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

I í THE GOOD WE MIGHT DO. We all might do good When we often do ill; If we hare but the will. There is always the way, Though it be but a word Kindly breathed or suppressed, It may guard off some pain, Or give peace to some breast. We all might do good In a thousand small ways; A In forbearing to flatter, I Yet yielding due praise; I In spurning ill-humour, f Reproving wrong done, f And treating but kindly Each heart we have won. We all might do good, Whether lowly or great, For the deed is not gauged By the purse or estate If it be but a cup Of cold water that's given, Lifce "the widow's two mites/' It is something for heaven.

THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR, TWICE WED. j CHAPTER XI.—(Continued). ^LY he spoke, in a hoarse and broken voice, thn 0aian»' said, "I took you for a wife out of very love of my heart—love that I'd have sold do sou^ have from jou in return. I have thi*8 everything that man could do, to win some- like love from you. Q-od knows I have, and you ve returned it! If you. had made up your to dislike and thwart me, why hadn't you said would have spoken, but he went on, his voice and his hand with it, above his head— «. 8aJ. why did you take me—why did you ? To be ..curse of my lifeJ Why did you let him die that jJ«ht have grown to be a blessing to me ? He was you—°h •' woman, why did you let him die ? j. Wouldn't I have saved him, Saul, if it had been 'jMble ? she said was he not my child, too ? ^Ees," he repeated, loudly; he was like you; but J* your care is all for that girl, your own; my son die and be buried-r-you care nothing. I tell you «ewc loved you; but, by all that's holy, if you make hate you, you shall rue the day, and she, too; you ft love her, and are to me like a hired servant, and 110 more." Saul,' the woman said slowly, and in her chilling "do what you will with me—I am yours, to use J? you please. But you must not harm or vex my She is mine I never gave her to you." > Yes, yes," he cried, excitedly; you can warm Sfiath.6"' ^e117; you 0411 **life *or hep» not stone, or "She has suffered by you, Saul, as it is; I have ,8,?0 you, nor any, indeed." "I. he interrupted, with amazement; by me?" She rose, and led the way to the bedside of the keeping child. Lost in surprise, he followed. With liiht and gentle hand she turned down the cover-lid, ST aside the curling hair of the little girl, under which one arm lay half buried. The long sleeve of vie night-dress, peculiarly fashioned, hid entirely hand Ibd arm. This she unbuttoned. "You never asked the cause of this," she said. He grew ashy pale in the light of the night-lamp, 44 he said, in faltering tones- "Ida said it Burnt. Yes, I told her so when she aaked herself lkbout it. It is a horrible affliction for my girl. I never it to you, Saul, or would tell you what might you needlessly. Bat do ycu remember that even- when the girl, Nelly Harts torn, told you of her "tended marriage, that the folly might be ended it jjae shame on her to have begun. You caught her the wrist and swore an awful oath? She tore "way from you with a great wrench and sprain. It was the last time we met, Meghorn, then but the scene was often and often present in my mind. I thought of it, with, oh! such a dread. Heaven for. give me! You will understand. It is worse to-night— horrible; for to-morrow is her birthday, you know— ten days since her father was lost." Saul groaned, and bowed his blanched face in agony. Ten days since, his infant bey had died. "Nelly," he fultered. "have a little mercy-be with toe as you are with your child. Think how I loved you, and what I He stopped. She slowly shook her head; then stood waiting to light him from the chamber. They said Deepgang was haunted; and the fisher- jhens wives and children used to draw nearer the fire, and look around shuddering as the wind and Waters made strange noises up its dreary pass and Overhanging cliffs; while lights unusual and stranger forms had been seen, 'twas said, at midnight, wander- ing to and fro. But the worst spirits that haunted it were invisible to human eye. Fierce passions, jealous hate, and dread suspicion dwelt in the house upon its summit, brooded in its depths, and filled the air with their repinings and lamentation?. OHAPTER XIL FLAYING THB GAME. Inta, as in passed over the lonely dwelling on the diff, brought no alleviation of the bitter draught Which those two had doomed themselves to share. Day by day the gloom and coldness of the woman increased, fast changing the fierce passion of her hus- band to discontent and aversion. Since thejd^ath of his child, Saul Meghorn decreased hourly in the futile attempts to win the love or awakeu the interest of his wife. In proportion as he felt her aversion to himself, he loathed the being on whom her whole affection was fixed; and, though never by personal ill usage, yet by Blight, scorn, deprivation of her little enjoyments of her liberty, he made the poor child feel the weight of his authority and dislike. "Yon did not want the trouble of my child," he would say, tauntingly; "no! he was Jet die, that you might fondle, and pet, and spoil that brat. Ah! it shall be little the better. Did you hear me, girl ? Go fetch some logs to the fire I" Go, Ida, dear child," the mother's unvarying, sad ▼oice would say—for she trained her daughter to the lame steady, unvarying obedience as she herself dis* played, and trod the daily, monotonous round in sub- jection; except on rare occasions, never attempting any reply or excuse, but letting him rail on—not even by a flushed cheek or rough3ned brow showing that the sense of his words had reached her. Far more welcome to him had been the angry re- tort, or weeping excuse or supplication-the fire of his own passion had then met with some other fuel than his own heart, on which to prey with devouring fury. Away with you! be off to bed, I say! to bed, child!" would be often the greeting on his return, in Mply to some of poor Ida's silent attentions, for she •eldom spoke to him now. And go, dear Ida," the mother's request, would confirm the sentence; perhaps at early twilight, or when some little interest had attached itself to the poor girl's weary hours of solitary life. Far, far worse were those fitful bursts of mad en- dearment, in which he would suddenly indulge. Fine silks, or rich cloths, too, he brought, with or- naments, at times; and affected to think, in his mad Way, that she really thanked him for the gifts. The fisherman couldn't bring Buch to his wife, eh, llúatress P eh, Nelly? And she will kiss me twenty times for these. Why, this is like the one Was pitched over the cliff long aro-dost mind that, Nelly ? Ob oh! it was no use—no use, was its my girl I-was it ? She's mine at last, ha! ha I and she does love her husband—of course she does, For her child's sake she bore even with this. The fierce, strong will held the weaker in subjection. She felt herself powerless for revenge, evea had it been possible. The put usurped all — there was little perception of the preeent-no thought for the future. One sole consolation still remained. The cottage had continued, as I have said, in her possession, untouched in all its arrangements, un- entered by any foot, unvisited by any eyes but her Own and her child's. This was her sanctum, and thither she took the burthen of her griefs, and prayed, since it might not be removed, for strength to bear and not to faint on the rough way. The wife of the strange man, the recluse, almost, Of the wild Deepgang, under this influence lived so secluded, that, ere the second autumn of her fresh bridals, the merest visitor, newly come to winter at Sandcombe, was less a stranger than she; so little akin did she appear to all her old surroundings and the whilom associates of her youth. Saul's absences from his home became more frequent, and ef longer continuance. Sometimes he might be found at the Peep 'o Day. 6 drank deep and hard; he rarely exhibited any symptoms of the effects, though Nelly had learned to "ervp herself to the utmost when the heavy footstep keyDded heavier, the deep voice was raised to a higher ..ey. her satisfaction she had been left more alone late, and, when he did return, Saul wu more pre- occupied, and less inclined to acknowledge the fact of her existence. This was the best boon the wife could desire. In one of his tyrannical moments he dismissed the maid, saying the girl was now getting big enough to make herself useful; and mother and child were thus alone in the house. But Nelly took no offence at this rather she was glad to be quit of any witness to her sorrowful re- pinings, and free to indulge her self-communings as she pleased. The domestic duties of the house fell by no means heavily upon her, though it was little Ida could do to assist, even would the mother have per- mitted it. The girl exerted herself to fulfil all the requests of Meghorn, which, when he was present, were by no means few in number; but otherwise she was very quiet and not apt to exert herself; her greatest delight was when she could prevail upon her mother to accompany her as far as the Ohine, and seeking out the shadiest spot among its wild bowery walks, to fill her parent's lap with the flowers she gathered far and wide; then, seated at her knees, to make them into bunches, meanwhile singing to herself, in the sweet, low tones of a voice which seemed in- sensibly to have modulated itself to the sad atmos- phere of her unblessed home. CHAPTER XIII. SATAN WINNING. IT'S as good, ay, as a sack o' gold to my eyes, it is capt'n, for to hail in sight of ye agin. Sick o' land life!' 1J should say ye was, and the wonder is, as I said, how ye ha' stood it. Shore!' I says to that lubberly jackass Simeon Foulkes,' the capt'n'11 tire of it in six months,' I says, and tho' ye've held out longer'n I'd ha' thought was in ye-ay, it took ten year off me, it did that, when you hailed from the old place, and bid Mat Yawmans hold up his head and be a man agin." "What became of Foulkes?" asked Meghorn of his grim servitor. They stood within the cavern we have before des- cribed, which had lain for many months unvisited, and where the few articles yet remaining gave signs of total disuse. The entrance giving upon the bay was open, and the broad light of a full harvest moon streamed on the rippling sea, upon the beach, and >ver the figures of the two men as they stood in con- rA_tinn- "Went to the bad, yer honor, swamped for good and all; not like a man neither, cutlass in hand, and his feet to the enemy, nor took in fair fight, but like a weasel sneaked in a hen-roost, nabbed by the rascally land sharks, and clapped in a country jail, for a pettifogging, dirty job, as was not worth the risk of a 11 Well I" It always is the way with them fellows as can't take their liquor in times And seasons like a man," continued Yawmans with an oath. "I never did put no more faith in him than in a leaky old punt; though it warn't for me to speak agin a mate as yer honor seemed to fancy." "He had been unlucky, and I thought to give him a trial. He had a stout arm in time of need." Oh, ay, the lad had pluck, for that matter, but the gun's no use primed and loaded if there's no head to point it. It do seem to me that book larning and logic aint o' much account if it can't keep a man atraightwithhimeelf. However, as I say. he come to grief; and he knowed too much for one or two among us to be quite easy, for he never could keep his tongue from wagging." You helped him to escape V Well, capt'n, that would ha' been all very well, and we'd ha' been glad -to do it, bein' as we bore no malice agin the lad. But we'd made the coast there- abouts pretty hot, and friends were looking shy; it was full time we weighed anchor, and no time to lose. Foulkes, you see, had been spoke with, and wouldn't strike while we was in hail, but it couldn't be done. So one of the chaps got to see him by night, and took him a dram Simeon had particularly a liking for we cast off and on till the next day, and the news went round the place, that when they went to fetch him to court, he was found dead in the ceil-they said he'd poisoned himself. "It could nohow be helped, ye see, capt'n, and, after all, it was one for us all" Poor wretch!" said Meghorn, with a tinge of re- gret in his tone. The mate stirred up his pipe with his finger, and puffed in silence. With a delicate reserve he had modestly forborne to make himself the hero of the tragedy, as he might have done. But he left Saul little in doubt thereby, for he knew the man who had so long been his associate, and valued him none the less for his resources under stern necessity. And you, what have you been about 7 the superior inquired, after a pause. Off and on, yer honour, here and there, up and down; fairly afloat at times, and aground 0' the shoals. I was doing a bit in the bacca line, whfn you give hail; not so bad, nuther, but I threw it al i up when I heerd the old call, and old times seemed to come over me afresh." Ay, ay: and old times and better ones wa'U have too, Mat," said the pirate. It's no small game we'll lly at now; I'm sick of it—sick to death! I long for the brave faces and the glorious lads to rally round me once again; the fair sails shall again swell to the breeze, our music has slumbered too long, and they have'forgotten its voice, but by——— we will Bhowthem it is not dead, and our flag shall again be the terror of the sea!" He raised his arm as he spoke, and swept it over his head; his dark eyes flashed, his breast heaved, and his mighty form seemed to dilate with pride of power and dominion. I,. Ay, that's the capt'n!" exclaimed Yawmans, with an oath; the glorious times I did think was gone for ever come back while I hear you speak." And you have gathered so. many of our men ? the old set V Have I, yer honor ? ay -and they answered to the. call, as I've seen 'em in bygone days to your call from the forecastle, that, let the winds blow and the thun- der roll as it would, we always heerd, and gave us fresh strength and daring to do. Come, capt'n j they'd come through fire and blood to your call 1' "My brave lads, my faithful felloe, t" said Meg horn. "And she's all ready- stores aboard — bound for f "You shall know, Mat; get all halÍds aboard; with those you have named, we shall need but two fresh ones, and to you I leave that. For, Mat, remember, in the rank you fill, my command will be but nomi- nal." "Ay, ay, capt'n, it's all well enough between us two, but devil a bit would the men take Atat Yawmans for head. They like me well enough, but it's Saul Meg: horn they awear by; it's him they flgbt for, and it's that name, capt'n, has stirred many a lad, while hit breath was going from his body, to lift his hand in the fray." They shall have better cause* they shall, and I swear it," said Saul, with knitted brows and flash*- ing eyes, as he struck his breast with his clenched fistl Ay, and I shall lead them on to victory, till the world rings with our names. U Have-you seen her, p "r, Ay, ay, eapfnt his majesty might be proud of her, as I am, to set foot upon her planks." "You went below ( Ay, yer honor, you've been sparing to yourself, by my word; though, for the ^t, you'd make milk- sops of the lads, with thesjMQe you've left 'em. But the inner cabin was locked. "And will be; it I have stints myaelf. Mat, I've got luxuries there. A lady beaMng company." "A what I" Yawmans started and dropped his pipe. My wife I said the pirate, turning upon his sub- ordinate the full force of his gate. At the words, the grim mate lifted his tarpaulin hat, but continued to stare at his "commander in mute aotonisbment. She has been ailing of late, and the sea voyage may do her good," pursued Saul, gloomily, and in a tone which the other well understood not to mean trifling. "Yes," he continued; we shall have a lady aboard the Daredevil, and we shall ifnd our hands none the less steady, nor our guns Ion sure for it, Mat Yaw- mans He would have been a bold man who had dared contradict those words-like the look which accom- panied them, more of defiaQce than affirmation. Whatever thoughts the mate had. he kept them to himself. # r Yes," said Meghorn, after a brief pause, so we lift anchor, and quit this abcursed coast the first week in the month, Yawmanl-wind and weather according." "Wind and weather always did favour you, eapfn," growled the other, as the subject being apparently dismissed, he replaced his hat and stooped to search for an available remnant among the fragments of his E* succeeding, the*e ja little doubt but he viewed the accident as the bat ill omen attending the pro- jected innovation of the feminine element in the free- booters' domain. I don't think I hll,ve any more to say, Yawmans; keep close, get the la.ds in tow, and letfme find them and you at the other meeting-place round the coast." "Ay, ay,capt'n; all shall'be done." "And remember, not one is-to know of what I have just told you." Was there any need to say that now to Mat Yaw- mans?" returned the mate, with an air of wounded innocence. "Thirty years, yer honor, aboard and ashore, might ha' give you ION notion of the old craft better than that." Meghorn waved hia hand in depreatios, and in token that he assented to the justice of the other's remark. A few brief words closed the interview; then the mate-having lighted a lantern swung at his belt- disappeared by the way we saw the pirate enter on a former occasion, and Meghorn was aione." (To be continued.)

MINIE, THE MISER'S DAUGHTER. --+-- Frank was not without the chivalric romance of early youth. He felt himself the protector of the young girl, and planned means of defending her. At the same time he did not like to own all his suspicions and watchings to his uncle, or to any one. He trusted to himself and Bosen. That night he stole from his chamber, and began to patrol before Minie's cottage, but at such a dis- tance that he hoped his footsteps would not be heard. Bosen did hear them, however, and within the house kept up such a barking that Frank knew the young girl must be cruelly alarmed. He tried standing perfectly still, but that did not pacify the dog, whose quick ear or scent assured him of the intruder's con- tinued stay. Frank was expecting the pedlar with such certainty that he feared to go away, so he re- solved to knock, and declare himself, with his reasons for coming. As he approached to do so, he saw the girl's pale face pressed against the window, in the attempt to see the disturber of the night. She knew him in an instant, and threw up the sash. Thank God! it is you," she said. I thought it was the pedlar. Down, Bosen, sir! A friend, bo1 Silence! Do you think I have cause to apprehend danger, Mr. L., that you have come to protect me ?" There was a touching tone of gratitude in her voice, and many things in her words themselves, which struck Frank. She knew him she called him her: friend; and she naively took it for granted that he had come on purpose to protect her. I saw the pedlar watching you to-day, and I was ( fearful he might mean harm; at least, I thought it 1 would be well to be on the look-out to-night; to- 1 morrow he will have left the neighbourhood. But I ( hoped not to disturb or alarm yeu. You have a i watchful dog. Here, Bosen, you must know me better next time. There is my glove, sir. Nose it well, T and remember, old fellow. Be quiet will you now, and let me keep guard in peace? I will remain < until daylight, Miss Wilhelmine, so you may sleep ) fearlessly." v "God bless you!" was the old-fashioned ac- knowledgment of her sense of his kinflnnaa, and the old words, from those young lips, sounded thrillinglj earnest, if they were quaint. Bosen was satisfied that the honesty of the midnight visitor; he wagged hit ponderous tail, and lolling out of the window, licked the air by way of apology for his former suspicions. Then the window was gently closed, and Frank spent the night in dreams, though he did not sleep. The house was undisturbed, and when the earliest fishermen were seen among their boats, Frank went home. He was at his post, the end of the village street, at the usual hour of Minie's arrival on the same morning; but, instead of passing on without sign of recognition, as usual, she advanced to meet him with eagerness, and when near, she begged him to come and see her dog, who seemed to be dying. Frank instantly suspected poison. He hastened to the cottage with the young girl, administered some antidotes, and watched with zeal for signs of improve- ment. They came. He had saved Boson's life, and his mistress s gratitude was past expression, even by her eloquent face. More than ever sure that some evil design was meditated, Frank informed the magistrate, procured a, watch, and established it without the house, for Mime would permit no one to enter it. Bosen was so far recovered that she declared she needed no other protection. It was nearly morning when the pedlar came. He felt sure that the dog was out of the way, for he had seen him devour the poisoned meat, and matters had been so secretly managed in the village, that he had no cause to think any one suspected an attack on the cottage. He approached the house stealthily, bored an auger hole in the door, drew the bolt, and was about to enter, when he stepped back to look at a hatchet which he held in his hand, and to feel its edge. Bosen was quiet; but when the guilty man turned again to enter, ho saw two green eyes in the dark; and the next moment he was felled to the ground with angry teeth at his throat. A shout of triumph resounded in his ears. The dog was taken off; but he was in the hands of justice. This adventure was soon known far and wide, and the miser's daughter was more talked about than ever. She was still the same reserved, silent, isolated, being she had always been but the kind and gentle pastor's wife now made more advances. Though Minie still held her father's words sacred, and proudly avoided favours, she did not refuse motherly counsel, or occasional instructions in household duties, and the proprieties of dress. She not unfrequently took tea at the parsonage, always leaving Bosen on guard, and returning before dark. Mr. L. took care that upon these occasions she Bhould meet with some of the wisest, or most agreeable persons in the village, or with distinguished strangers who frequently visited him. Thus the young girl had the advantage of seeing the best society, and of hearing the topics of the day discussed by the most intelligent minds, though she never entered into conversation herself. Mr. L.'s children were very fond of Minie, and they often came to walk upon the beach, or sit with her upon the rocks, and when Frank returned from his college, he accompanied them. Minie always re- ceived him with unmistakable joy. She was now a beautiful and stately girl; interest- ing, by reason of her lonely life, and lovely nature, to strangers even. But to Frank she was the peer- low woman, the queen of the world, in her own right of noble soul, and gentle goodness, and glorious beauty. But what lent the crowning charm to all, she acknowledged him, I will not say her lord and master, bat her cherished, most admired, and best beloved friend. She disdained all concealment of her warm feelings towards him. Hers was a loyal heart, and it was not ashamed of its loyalty. She was proud of its strength of devotion. She was naturally dignified and reserved; but Frank read through it all her surpassing lova for him; and at last, when worldly prudence warranted the step, he told her his love for her, in "words that burn," and asked her if she could consent to share the hard life of a country clergyman. It was a tough battle for her to fight; bnt she con- quered, and answered, after many minutes of; Btruggle— "No. She would be faithful unto the end. Until her father's return, she would not abandon the charge he had "given her." Frank urged reasonable objections to waiting any longer j but with eager, trembling ;haste, she looked beseechingly at him, ana «ai<*— 46 Do not tempt me! Frank, you know my own heart wants to be a traitor to its duty. Do not tempt it." ■_ He began another entreaty, when stopping her ears, she said- If A b; then f must not listen! No, Frank, I will never listen to you again rfntil I have obtained 811 father's consent. I dare not let yon speak so to me. Frank L. was ordained, and obtained the curacy of a church but a short distance from where Igsis lived, and they frequently met at the parsonage* Her only wish now was to fit herself to be his wife, and to be able to fulfil all the duties of hep station to his satisfaction. She was far superior in mind, and discipline of character, to any of the womeil o' the village. A man in a much higher station than Frank's might have been proud of her and Mr. In- sincerely rejoiced that his nephew had been so fortu- nate in loving. The five years had nearly expired. Every day. morning and evening, Mmie was at her old watch on the cliff, and the villagers saw her standing like some statue of warning, watching the sea, her form looking almost supernatural ly tall against the dear sky or the storm clouds. If any vessel came in she made ready at home, and awaited in intense suspense, until all hope of her father's arrival in it then was out of the question. For one week before her twenty-fin* birthday, she spent the whole day long on the rocks, watching fixedly, or walking to and fro in uncon- trollable restlessness. Not a ship entered during the endre week. When the day at last arrived, Mr. L., the magis- trate, and Frank met, by invitation, at her house, to open her father's will. She laid it on the table before them, and sat quietly down. She had spent the pre- vious night in gnef. She gave up all hope of her father. She knew now that he was lost, and the long-cherished delusion left her affectionate heart desolate when it vanished. The will was a matter of no moment to her; she knew it was but to tell how to dispose of his gold. It was read aloud. Old Peter O.'s immense property was all left to his daughter, except two small sums, one for building a new stone pier, and the other for buying a town clock to be put in the tower of the church. Minie was left executrix, together with the magistrate of the village. She was not, however, left absolutely uncontrolled in the use of her property. One half of it was in- vested in such a way that she could only obtain the interest of it, while the rest was all her own to do as she pleased with. This was carefully explained to her by the gentlemen, and then they took leave, and Minie was left alone. It was a week before she was again seen by any one, except Mr. L., who duly called at her house, and held conversations with her, ihe.resnlt of which was that she placed a paper in the hands of the magis- trate, to be put into a legal form, giving the whole half of the property which was at her disposal, for benevolent purposes, to different institutions. The astonished man went to remonstrate with her, and ask her if she knew what she was about. Certainly," she said. What to do with even the income which yet remained to her, she was sadly puzzled to know." "You might marry the highest man in the county, with your property, and be the lady of the manor somewherp. Ob, madam, you don't know what a splendid future you are sacrificing." Smiling at the suddenly acquired title of madam, and still more o at the bewildered brain of the lawyer, she persisted in her benefactions, and dismissed him. That evening, accompanied by Bosen, who was no longer left at home, now, that the treasure was Minie's own, she went to the parsonage, and before she left, said to Mr. L., in a calm, low voice— The next time you see Frank, tell him I should like to speak to him, if you please." Now Frank, startled at finding Minie such an heiress, and fearful of misconstruction of his motives should he now address her, knowing, besides, that she could command far more brilliant matches, had re- turned home without calling upon ber, after the reading of the will, and she had heard nothing of him smce. Minie was sure of his heart. The minister's wife enlightened her as to his scruples. It never entered into her head to let conventionalities part them, so she naively sent him the message to come to her. When he arrived, she was standing on the rock- surrounded beach, watching the tide rolling in, with her hand on Bosen's head. She heard Frank's foot- step, and her eyes dilated with a warm glow but she I she did not go to meet him, or even turn to look at him. He stood by her side, and then she turned her head away from him, and looked far out upon the I waters, while she said- "Speak on. I'm ready to listen." I Frank's words, few at first, but rich and deep with smotion, brought a tide of happiness, full and perfect, to the woman's soul, and as if the old familiar ocean were in sympathy with her, its spring-tide waters ;rept up the sands, until they kissed her heedless I reet. When at 'her marriage, Mr. L. addressed a few words to the assembled congregation, he said, She a daughter, and faithful over a few things. *od has made her ruler over many. And beneficently las she begun her reign." las she begun her reign." TV: THB MTM. 1 -W- of t.O,.

THE LADIES." IN what is called the brute creation the male is always the most adorned.. Contrast the peacock, lion, a&> goldfinch, chanticleer (Plre), cock-robin, and ev*? the male butterfly, with peahen, lioness, doe, hen, and the lady pwpilio. On one side* the hues of the rainbow ;on the other, tints decidedly subdued and sub- tuse. Of course, there are handsome men; but beauty, so far as generic display is concerned, belongs alone to women, Decidedly the brute creation "has the best ot it. They control their females; WO are the slaves Of our ladies. And yet some of us thiqk ourselves the superior creation. This is, as I said, only a protest; and a protest it must remain. Observe — Nature ownB a reuunine appeltation. lhavo pasaedtheexeitable- sentimental epoAA; and I speak collectedly, and without passion. Moreover I, defy refutation of my atate- ment regarding popular fallacies concerning "The Juadies." For instance, here is one,- for which those rhaoso- dists, the poets, are responsible, with their iteration of rairy footfall," and dew- brushing step and aftr, fa^y Lilian," ad nauseam. J You just look at the flattened beetle, the smashed dandelion, and the Anprem,in the mud of airy, fairy 8'' foot, and,then talk to me of dew-brushing, and flowers that scarce bent beneath her tread yourromantis seJf where that inquisitive beetle or helpless dandelion was when Lilian walked on eitber. Ju„t pjcjc np ««airy, fairy Lilian" yourself, and run up a hill with her, and see if you can, at the con- clusion of the athletic feat/whistle The Shadow Air from Dinorah" without a gasp. +v, f to ">« practical, and I say that it is a fallacy t women weigh nothing. You can't blow them away with a breath. A well-put-otgether, healthy girl weIghs about one hundred and forty pounds, and you can t cnuck her over your shoulder and carry her off in, the smoke. Yet we are expected, when we assist a lady i *° merely wave the hand in which is planted the tiny boot," and the sylph bounds safely to her perch. Try the Bylph Belinda, and look at her boot, and do it' my Wend, if you can; and you can't, unless you belong to a Turnverein, and can throw fifty hundred- weights over your left shoulder without pausing. If there be no Belinda handy, let my male reader carry 013 sister (a cousin is better, and more agreeable practice), up a steep flight of stairs, and afterwards communicate his bodily exhaustion, with a medical testimony (now very popular) as to the condition of hIS pulse and the action of his heart. The cousin øay, I admit, have something to do with any acceleration of thelatter. Again, and for this all sentimentalists are responsible, tjk0re 's a fallacy that "The Ladies" eat nothing. Hee-haws, who stare at candle-lit window-blinds behind which their divinity in blue is supposed to be combing her locks and sitting in dreamy drapery," are welcome to the phantasy. I have grown up daughters, and I know that healthy young women do eat; and young Hee-haw should pay their butcher's bills for a quarter if he wants to be disillusioned. Wait np is married, thafs all! Of course, a pretty, attractive girl does DOt" take. meal --that is the term—before Ofmon. Not she! she can t. She has been well fed before she graces the supper-table, and a butterfly's wing A la Mac6doine is ~Vplenty thank you!" there and then. But your girls want plenty1 of animal food; and in the privacy at home she consumes as much, or nearly as much, as her schoolboy brother. u-epa the case of Viol ante in the pantry gnawing bone^" and her mode of proceeding is allied to that typical heroine's; we can fancy how she gnawed it, how she clawed it, when she found herself alone!" jp6re 'he gist of the prooedaw. Women don't eat. don't theyP All this nimsease » "till accepted. •further. Whyam I expelled from mv club for cneatmg at whist, When "The Ladies" unblushingly substitute cards of power for useless ones, and dodge j aces and tens at viagt-etun, without as much as an objection from their victims ? I suppose what is honesty isn't 6 8anc*er ou?ht to he honesty for the goose; but it; J more. I am (we will say) week-chested, cachectic man, and I am amongst a company in ant j omnibus. A stiff north-east wind 1» blowing,^and 1 tnere prevails no little sleet, cutting your cheeks and searching out your very marrow. The omnibus stops,: ] and the conductor (knowing the'popular prejudice) 1 has no compunction in asking me" to Bit outside to < oblige a lady." The conductor is perfectly iu the I < right; he trades on the ridiculous fallacy; I am ai j victim to it. The sturdy, ruddy* raw-boned « good-for- ninety 11 woman takes mv warm seat, and L the weak- j chested, nervous, cold-catching man, whose life means ( oread to my-children, "sit outside to oblige a lady!"i Unoe again, If I say, and persist m saying, rude things to one of my own sex, I run the risk of having ,j personal chastisement inflicted on me (of course I am not supposing myself a critic that raee is exempt):1 but a lady may say the most insolent, cruel, and malicious things of you, and to you» and you must bow and smile. She may strike you, and, being often the stronger vessel, may soundly thrash you, but no dissent. ing voice is raised. Though she has unsexed herself by assuming man's mode of quarrel, you the man must 3 not retaliate. Ruffian .says Twaddle, the^melodrama- ] strike a woman ? T j °' dear in this, as in other points, that" The < Ladies may enjoy all the privileges of men Without < incurring the attendant responsibilities.—Robert Seeoe t .in lJarth. I E ]

LADIES' COLUMN THE FASHIONS. Spring dresses are commencing to occupy Our atten- tion (says the Paris correspondent of the Queen), although for the present (which is a demi stttson) black faille dresses are more popular than any others. The newest black' silk costumes are -much trimmed with narrow black lace plaitings, and are made with double or triple tunics draped on the cross. The coat bodice is smartened with a coloured waist- coat, for which a new style of brocade is in favour. The ground of this brocade is faille, and the brocade consists of stripes as well as small motifs, as stars, &c.; and these always contrast with the stripes—such as cerise with green stripes, or yellow with blue stripes. But the plaitings of black lace will be quite a feature in spring toilettes. The black Sicilienne mantelets and visites are trimmed with them, so are the black Indian cashmere mantle pelisses. Their principal rival will be the new chenille fringes, which are not twisted, the strands falling straight, and looking very brilliant and as fluffy as though they were long fronds of split feathers; and hence the name of this novelty-frange de chenille plume. For costumes for day wear Indian cashmere will be the most popular (as it has been for the past year), and several new and bold ideas will be attempted in the early spring aresses. I have seen a grenat cashmere dress made with three tunics on one side, each bordered with gold embroidery; and a prune cashmere, orna- mented with three rows of embroidered forget-me note and moss. Some skirts will be made with three deep flounces, kilted in front, and reaching abeve the knee; the straight train, looped up à la Merveilleuse through a satin strap; sometimes the plaitings are orna- mented with a satin cross-band. To show how popu- lar Indian cashmere is, no less than six costumes of it were ordered for the Royal Spanish bride. One was Indian blue (a pale tint), intended for a theatre dress; the second was willow green, the third bronze green, the fourth indigo blue, the fifth mauve and trimmed with magnificent lace—this made an exquisite robe de chambre; the sixth was the ne/v style, opal in colour and shot as it were with colours and all manner of changeable shades. The new paletots of light cloth are made without a seam down the centre of the back; as it is discovered that, however becoming many long seams may be in backs of thick materials, thin fabrics look best with few seams. Jackets will be close-fitting and shapely, outlining the figure, and will be shorter than those now worn. The jauntiest of the spring wraps will be the coats that fasten over the cheet with a single button, and show a waistcoat below. They are some- what masculine in shape, material, and style. The mania for beads and bead trimmings is likely to continue; the clair de lune and jet beads for spring, but for summer old gold amber and rainbow beads will be largely used on bonnets, dresses, and mantles. Beaded plastrons, large collars, waistcoats, panels, cuffs, and pockets are now being manufactured in 'i great variety of form and colour. Large plaques for buttons are made entirely of beads, and the new pessementeries hate diamond-shaped beaded orna- ments. Sleeves will continue to be made in the coat shape; bat when warm weather comes they will be probably Jho-ter, reaching midway between elbow and wrist. Bodices WIll be trimmed with either fringe or galon, bo simulate fs yoke. Cambria dresses will be made with basques and waistbands, and have deep, square ] collars, shaped like a yoke, and edged with eitber white embroidery or Bussian lace. The Carrick col- 1 Lars will be worn on both blouse polonaises and sorine pferietots.. 8 1 1

USEFUL HINTS. SAVOY CABBJMH SOUP.-Take half a Savoy cabbage, shred it very finely, and set it to boil in stock free from fat and well flavoured; parboil a teacupful of rice, and when the cabbage has boiled for ten minutes throw it in to finish cooking with the rice; when both sore thoroughly done, put in a handful of grated Par meeian cheese, and serve. HARICOT BJWf Boup.-Boil some red haricot beans in water, with a couple of onions, a few cloves, pepper and salt to taste, a bead of celery* and some parsley; when thoroughly done drain the water from them, and pass them through a hair sieve. Melt a piece of butter in a saucepan, add the beans, and as much vegetable stock as will bring the soup to the proper consistency. When it boils, stir into it, off the fire, the yolks of two eggs, beaten up with a little mtilr 0r cream,, and strained; serve with sippets of fried bread. WHIN the voice is lost, as is sometimes the cass, from the effects of cold, a simple remedy is furnished by beating up the white of one egg, adding to it the juice of one lemon, and sweetening with white sugar to the taste. Take a teaapoonful from time to time. PEELING POTATOES.—AU the starch in potatoes is found very near the surface; the heart contains but little nutriment. Ignorance of this fact may form a plausible excuse for those who cut off thick parings, but none to these who know better. Circulate the injunction: Pare thin the potato skin." THE Medical Examiner reeommonds the following simple plan for testing milk: Dip a well-polished knitting-needle into a deep vessel of milk, and im- mediately withdraw it in an upright position. If the milk be pure, some of the fluid will adhere to the needle; should water have been added, there will be no adhesion of fluid. How. TO PBEBEKVE MILK.—Pour the milk into a bottle, and place the vessel up to its neck in a sauoe- panful of water, which is then to be put on the fire, and allowed to boil for a quarter-of an-hour. The bottle is now to be removed from the water and oare- fully closed with a good and tight-fitting eork, so as to render it as air-tight as possible. Milk which has been preserved by this process has been kept for more than t. year without turning sour. Milk may also be pre- served by putting a tablespoonful of horse radish, scraped in shreds, into a panful of milk. When milk thus treated is kept in a cool place, it will be found to keep good for several days, even in hot weather.— Caste il's Household Guide. KING BA.BY.-While on the subject, let me utter my word of protest against the custom which gains in the present day, of bringing infants up either partially or entirely upon artificial food. I know for a fact that there are many women who can, but will not, nurse their infants; and there are many more who fancy they really cannot, but would find they could, if they would give up all excite- ment, and lead quiet: regular lives, partaking of a plain but nourishing diet. There are many articles of food which increase the supply of milk, and by a judicious choice of diet one may do a great deal. Children fed with nature's food have better constitu tions, and are better able to resist the attacks of in fantile. disease, with which some children are so afflicted. Thera is no doubt that in nursing her own infant the mother is laying the ground- work of a stronger, healthier constitution than she can ever hope for him if he be artificially nourished- Can any mother, knowing this, refuse to make an effort for her child's sake ? If so, she is a dishonour to her sex. And to you mothers who will not nurse your infants, I say this: You do not know the dose and enthralling affection which exists between a smother, and baba. Any one else can fill your place, and you cannot understand the delightful feeling of being all in all, -the one necessary object to the little being who is, indeed, part and parcel pf youuseli. You deaerve to have your child love; some one pise better than yourself, and it isnst unlikely that be. the c&§e.—Cassell's Family Magazine.. —*—■ i, •

THB DOOM OF BUCKINGHAM:.—" The Doom of Buckingham," the heading of one of Sir Bernard Burke's sections, ia well justified by the fatality which seems to haunt the possessors of the dukedom. It was first bestowed On Humphrey de Stafford, who, with his eldest son, fell in the wars of the Roses. His second son and successor in the title was the fridnd and victim of Richard the III., in whose honour Oibber interpolated the famous line which has made the fortune of more than one provincial actor. The sad story of the third duke may also be read in Shakespeare. He had imprudently defied Wolsey, who found no difficulty m trumping up a charge of treason, upon which the duke was found guilty by hip peers and- beheaded on Tower Hill. When the Emperor Charles V. heard of this execution, he is reported to have exclaimed, "A batcher's dog has killed the finest buck in England." The ducal title became extinct by his attainder, and the revival of the barony proved only a transitory gleam, for the male lice expired towards the middle of the seventeenth century with .Roger Stafford, who during much of an unhappy life bore the name of Fludd or Floydt. His sister married a joiner, and was the mother of the Newport cobbler already mentioned as entitled to quarter the toyal arms. The first Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, fell by the knife of Felton. The death-bed of the second hasjbeen immortalised by Pope, and the moral is little weakened by the assurance ] that instead of- In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, The walls of plaster, and the fleors of dung, 1 we should read, "in a well-furnished apartment of his steward's house." Sheffield, Duke of Bucking- ham, so created in 1703, reflected quite as much lustre on the title as he derived from it; but his race ended j with his son, who died of consumption at Bo*ne before attaining his majority. — Biographical and Critical Esaayt. 1 „ « :i*jjTij n*>n i:: IV ft'•

VARIETIES. FiMvmw.—If a word spoken in its time is worth one piece of money, silence in its time is worth two. Wvxxx-—Hard work prevents worry. "Work, but don't worry," the old saw says: but some people don't work, so they take it out in worrying. GOOD SEKSB NEBDKD.—NO branch of business can be successfully prosecuted without labour, and it is equally true that a fair amount'of intelligence is needed in order to succeed. Poverty is only a misfortune when wishes keep purse strings; indeed, it would seem to be the normal con- dition of man, for neither banks, stocks, dividends houses, nor rents were dreamed of in Eden. After all! no man is poor who does not think so. THINK VIGOROUSLY.-Accustom yourself to think vigorously. Mental capital, like pecuniary, to "be worth anything, must be well invested—must be rightly ad- justed and applied, and to this end careful, deep and intense thought is necessary if great results are looked for. There is no such thing as standing still in this world. Change is the eternal law of nature. A HERo.-The greatest man is he who chooses right with the most invincible resolution, who re- sists the sorest temptation from within and without who bears the heaviest burdens cheerfully, who is the calmest in the storm, and the most fearless under menaces and frowns, whose reliance on tenth, on virtue, and on heaven is most unfaltering. PROSPERITY.—Let not prosperity elate thine heart beyond measure, neither depress thy soul into the grave because fortune beareth hard against thee. Her smiles are not stable, therefore build not confidence upon them; her frowns endure not for ever, therefore let hope teach thee patience. To bear adversity well is difficult; but to be temperate in prosperity is the height of wisdom. Good and ill are the test by which thou art to know thy constancy; nor is there aught else that can tell thee the power of thine own soul. CULTIVATED TASTE.-That it is a misfortune not to be able to appreciate flowers, music, or paintings in their joy-giving sense, is a fact not to be denied! A friend of ours, rather practical, determined to correct her own defects in her children. She and her husband were very practical in their nature, having very little love or taste for flowers, music, or poetry and, like a sensible woman, she realized this defect' and earnestly wished to counteract it in her children' Hence she improved every Opportunity to carry out this idea, even commencing to train them from the cradle, striving to make their, surroundings tasteful and beautiful. The result was entirely satisfactory, and the older children, now young men and women, exhibit not alone, the strong sense of their ysmn+a but also possess the -charm of cultivated taste and manners. THBWiLLow.PATTERNPLATE.—A contemporary gives this description of the willow-pattern plate. To the right is a mandarin's country seat. In the fore- ground is a pavilion; in the background an oranjre- tree; and to the right a peach-tree in full bearing. The estate is enclosed by a fence. At one end of the bridge is the famous willow-tree, and at the other a gardener's cottage. At the top of the plate, left-hand side, is an island with a cottage on it, The birds are doves. The three figures are the mandarin's daughter with a distea, in her hand, the lover, and the man- darin. The stpry is as follows. The mandarin had an only daughter, Li-Chi, who fell in love with Chang, her father's secretary, and he lived in the island cottage at the top of the plate. The mandarin forbade the match, and the lovers eloped, and lay concealed for a time in the gardener's cpttage, and from there made their escape to the island home of the lover. The father pursued them with a whip, and would have beaten them to death had not the gods, changed 1 into turtle-doves. It is called the' .willow-pattern 1 because at the time of the elopement the willow began i to shed its leaves. } CURIOUS LEGEND.—The Irish have a curious legend respecting what they call "Blaiad na oze;" in other words, The blossom of youth." The legend is this. An Irishman at one period went to Denmark, where he was hospitably received, much to his astonishment. He was taken into immediate favour by those among whom he visited. He was told that in a certain part of the county of Limerick, from which it appears he came, there was a crock of gold hidden under a white- thorn bush in a garden, which was so clearly pointed! out to him that there could be no mistaking the locality. He was further told that among the gold was a remarkable circular piece or coin, with which he should return to Denmark, but that he might become the possessor of all the gold in the crock with the ex- ception of that particular circular piece. The Irishman was obedient to the letter. He returned to Denmark with the circular piece, and kept for himself all but that. The Danes were rejoiced. A very aged Dane, having been rubbed with the wonderful circular piece of gold, at once became young again, fresh and vigorous as in the days of his boyhood. So with other Danes. "You have brought back," said they, "the Blaiad no oze,' the blossom of youth, and Ireland shall be poor evermore." A FINE TuRBOT -There is A good story told in connection with the Irish famine of 1847-8. A hard- working practical clergyman, of oonsiderableexperi- «oce induing with the poor, was sent over tothe ^f6st .? £ IreL?V*' superintend the distribution of tx j v been collected in this country. He had heard so much of the misery of those by whom he was surrounded, that he had naturally determined to exercise the greatest personal self-denial as regarded his own food; what was his disgust, then, on finding the dinner at the clergyman's house at which he was stopping to commence with a splendid turbot, fit only for an alderman's table, and which could not have been bought even at Billingsgate-market under a couple of guineas !an indignation heightened when the worthy rector called his wife's attention to the iact that that epicure's bonne-bouche, the fins, had been cut off. To vent his indignation, he sternly refused to eat a mouthful. The rector's wife was at her wit's end to know what to do, for there was nothing to follow. The conversation with regard to the fins, however, continued: "I am sure, my dear, Nora is an excellent manager. The fish was only one-and- twopence, and she couldn't get it into the copper without outtmg the fins." "Excuse me," suddenly said the stranger, "but I will alter my mind and have some Rah" and a hearty meal he made. He 'had forgotten the part of the country he was in, and had attributed the magnificent display of fish to Irish recklessness and improvidence, instead of .to strict Aconomv. 'I' Miss BUJINBY'S MISTAKE.—The not unnatural result of these interviews, and of all this royal condescen- sion, was, that the better judgment both of Frances and her father gave way to a sense of delight and half-unconscious self exaltation; and on the Queen's ottering the post of Keeper of the Royal Robes, vacated e, by the retirement of a German lady, to the successful novelist, she. unwisely accepted it. She had better have remained faithful to literature. The public'was a more liberal patron than Queen Charlotte, and was willing to give her not only reputation but a iiand- spme competency, while allowing her to retain her freedom of action and to enjoy the happiness of her home-circle. It is astonishing that Miss Barney, 4, 1 with her prudent and well-balanced mind, should not have appreciated these considerations. For what had the Queein to offer r Board, lodging, the attendance of a man-servant and two hundred pounds a 'year! In return for this, Frances had to consent to an almost complete separation from her family, to what was little else than a painfull^- close imprisonment, and the dedication of all her faculties to the observance of a fatiguing and ridiculous etiquette! She had to give up the exercise of those remarkable talents by which She had amused and instructed thousands. Instead ot visiting on equal terms with the distinguished men and women of the time, she had fo accept the fbrfeed companionship of the chitif fceeper of the robes, "ati old hag from Germany, of mean understanding, of insolent manners, and of temper which, naturally savage, had been exasperated by disease." For sucn a mess of pottage did Frances Burney surrender her birthright. Never was a more unequal or more disastrous bargain made.—" Women of F"Idon," by W. B. D. Adams. EARTH FROM, BORNEQ.—The following very curious story is told^about D<»otor Fotthergill, who lived in the eighteenth century, and was a celebrated physician and botanist. A merchant-vessel came into the London Docks with yellow, fever; tJre captain and crew were suffering severely from it, and no one would go near the sufferers. Doctor Fothergill however went on board, partly out of compassion, and partly from a desire to study a disease which was new to him, and he removed the captain to his own house, and finally succeeded in getting him through the fever. When the captain recovered, he inquired of the doctor whit he was in his debt, but Fothergill refused to receive any payment. The captain then wished to know how he could compensate him for such kindness; upon which the doctor replied that there was one thing, he. could do for him-if he were making a voyage to the East, and would pass through the Straits of Macassar by Borneo, he should be glad if he would bring hijn back two barrels full of the earth of Borneo, which the captain promised to do. However, when he reached the spot on his voyage out, he thought of the ridicule he must experience from his crew in so strange an undertaking, and his heart failed him, and he sailed through the straits without fulfilling his inten- tion. On his return by the same route the same thing happened again through his fear of the scoffs of his crew. However, after he had left the straits two hundred miles behind him, his conscience smote him with ingratitude and the non-fulfilment of his pro- T6' anf ^Pfilli V lP S h,ead about> returned to the spot, and filled the barrels with the earth. On his return he sent them to Doctor Fothergill who had 9 ground thoroughly burned, the Borneo earth, when it is a known fact that there came up all kinds of HTf cunous plants, said to be one hundred diffe- 8™» some geraniums and new flowers, which bave^subsequently spread through the gardens ef Look not mournfully into the past, it eaaaot tWtmrn; j wisely improve the present, it is time go forth to r meet the shadowy future without fear, and with a manly heart. j Have courage enough to review your own condnct; to condemn it where you detect faults; to am«nd it to the best of your ability; to make good resolves for y°^-1* guidance, and to keep them. Winter, which strips the leaves from around u% makes us see the distant regions they formerly con* cealed; so doea old age rob ua of our enjoyments, only to enlarge the prospect of eternity before us. STUDY OF MBANS-HOW foolish it is to imagine that the earnest study of means cripples genius. It is only -from a mastery of them that free creative power can emanate it is only when familiar with all the paths which have already been trodden, and moving with ease in them, that the mind can discover new ones BEAUTY.—Never lose an opportunity of seeing any. thing beautiful. Beauty is God's handwriting, a way- side sacrament; welcome it in every fair face, every fair sky, every fair flower, and thank Him for it, the fountain of loveliness; and drink it in, simply and earnestly, with your eyes; it is a charmed draught a cup of blessing. IDLENESS IS UNNATURAL.—There is not a man, or a thing alive, but has tools to work with. The basest oi created animalcules, the spider itself, has a spinning jenny, and a warping-mill and power-loom within its head; the stupidest of oysters has a Papin's digester, with a stone and lime-house to hold it in. How un- natural then is idleness! ObiqinALITY.—People talk of originality. What do they mean P As soon as we are born th e surrounding world begins to operate upon us, and so on to the end; and, after all, what can we truly call our own but energy, power, and will? Could I point out all I owe to my great forerunners and con- temporaries, truly there would remain but little over. -Goethe. TRANQUILLITY OF MiND.-Neither rich furniture, nor abundance of gold, nor a descent from an illus- trious family, nor greatness of authority, nor elo- quence and all the charms of speaking, can secure so great a serenity of life as a mind free from guilts untainted, not only from actions, but from purposes that are wicked. By this means the soul will be not only unpolluted, but undisturbed; the fountains will ran clear and unsullied, and the streams that flow from it will be just and honest deeds, ecstacies of satisfaction, a brisk energy of spirit which makes a man. an enthusiast in his joys, and tenacious memory sweeter than hope, which (as Pindar saith) with a virgin warmth nourijheth old age. For as censers, even after they are ejinpty, do for, a long time retain their fragrance, aaCarneades expresseth it, so the good actions. of a wise man perfume his mind and leave a rich scent behind them; so that joy is, as it were, watered with these essences, and owes its flourishing to them. This makes him pity those who not only bewail, but accuse human life, as if it were only a region of calamities and a place of banishment appointed for souls.—Plutarch. DKRBY DAY ON EpsOM DOWNS.—Here is our author's account of the scene presented on Epsom Downs on Derby Day, which is probably as novel to English readers as it was to the writer himslf" Good humour and unreserved merriment; classes mingle; P-, one of our party, has has met his usual coach- man at table with a gentleman, two ladies, and a child. The gentleman had employed, and then invited, tho coachman; the coachman introduces P-, who is amicably compelled to drink port, sherry, etout, and ale. In fact, to-day it is hail fellow, well met; but this lasts for a day only, after the manner of the ancient saturnalia. On the morrow distinctions of tank will be as strong as ever, and the ooachman will be respectful, distant, as is his wont. Another of our mbnds perceives a gentleman of his acquaintance, who has come in an omnibus, bringing with him his daughter, and his lady acquaintances—eight ladies in all, stopped in passing, we are obliged to drink and eat; our reception is frank, jovial, and cordial; this gentleman, who had never seen me before, invites me to visit him in the country."—Taines' u NOÚ8 on England. THB MODBRN FRENCH DRAMA.—If the dramatist will consent to make his art a form of journalism, he will always have to sacrifice the ideal interest to the rhetorical, the interest of passion to the interest of controversy, and, after all, he will feel that he has confused the issue. Ever since the Restoration-if we should not say ever since the days of Diderot and Beaumarchais—the French drama has supported its unparalleled vitality by keeping to this level. Its predilection for one class of subject is not altogether an accident of French Society. Something is wanted M called the bin Jagannath, and represents a hideous moving palace, with a reeking still at the roof, md vast, gin barrels for wheels, under which unhappy millions are crushed to death. An immense black cloud of desolation covers over the country through which the gin monster has pressed, ,dimly looming through the darkness, whereof you see an agreeable prospect of gibbits, with men dangling, burnt houses, &c. The vast cloud comes sweeping on in the wake of the horrible body-crusher.' "—Hunter's Orrtssa" THE FIGHT WITH LIONS.—Livingstone went out one day with others of the Tillage to assist in killing one of the lions. They discovered their game on a small tree-covered hill. The circle of hunters at first formed loosely round the spot, and then gradually closed up, and became compact as they advanced towards it. Mebalwe, a native schoolmaster, who was with Livingstone, seeing one of the lions sitting tiie "ng> fired, but missed him, the i ilL S!?g tiie rock at the feet of the animal, which, bitting first at the spot struck, bounded away, broke through the circle and escaped, the natives not avuig the courage to stand close and spear him in the attempt, as they should have done. The circle re-formed, having yet within it two other lions, at which the pieoes could not be fired lest some of the men on the other side should be hit. Again there was a bound and a roar, and yet again; and the natives scattered and iled, while the lions went forth free to continue thbir devastations. But they did not seem to have retreated far, for, as the party were going round the-, end. of ahill on their way home to the village, there was one of the lordly brutes sitting upon a piece of rock, as though he had purposely planted himself there to enjoy their defeat and wish them good-bye." It was about thirty yards from Livingstone, who, raising his gun, fired both barrels into the little bush behind where the lion was sitting. A cry was raised, He is shot, he is shot," and the natives were about to rush in upon him, when Livingstone, who had noticed the tail of the brute raised in anger, warned them not to do sol Wood's "Dr. Livingstone and the Cannibals." WAS SHAKESPEARE A PRINTER ?—There is hardly a. trade or profession which does not claim Shake- speare as having belonged to it. The late Lord Chancellor Campbell we know, proved the poet to have been a lawyer, from the legal terms employed in hi. dramas, and similarly, some enthusiast or other has shown, him to have been a soldier, a sailor, and d°Z!f, ° professions. We now find all previous ^ong, and that the poet really was i r- William Blades, the eminent Caxton scholar, and a man with practical knowledge of the ? r 8 has just written a book on the subject, tv which, in the Athenmum, we learn inat the result is striking, and proves, at least, that Shakespeare was familiar with the technical terms of a printing office." Among the instances of technical terms" used by the poet, and brought forward by Mr. Blades, our literary contemporary thinks two stronger than the others. The question, in Henry IV., Come we to full points hen ? And are etceteras nothing P is one. The second is the re- ference in Pericles to the four opposing coigns, which the world together joins," though, to be "a just description of a form in folio when two quoins on one side are always opposite to two quoinn on the other." If this process were pursued, Shf.k'espeare could be proved to have been almost anytbing. Mr. Blades, we see, makes out that the poel. knew the "nonpariel type" of 1650, which, con.g\(jerjn„ he died in 1616, is something remarkable. He may as well have made him a Saturday Re .'Ù;¡('f!1', because he occasionally says smart things. In reference to the sort of arguments employed by lir. Blads, and peopL. like him, who deduce their. conclusions from internal evidence of the dramas themselves -11 we can the etceteras m we 'J*