feathers. The skirt of faille vigogne cloth is trimmed round with one such band and with a fluting of seal coloured faille. The front part forms a draped tablier, with similar trimming. Long paletot and waistcoat of the vigogne cloth, bordered with the same sealskin fur and tips of peacock's feathers dolman sleeves trimmed to correspond, and tight undersleeves with sealskin fur cuffs. The tiny muff is of cloth to match the dress, lined with quilted seal- cnloured faille, and edged on either side with a band of sealskin fur and peacock's feathers. The bonnet is a tiny capote of sealskin, lined with pale pink satin. It is trimmed with a soft border of the tips of pea- cock's feathers overlapping one another, and with an aigrette of pink flamingo's feathers. The strings are of double-faced pale pink and seal-coloured satin. Another walking costume is of wool and silk neigeuse in mixed shades of myrtle and moss green, tilleul, and wood colour. The skirt, with semi-train of myrtle- green faille, is finished with a deep pleated flounce with double heading. The front part of the skirt is of the wool and silk neisreuse, with similar flounce. A scarf of the fancy neigeuse is drapei and croseed at the side, its lapels losing themselves in the folds of the train. This scarf is edged with hop-blossom silk and chenille fringe, of all the colours of the neigeuse. The short costumes are making their way into favour slowly, but surely; Hihe comfort of them is great after the fatigue and trouble of trains. The materials used for them are ladiea* cloth, basket and twilled cloths, camel's hair, and serge. Self-colonrs, as blue, grey, brown and green, are preferred. The skirt is generally kilt-plaited, and, if the wearer's figure is not Blender, it is mounted on a deep band, fitted plainly round the hips, and lined with strong sileaia. The kilting is sewn to the edge, and descends in straight plaits to the ankle, where it is turned up, and hemmed with blind stiches. These long plaits are about two inches wide, and are folded to touch each other at the edge. They are pressed flatly, and are held in place with two rows of tape; the lower row the height of the knee, and the upper one between that and the band. Above this is a short apron falling below the band, so as to con ceal it, and terminating in two long-plaited ends that fall straight from the back of the belt. This band and overskirt are patronised by stout figures; with the slender ones the kilt-plaitirig commences at the belt, and a plaited scarf or Bash is tied round the figure immediately below the hips. This scarf-like sash ia of the same material as the drese, trimmed and ornamented with rows of machine stitching on the hem; it is folded and knotted either at the back or on the left side. The bodice is plaited, has a square yoke and deep collar; the sleeves are narrow and un- trimmed; a jacket,; lined with silk and with an inter- lining of flannel, is added for outdoor wear. Grey costumes are now trimmed with chinchilla bands; the bonnet worn with them is grey felt, with a coronet of chinchilla fur in front; the crown terminates with a how composed of six loops of grey satin ribbon, and grey satin strings are tied in a long-looped bow below the right ear; a slender grey wing on the lett aide of the crown.—Queen.

USEFUL HINTS. MENU FOB THE WEEK.-S,turday: Sprats; hashed mutton,veal cutlets and tomato sauce; bread padding. Sunday: Plain^poiip; roast goose and apple sauce; roast loin of mutton; jam tart. Monday: Fried ttolea hashed goose; calf's heart, roasted; apple pudding. Tuesday: Giblet soup; boiled rabbit and onion sauce rump steak; plain suet pudding. Wed- nesday Tapioca soup; fillete of soles; mutton chops; mushroom sauce; sweet omelette. Thursday: Carrot soup; roast beef, horse-raddish sauce; Yorkshire pudding; macaroni au gratin. Friday: Fried cod, anchovy sauce; cold beef and pickles; baked rice pudding, custards. Vegetables in Season.—Potatoes (and through the year), parsley (and through the year), small salad (and through the year), borecole, or Scotch kale, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cardoons, leeks, celery, parsnips.—Brief. MILK PORCH.—Cut off the thin yellow part of four fresh leoions and a Seville orange, and be careful not to take any of the white pith of the fruit, or it will make the punch bitter. Pour over this rind a pint of Jamaica rum, and let it stand, closely covered, for twelve hours. Strain the liquor, and mix with it a pint of lemon juice and two pints of cold water, in which a pound of refined sugar has been dissolved, and add the whites of two eggs beaten to a froth, three pints more of rum,a grated nutmeg, a pint of madeira, a pint of strong green tea, snd a quarter of a pint of maraschino.' Mix thoroughly, and pour over all a pint of milk, boiling hot. Let the punch stand a little time, then strain it through a flannel jelly bag until it is quite bright, and either use it at once, or bottle it to put away. ENGLISHWOMEN'S BOOTS AND SHOES.- Without say- ing that our women are wrong in copying Parisian bonnets and costumes, we would point out that they would be far better dressed were they to follow the example of 183 belles Parisiennes in the matter of boots and shoes. Naturally enough, there are upon either side of the Channel many people who are invariably particular as to boots, and on this account it would be impossible to convince some people that we are open to great improvement in these particular articles of dressi Take. however, an English lady of what is called the middle class and a Frenchwoman of a similar status. Probably there is more of what we know as go" in the style and fit of the Frenchwoman's dress, though the toute ensemble of the Englishwoman may, at first sight, be more pleasing. Look again, and the ugly boot of the Englishwoman destroys the first impression; it is fiat-soied and there is not a good heel. The heel may be very high and yet look well, or it may be low without marring the effect of the curve in the sole; but this latter quality is generally wanting in our boots. Take another class, 'the milliners, dressmakers, and others who work for their daily bread. Do they not in Paris wear the prettiest boots or shoes, and often eschew bonnets, gaudy ribbons, and gloves ? Upon the other hand, are not our working girls proverbial for their over-indulgence in ribbons and what is commonly called II finery," and, moreover, for their very indif- ferent boots ? Here women trudge through the mud, allowing their dresses to drag upon the heels of their boots, and thus every movement detracts from the ele- gance and beauty of the wearer's apearance. He or she who is sceptical should watch Parisians crossings road on a muddy day. Half an hour spent in watch- ing the boots of Frenchwomen would assuredly con- vince the veriest unbelievers that our countrywomen are sadly behind the Parisian sisters in their knowledge of good boots and shoes.-Pictorial World.

TEA AND SHBEMPS AT GREENWICH.—It is re- marked by more than one writer, that Greenwich is about the last place where the practice of touting for customers is kept up at the doors of small coffee. houses but, perhaps, the well-known cry of the butchers in the lesser streets on Saturday evenings, Oome, buy! buy! what will you buy ? may be re- garded as the last remnant of a custom once nearly universal. Here you cannot walk along the streets which lie between the town and the park with- but being solicited by ten or a dceen rival houses to step in and regale yourself. If you take every card that is offered you, you will have a good store in your pocket on returning home at night. Tea, eightpenoe, with a pleasant view of the river." "Tea made, with Shrimps, ninepence," and so forth. The inhabitants of Greenwich would seem to be the moat accommo- dating and hospitable people in the world. You can walk straight into almost every other house along the route and order tea, and can depart again only a few pence the poorer. Numbers of cockneys, however, come to the park already well provided and you may see pater and mateifamilias and half a dozen of their hopeful progeny all munching bread-and-butter, and drinking cold tea, in one group beneath the chest- nute.- Old and New London. THE PERIWINKLE.—The periwinkle is very commonly met with in woods and hedgerows, and when found at all, is generally in great profusion; and we can readily call to mind an embankment not half a mile from where we are now writing where a space some ten <:r twelve yards long and five or six yards broad seems to be the exclusive property of this striking plant, its hundreds of expanded blossoms making quite a grand display in the spring and early summer. The plant is a perennial on-, and retains its leaves throughout the winter hence, if a locality for it be once known, it may at any time be discovered. The leaves are sometimes met with having streaks of lighter green upon the dark rich colour that is characteristic of the foliage. Such varieties are, however, accidental, and comparatively rare. The plant seldom, if ever, ripens its seed-a fact that the opponents of its claim to be indigenous point to in confirmation of their opinion and, as in other and more southern countries it does oo, they have so far a point in their favour, though the fact is by no means a conclusive one. The plant propagates itself by its long trailing and rooting stems, and by their means not only extends itself rapidly in every direction, but manages to gain an almost exclusive possession of the soil, since little or nothing else can maintain its ground against the denso mass of matted stems that deprive all weaker plants of light and air. The leaves, as will be noticed in our plate, are always placed in pairs upon the stem, while the flowers grow singly from their axils, The calyx is deeply out.-Familar Wild Flowers.