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

TO ARTHUR. "t \n rcy lonely chamber, and a band plays on the j, shore,— ey are playing Annie Laurie, and the Indv of Elsi- And T°re' "I shut my eyes and listen, and think I hare crossed 1'h toe sea, "'t I hear the must!: in Woodstock, and you are once more with me. a a beautiful July evening—oh, do ycu remember it W *00? f 6 l^tened to AunieLaurie, while the light of the moon v • Was new; nd I said to you that moment-" When I am far W aWay, • e Wl'l think of this night, ami each other, wherever a band shall play." 1 think of you here this evening, and my tears fall ho p ai-d fast, 3f tne pain oF our present parting, and the joy of our T lovely past; ere is no one to smile derision, and I am not ashamed As to sigh, s the chords of the plaiative music float out on the air and die. W QuId I had bsen Annie Laurie, and we had lived long sago, so thl.t our heads at this moment together were lying E i°w' ot belter itT,vere to be resting, away from this trouble IhanaDfd pain, a to feel, as we do, in our loving-we never may meet again!

THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR, TWICE WED. CHAPTER XXVI. COMPANY. 1 TT "AVE been quite looking forward to your coming," thId Agnes, joyously, as she assisted her visitors, and en collecting bonnet, hat, and shawl, stowed them ay» behind the baize screen, in her apology for a furoom. "You may be quite sure ic isn't many ^itors I have in this poor place," It's very clean and nice," said Nelly, as she looked her. "Well, jou know, in London, the higher one gets better; and, though the stairs are tiring, we p" the air a deal better; besides that, I have the tiding to myself, for there's no one lives up here, nd that, you know, is a good deal, when one has to pay for every bit of room one uses." II Yes," said the elder woman, with a sigh, as, in 4nge contrast, there rose the picture of a cottage tofte, whose door opened upon the wind-swept cliffs, here the never-resting waves sent their music upward .ay and night, and the eyes were not freer than the to roam whither they would. I think it must be so different to you," said lafel68' com"1S from country, as you have so .Nelly shook her head. "It's use a good deal," said, and I shall get used, after a time, I sup- it is more for her," ana she pointed to little who, true to instinct had got close to the press "here stood the balsam, and was gazing up with P&rted lips and admiring eyes at the rich blossoms. "Are you so fond of flowers, darling ?" asked Agnes, "lth unwonted tenderness even in her soft voice. c. Oh, yes," the child exclaimed, it is so pretty." You haven't seen any flowers this long while, my said Nelly, as the child, now catching sight of geraniums at the high window, broke into fresh ^'ration. But she'll have some now," said the kindbearted Stress of the room, rising; and, in spite of all the ^treaties of Nelly, that she would not rob herself, she r°ke off a full blossom from the balsam, added to it *8Pray of geranium from the glass on the mantel- •aelf, and gave them to Ida, whose sparkling and eager thanks told how she valued the gift. The little stool from the chimney-corner was set on hearth between the two women, and Ida seated for the time, apparently finding sufficient en- joyment in the mere contemplation of her treasures. You must try and get away from Tyndall's-build- lngs," said Agnes, cheeringly it is a bad place every !Va.y; a nice room at the top of the house would be Just the thing and darling could have a few flowers and a bird, perhaps—eh, dear ?" She stoop d over the child and kissed her; then lifted her to her lap, and putting one arm around her, pressed her closely to her breast. The hardships and trials of the past months had told upon mother and child sadly. The. rosy bloom *he little face was exchanged for deep pallor, and dark eyes looked larger from the falling away of the rounded cheeks. She had grown, though, con- siderably in the time, and was sail for her age, and far tnore slim and slighter, in proportion, than the Senteelest of mothers could have desired. And how do you get on now with the boxes? do you find it any easier ?" Agnes asked. Oh, much better—much," replied Nelly; it was very kind of you to come and show me for it was Just that one thing made it difficult; and when that Iras mastered, the rest came easy." (( "Oh, indeed, it is all easy,"returned the younger and, when they are busy again, I'll come round and you how to manage the ornamenting, that pays twice as well; there's no reason in the world why you shoUld not get the very bt at work of all. Though, in- deed, it pays best working at the place; but that You coul cl not manage ? Ndlv looked at Ida, and shook her head. "So, indeed, you couldn't," said Agnes I'm sure I Wouldn't persuade you." I am so slow," said Nelly, sadly; "it seems past to me how quick those girls work." Bless you, it's just use," said her friend "why, "y the time you've been six months at it you'll be as 1»ick, and twice as clever. Oh they wouldn't have tfied you a second time if you had not pleased them. know what they are: they saw you had a light hand, aQd was tasty, and that practice was all you wanted Never fear but you will do and, though it does pay but poorly, it's better than needlework, and not half 80 bad for the eyes." 1 "I am thankful to have found anything at all to do," said Nelly it was a mercy of Providence, and than ever I could have hoped, a stranger as I You wouldn't mind, would you ?" said Agnes, hesitating a little, in her query. You did tell me a Rood deal that wet evening, when you were so kind as tO give me shelter at your place. I've thought of you e'Yer since, and how, after all, you got to London. If you didn't mind telling me, I should so like to hear the rest." "I'm suM I oughtn't to mind telling you any- thing, that have been so kind," said the other; "and, if it's any pleasure, I'll tell you a1! there is to ten." r But we'll have tea first, though," said her young Entertainer, now rising, and setting down the little girl "'lth a fond kiss. The child looked brighter, and the mother's spirits rose as she watched her. There was a cheerful Jittle party around that poor tea-table, in Shuter's Close, that fine spring evening, which a traveller from the country passing through would have pronounced o be suffocating, and unfit for human beings to live in. i,rr'Uch for contrast! "I wish, from my heart," Agnes said, in reply to an observation of her guest, that you could manage to Ret this way. There is a room to let under this, I but she won't hear of children in the house, and I HI afraid it would be a good bit more than you are Paying, But we must hope for the best. Won't the darling have one bit more ?" So, on tea being finished, Agnes set about clearing aWay; then, the hearth being swept, and Ida again in Possession of the stool at the feet of Agnes-upon VIII)BO knees she leaned, her beloved flowers in her lap, now and again looking back and smiling to her mother, ?n the other side—Nelly began the recital of her Journey, from the point to which she had, on a pre- vious occasion, confided its chief particulars to her fcew acquaintance, and described what her feelings ^ere when she first arrived in London. Oh! if I could have dreamed of what a place London was, I believe (said Nelly) I never should have dared to venture. When I saw the crowded greets, and the noiae, and the bustle, and not a face ,ut WAS strange, and stared at one, and the folks Jostling as if they did not care whether they pushed You under foo: "I held Ida tight by the hand, and I felt so s^ildered and lost, that nt last I fairly broke down, and cried as I went on and an, and seemed as if, am°ng all those grand shops and houses, we had no .usiness at all, and that I should have to go back Just the way we had come, or else starve in the Erects." f 'poor thing," sighed Agnes. "It is bad to eel that way, but there's many this very day just the u "I suppose so," said Nelly tis an awful place for forlorn stranger. ^every one seemed to think badly of me Oi''0ttly I "el; .,ured to speak to them. I went into °r shops thit didn't, seem so grand, »rd could bt\> fell me or' any work ? but they looked aniear' ar, as if they fancied I was going to steal, hef so cold, and followed me to the door, my Waart -airly sunk and the second daymylast farthing °ne' aT3(* ik came on to rain, with a cold wind at Urn &tld I sat me down with the dear child in 8 a door-step. I thought surely it was a juag" I ment on me for taking on me to come so far, and, more than all, for risking her. I The shops were all shutting up, and the streets got dark, and there were fewer people about; it was I such a wretched night, and I felt it would be her death, almost, to remain in the streets, for the poor dear had taken a cold, and it want to my heart to hear her hard breathing as she lay in my arms wrapped up in my shawl. God knows I bad done for the best, and yet I felt that night as if He judged me for my impatience, and that His hand was heavy upon me; and I prayed as if it was my last, that, at least, she might be spared. It was a quiet street where I had sat down, and the house seemed empty; at the corner was a big shop with a very bright light, and it did seem some comfort to look at thai, till they began to put up the shutteM, and, at last, there was only one narrow streak of light left-one notices these little things at times, I bad seen a lady pass up and down where I sat several times she was beautifully dressed, for I heard silks rustle as she passed the last time she turned short back, and she stooped down and whis- pered, hurriedly,' Will you do something for me ? I will pay you I said, Yes' in a moment, and, before I could usk what it was, she had pulled a ring off her finger, and said, speaking very fast,' Take it in there quick, before they close; get a sovereign on it, no more; but be quick, for mercy's sake" She pointed to the shop as she spoke. I stood up and took the ring, but I was all in a maze, for I had no idea waat she meant. "'Ami to sell it, ma am ?' I asked her. 'No, no!' she said, quite hoarse with haste, pledge it in yaur own name, quick! Stay, get five-and-twenty to pay yourself—give me the child, quick •' Still I was all abroad, but I said no more, for I saw she was in some trouble, and I thought the shop folks would understand; but I wouldn't let my darling again out of my sight, so I carried her in my arms, and the poor lamb went where she had never been, nor I neither, till then-inside of a pawn- broker's." Ah 1 it was all new to you," said Agnes, who had now lifted Ida to her knee, and was making up the flowers into a bouquet, with some strips :of satin —the child's eyes glistening with delight, her little hand resting lovingly on the girl's shoulder. Indeed it was," Nelly went on but I went in as brave as could be, and showed the man in the shop the ring. He took it, and just asked, 'How much ?' and dropped some stuff from a bottle on to it, and then gave me the money but, just as he was counting it, he looked up at me, sharp-like, and asked was it my own ? I said a lady had sent me, and he said no more. only gave me the money, and the bit of card- the ticket-I know now what it is called. He was in a great hurry, and the door was shut after me the moment I came out. I took the money to the lady—she was standing in the dark, just as I had left her, and she quite snatched at the money, in her eagerness, but she only took the pound, and bade me keep the rest for myself. I thanked her, and just as she was hurrying: off, I made bold to ask her did she knew where 11 could get a decent place to sleep in ? for I had seen enough since I came to Ljndon to make me m re on my guard. She pointed down a street, and gave me some direction, all in a hurry, and then she was off in a moment. I tried to' find the place, but could not, and at last I ventured to ask at a coffee-shop, and I found a j bed, and so we got chelter once more." j How providential! said Agnes. Yes, indeed," returned the other, « and it was the means, too, of helping me further, for, you see I had had about me all the while something that I could have made money of, and this just set me thinking, and next day I took the old ring I had sewn up in my dress and kt-pt safe through all, and I got some money in the same way—pledged it, as they call it. I never could have made up my mind to part with that ring outright, unless, indeed, for her sake, but I found out, by this, that I could get money for it, and yet not lose my ring; and, indeed, I was truly thank- ful for the help. She stopped short, for a loud voice broke upon their conversation, and, the door being flung open with a rude hand, Agnes beheld her father totter into the raom, followed by Mrs. Grejous, with flashing eyes, and cap-strings streaming on the breeze, occasioned by her own brisk evolutions. At sight of Agnes the aged man began to utter in- coherent complaints of the stairs, mingled with infor- mation on the subject of the birds, and finally, at sight of the visitors, to whimper and murmur like a child that has been dispossessed of its rights. But the landlady's voice, at its highest pitch, made it heard above all. So, madam, you're a pretty article to set yourself up in a decent woman's house she cried, advancing into the room, and fixing her eyes on Agnes Chaunce, who sat pale and motionless. Aren't you ashamed to look me in the face ? a good-for-nothing, deceitful huzzy, to come a-palming yourself off, with your fair speaking words and quiat ways, on a quiet, respectable house like mine- aren't you ashamed, I say ? A nice one, you, to have that hinnocent child on your lap." Nelly had started forward and had clasped little Ida in her arms ere the words were well uttered. You, indeed, that must have a quiet and a airy room,' forsooth "-the enraged: female minced the words with a scornful affectation of superiority—" quiet, indeed! as if any room weren't good enough, and too good, for a wench that why, ml\'am, would you believe it—for I make no doubt she's himposed on you likewise—that gal there, as has dared to hodeupy this room of mine nigh on eight months this blessed week—she has been a mother, ma'am, for all hinnocent as she looks, and as great a Hush! oh, pray, pray," cried Agnes, interrupting her with tears do not say such dreadful things; think of the child." The hild, indeed I wonder you have the face to look the child in the face, or her mother either, which, ma'am, as I take it, you're a respectable female, and rib mind to associate with uuch as is no better than she should be, not to say worse [ But I abstain from sullying my pen with such lan- j guage as, in her virtuous wrath, Mrs. Grejous gave vent to making the most and worst by reiteration of the facts she had learned, aided by a vivid imagina- tion. Agnes grew whiter, and the tears poured over i her cheeks for the minute, she seemed to have lost the power ef speech; as for Nelly, she stood aghast, still holding Ida to her sido, You do cot turn from me, dear Mra. Franklen ? faltered the sobbing girl; you do not believe all thai cruel things <• Belize cried the enraged Grejous; believe! when I had it all from the very best authority! when I know where the child lies buried and the place where she lodged and if my first floor was to hear of it, as I harboured such, would be giving me warning? But you'll darken my doors not another hour, madam; so off you go this blessed night, as fast as you please." The door was slammed to after the retreating form of the virtuous widow; and Agnes advanced to lead her father to his old seat, which Nelly had vacated. Bursting from her mother's restraining hand, the child met her half way, threw her tiny arms around the sobbing girl, and pulled her down till she met the face drench&d in tears, and covered it with kisses of I childish pity. Don't cry," she said, earnestly; don't please cry -mother!" and she made an attempt to pull Agnes to Nelly, who had still held aloof. Don't let her cry, mother; she's good, mother. Please don't cry 'cause that big woman scold you please don't, dear; dear, don't cry." In her earnest sympathy Ida was mingling her tears with those of the poor penitent, which flowed beyond restraint, as, stooping, she smothered the sweet child with kisses. The mother's tenderness conquered the prejudice of the woman, and the next moment her hand, too, was on the bowed head, and she kindly exhorted Agnes to hold up and tell her the worst. The poor girl shook her head. "Ob," she cried, "it is bad, very bad, but not so dreadful as she said and oh, God knows how I have repented, how I have tried, how I have worked!" She cast her eyes around the bare and comfortless room, an hysterical convulsion shook her slight form, and she fell fainting on the arm of Nelly, little Ida still holding to her hands in tearful sorrow. CHAPTER XXVII. A YOUTHFUL CHAMPION. FORn& few minutes after the disappearance of the un- compromising landlady the utmost confusion reigned in the little room which had so lately been the scene of such peaceful and neighbourly hospitality. Nelly, in whom even her own ill-fortune had hardly moved by the stanch adhesion of her own child to their new-found friend, suffered her own kind nature to have way, and, approaihing Agnes, she said, Oould you make shift to do with us for a. bit, just till you can find a place ?" Tbe young woman looked at her, as if doubting whether she heard aright. It was, alas! si > wholly strange to find one of her own sex offering succour or tendering pity. Do," urged Nelly, for tenderness begets more, so rapidly in the heart that encourages it—"do, and I'll help make you as comfortable as lean you know what it is, and of course we couldn't all stay there together, for any time but just till you look about a bit; come, now, let Us set about arranffing it at Onlde." J Agnes Ohaunce took the hand ot the other, and pressed it earnestly to her lips. Thank you, thank you, bless vou, for your kind offer, but ic m*y get you into ill-will with the peopte at your place. She is set against ii_e down-stairs, I can see, and they can be so spiteful I wish I'd told you, Mrs. Franklen, I wish I had; you'll per- haps be sorry you have served me when You know Never mind, never mind," interrupted Nelly, and the words of good Dame Tibbetts just then recurred to her mind you're in trouble, aud that's enough, and you've been very kind to us-now, will you come ?" "I don't know what else we can do," said Agnes, looking appealingly at her father, who, much dis- composed at her distress, was making many futile at- tempts at consolation so, if you really will be so good as to be troubled with us, just for the night, we will come, and thank you." Sbe ,dded, sadly, "It won't take me long to pack up all I have." So it was settled Nelly should return home, to make such preparations as might be for her un- expected gueats, and Ida, having been prevailed upon, solely with the assurance of her new friend reicin-ng her shortly, and having seen her tears dried, de- parted with her mother, leaving Agnes to make her arrangements with all haste for obeying the uncere- monious warning she had received, in which she got a new impetus, by a second visit from Mrs. Grejous. with an admonition that she wanted the room," and a hope, indignantly expressed, that she "did not expect her to be reference for her." No," Agnes meekly answered. When all the chattels were piled upon the truck, and the old man, trembling and muttering, had just accomplished the descent of those stairs which would never annoy him any more, in rushed Tom, at more than his usual random speed, mor." plentifully be- spattered with printer's ink than was even his wont, and suddenly brought to a standstill by the unex- pected symptoms of removal that met his eye as he entered. iou going away! he exclaimed, bluntly, ss he came to a sudden halt in front of Agnes, who stood by her father's side, with her basket in her hand, and ready equipped for starting. Agnes answered in the affirmative. What for ?" said the impetuous boy; my mother been in her tantrums ? and I was a-going to show him my birds and all: what a shame! Oh, don't mind, tbant you," expostulated Agnes; "I'm glad, though, I've seen you, because you've done me many a kindness, and I wanted to thank you." Bother!" interrupted Tom, his face reddening, and indignation getting the better of a certain shy- ness which would else have been too much for him on such an occasion but, I say, where are you going all of a sudden ? You was friends enough when I left, you and mother, and you must have fell out since what is it ? Nevermind, Tom," said Agnes, there's no fall- ing out, only Mrs. (jrejous gave us warning; don't you mind, I am going to a friend's." Tom you Tom!" screamed the voice of Mrs. Grejous at this juncture; come along here, I want you!" No answer from Tom, but he looked at the loaded truck on which the man was endeavouring, in vain, to find room for the flowers in their cumbersome receptacles. "Look here!—Tom's favourite adjuration—"I shall carry something for you, you're loaded!" Oh, no, indeed Agnes began. But I will, else I'll lead the old man, else I'H shove the truck: I will help!" "But pray, Tom, you know Mrs. Gfeious won't like it!" Torn! are you coming to your tea this moment ? called Mrs. Grejous from the foot of the stairs; at the last, she did not feel, perhaps, wholly equal to facing the foe she had so uncompromisingly routed. Tom flew down the kitchen stairs at two bounds. Look here, mother, what's Miss Ohaunce a-going away all in a hurry for, and what's she been crying about ?" t Never you mind—how should I know what she'' been crying Sor? do her good, I daresay; she had need. Now, where are you off to ? Tom had meanwhile washed his face and hands, and assumed his cap with every sign of discarding his long-suffering tea. I'm a-going to help 'em move," said Tom, taking care to possess himself of the door beforehand. He thenceforward became a very host in himself, showed them the shortest cut to Tyndall'a-buildings unloaded the truck, carried in the chairs and the press bedstead, and the et ceteras, of Agnes's house- hold goods, and deposited them in the passage, whence Nelly and Agnes quickly transferred them to the now over-crowded little back parlour. Ida bad run forward to welcome her poor friend encountering Tom in the paseage, she and the bright eyed boy exchanged mutual glances of questioning wonder. Finally, Tom made over the flowering shrubs to the custody of their mistresp, and she, with many thank?, took leave of her unexpected and hearty champion. In the scanty accommodation of the room at Tyn- dall's-buildings, it was not possible that all could sleep that night, and Agnes could by no means be induced to take the repose her hostess would deny herself. Little Ida and the old man-quite as much the child-were already fast asleep and the two women agreed, with little difficulty, to keep their watch by the fire together. This new affliction gave her ac- quaintance a fresh interest in Nelly's eyes; and Agnes, on her part, felt she owed it to her kind hostess to keep her no longer in ignorance of her own history. It was not much to tell, though the little was bitter enough in the recital. The listener gathered more from Agnes's silence I than her words, that the father of the letter had filled 1 but poorly the part of a parent to her. Her mother died when she was quite a child, and her father had married soon after an idle, disreputable, and disor- 1 derly slattern, who, though she contrived to keep in ( with her husband by ministering to his vices, led all 1 depending on her a Bad life, and to the poor child I became a very tyrant; the more that her own chil- J dren died, one after the other, when young. r Years passed on as the girl grew up; her father heeding her no more than if she was a servant in the t house—her days more and more painful and lonely. 1 It was little to be wondered at that, anxious to escape j a life so wearisome, she hearkened to the fair words of a young man who occasionally came to her father's on matters connected with his trade. Agnes was af' fectienate by nature, and had found no outlet for her feelings; she was gentle, and easily persuaded by I these in whom she felt an interest; she missed the 1 tenderness of home, and eagerly accepted that which so fairly promised its perfection. < It was the old story—she loved the man, she < judged his heart after her own, and dreamed not of deceit—trusted—as she felt she herself could be trusted, and was lost! (7b be continued.)

AUNTIE. {From the Queen.") Granting that society, as society, would get on better without its old maids pry ing here and chattering every- where, what about auntie? Auntie as a domestic power and personal presence is invaluable, and to blot her out of our calendar would but make life poorer and the family both less cared for and less happy than at present. In Roman Catholic countries auntie lives in the convent, and the whole body of nuns supply her place to the mothers who want help in the manage- ment of their daughters. Those convent days are oftentimes the happiest of all to the girls who are cared for by the mild-eyed wimpled nuns; and the sisterhood is auntie multiplied by as many as there are friendly mistresses and even-tempered companions. But with us auntie unmarried is a nun at large, and concentrates on her own family the affectionate cares and personal energies which the good sisters spread out over all the young who come under their charge. To the little ones of the family auntie is a kind of supplementary Providence, who fills in the chinks and crannies that have been left by the rapii handiwork of fate. She is the Bona Dea of the nursery, whose advent is hailed with shrill, sharp, infantile paeins, and wboae presence means pleasure. She carries an inex- haustible cornucopia somewhere in the depths of her pocket, and breaks through mamma's wholesome rules of restriction for the delicious contraband of cakes and sweeties, which are sure to disorder the young stomachs that receive them. But when did childish mouths cloae themselves against the temptation of bull s eyes and lumps of delight, for the chance of retribution in the shape of rhubarb and magnesia to follow ? If auntie offers, the wee Adams and Eves accept; and for the rest there is more than one apple on the tree. Her toys come in showers like the pearls and diamonds of the fairy tale; and when the little ones think of Santa Olaus, it is as auntie in a white wig and grey blanket, or in a gauza scarf and wings, according as the night-coming genius is a son of old Father Christmas or the daughter of fairyland to their ima- gination. Growing older, auntie is still their provi- dence, if the character of her care a little change". When mamma is tired, when baby brother wants her in the nursery and mysteries are on hand from which the children of the first rank are excluded, auntie is ready to do all that is wanted by way of com- panionship, and to lift the hours from weariness into pleasure. If the weather is fine, that nice long walk to the wood for anemones and primroses, or to the meadow for cowslips and cuckoo flowers, can be taken under her escort; or if the croquet ground is avail- able, it ig ahe who se's the hoops and organises the game. Auntie is the moveable feast at which all in turn find their fitting date, and when wanted is ever at hand. She has nothing to do, according to the family superstition, and mamma has so much The truth of things may be that auntie carries by far the heavier end of the domestic stick, and that baby brothers, with all included in the plea, are only oolourable excuses for mamma's unconquerable indo- lence, which she would fain bide but must indulge— an indolence, too, which increases with her years, and which is at its height when her children most need her activities. Older still, auntie is the chaperon of the girls, and ■ takes them to balls and parties at the sacrifice of her j own strength and reet, while dear mamma lies soft j and warm in her bed, and is so thankful that the girls I are enjoying themselves meanwhile; hoping that ] auntie too is having a pleasant evening, and that Lady This hia p iid her a great deal of attention, that Lord j That handed her in to supper. What a blessing it is, < thinks mamma, turning over for her second sleep, ) that auntie likes going out so much! What would she, who hates it, do if she had it all on her own hands ? At this moment auntie is yawning behind her fan, wearied to death, but smiling and good-natured to the last. It is not one of the least of the little pin- pricks of her life that she is assumed to like for her- self all that she does for the children, and that sacri- fice is not so much as dreamed of in her career. The girls are very fond of her certainly; that is one great joy, and the supreme reward of all her cares, outside the fact of knowing how much she has saved her sister. They will tell things to her which they would not confide to mamma, she seeming to stand in one sense nearer to them than does mamma—more familiar if less adored, more a companion if less a divinity. The first little dawnings of their love affairs are reflected In the mirror of auntie's consciousness long before mamma sees the flush; their little tiffs and difficulties now with each other at home, and now with their friends and companions without, generally P486 into auntie's hands to arrange and compose when they meditate an onslaught on the domestic peace by means of a party, it is she who is first sounded and htr advocacy se- cured and, to do her justice, she is as ready now to promote their pleasure as she was when she used to beg them off their impositions and secure their holi- days, though she not unfrequently barns her fingers in their pie as the result. The boys call her jolly, and the girls' pet name for her is Pussy; and mamma herself confesses that she should not know what to do without her. She supplies surreptitious pocket money as formerly she supplied surreptitious sweets, and conceals all scrapes which it would do no good to reveal. In the beginning of things it was, Mary Jane's torn frock which she mended before mamma could scold tearfully or nurse storm wrathfltlly; or she bound up Jack's cut finger before anyone could faint at the sight of the gash and the blood. Later, as characters develop. and the scene of action shifts, it is Mary Janes imprudent confidence which has borne such disastrous rruit in that penniless young cornet's confession, or Jack's worse than imprudent extravagance which has landed him on the thorny side of the monetary hedge. She does what she can to repair the damage in*1 and even when the authorities have to be told Bhe softens the first shock, and diverts the trouble from the peccant head not unfrequently to her own. This is auntie in her ideal, but not always auntia in the reality of things. Sometimes, iadeed, she is a stiff starch martinet, ever on the side of sternness and the wholesome rod, and whose severity mamma has to temper by the more liberal tenderness of her in- stinct. The noise and restlessness of the little crea- tures are naughtiness to her, just as their impru- dence and thoughtlessness when older are shocking examples ot youthful depravity, and not to be endured j anyhow. Her sister tells her frankly that she does not understand children-how should she, unmarried as she is ? But auntie retorts with aphorisms which would make it appear that the last person in the world who ought to guide her young is the mother, and that the maiden aunt is specialty consecrated to a task which, to be well done according to her, must exclude the weak generosities of love, and be based on the rigid principles of suppression and condemnation instead. Sometimes auntie is simply an upper ser- fant in this housft, who finds her pbsitidn hard, ana works sullenly for her wages of food and shelter. She and the brother-in-law qaarrel, and she foments every small and insignificant sore between them till it beL-omes a bad and serious wound or she goes on the other tack, and c-irnies her sister's husband till she makes him think that he m stook his way when he chose the ne, and left the other, and that if he had married Mary and left Jane go free, the th>ngs of his life would have been better managed throughout. If not often, yet it is at times a fact that the wife's sister, the auntie of the nursery, is neither more nor lees than a snake in the grass, and the worker of infinite mischief to the household. It is an experiment this of the supplemental providence, the auntie who is to have the mother's care and not the mother's reward, her re- sponsibilities and not her authority and it does not always succeed. When it does, it is an arrangement than which nothing can be better or happier. When it does not, our auntie is just a millstone round the neck of her sister and a thorn in the side of her brother-in-law; while to the children she is a rod in perpetual pickle, and one which no amount of using softens or wears out. Let us, however, shut off that side of the picture, and for our last look turn to that where auntie is in babyhood the best nurse, in child hood the fairy godmother, in youth the untiring com- panion, and for all time the dear friend and sympathising corfidante, now of pains and now of pleasures; to-day brightening the already lustrous hope, to-morrow soothing the biting disappointment; always and at all times auntie, dear, good, kind auntie—"our second mother," as the children say when they pat her nice kind face and add, Dear old Pussy, what a darling you are, and what should we do without you 1"

LADIES' COLUMN. "r THE FASHIONS There is quite a revolution in hairdressing, writes Eliane de Marsy in the Queen, but the change is too sudden and general, and the style now adopted is by no means generally becoming. The hair parted down the centre, arranged in two bandeaux somewhat for- ward on the forehead, with a simple chignon at the back, is no doubt exceedingly distingue if—but so much lies in that small word—the head is young and the features regular. Without these essentials, the style is out of place. The headdress it la Grecque is now much affected-light fluffy bandeaux on the forehead, and small curls at the top of the head, and three bandalettes of either gold, silver, or ribbon, as the case may be, round it. The Mercedes headdress is also a pretty novelty there is a fringe over the fore- head, and the hair at the temples is waved and combed upwards; several combs of light tortoiseshell, studded with balls, are then fastened into the hair. Large tortoiseshell balls are very favourite hair ornaments; likewise natural butterflies, humming birds, and small gold and silver birds. Similar birds are found on the new spring bonnets—in fact, metal is in high favour, for there are silver wings, and silver oats, and silver thistles, besides a host of gold ornaments. Bonnets are made of horsehair and gold braid, likewise of gold nets, and there are silver bonnets—these are all of the b6b6 form, which has been worn for some time. For morning costumes, when spring really makes its I appearance, light linen costume, somewhat thick in quality, and either cream or greenish grey in colour, will be worn, and trimmed with frills, embroidered in red, blue, and black. The bodices are made with' 'I yokes, an embroidered scarf crosses the skirt, and a small embroidered fichu the shoulders. Many of the new combinations of colours are seen on the Madras ginghams, which have a white ground, with coloured bars and stripes. One favourite pattern is pale blue >nd olive green; another is scarlet, with bege colour; a third, bottle green and white. The trimmings are Bussia laces, which are lighter than Smyrna laces, and in colours to match the dress. Crepe batiste, a thin linen cambric, crinkled like crepe, is another novelty for summer dresses. The new 1 parasols have round, and not canopy tops, as last year; they measure 18in. down the no, and the sticks are long and slender. Black and bege are the colours, and the material is the twilled silk called Lovantint-, which is lined either with a contrast, a darker shade, or with white. The edge of the lining is pinked, while ihe outside is scolloped, securely bound, and be- tween the indentation is a loop and end of narrow rib- bon hanging lite fritge; others are trimmed with whalebone fringe. Lacquered and plain ebony sticks are admired, and many black, red, and yellowish bamboo sti ks are impor.ed from Japan. Sylvia's Journal says the latest nov< lty in shoes in the t ashionable world is the Pompeian, the object of which is simply to rdd to the height. It consists of an ordinary shoe, to which is added a deep cork sole, measuring an inch, which is the same thitkneBs every- where, thus increasing the stature in the same way as did the singular SllOfS worn by the actors of ancient Italy. Although made of the very lightest material, they are not light, and were first adopted by a very petite Parisian belle, whose very long skirts bid her artifice to increase her apparent height, j Some other ladies have taken up the odd caprice of binding the shoe upon the foot like a sandal. But though fully answering its purpose, the Pompeian shoe can never be pretty, and will never be popular for that good reason. The World of Fashion tells us that the Robe Princesse without upper-skirt or tunique, is still fashionable; as a rule, however, we may say that this elegant and graceful, though somewhat severe style, is better suited to the rich, warm, soft-textured materials that are used for winter wear. It is probable that woollen materials, trimmed with silk or embroidery, will again be very fashionable.

USEFUL HINTS. RHUBARB TARTLETS.—Make a short paste with one white and three yolks of egg, one < unce of sugar, one ounce of butter, a pinch of salt, and flour quant. suff. work it lightly, roll it cut to the thickness of a quarter of an inch. Line some patty-pans with it, fill them with uncooked rice to keep their shape, and bake them in a moderate oven till done. Remove the rice, and fill the tartlets with rhubarb stewed with plenty of sugar and a dash of lemon juice, and at the top put a heaped spoonful of whipped cream. How TO FRY A SOLE.-Let us try whether we can fry a sole. The fishmonger, besides emptying the fish and cutting off the head, has flayed off the brown skin we wish he had not. But he has left the white skin, and scraped off all the scales. We wash it once more, drain it, and dry it thoroughly between the folds of a napkin; for this reason: any moisture left adhering to its outside, when it is plunged into the boiling fat, would be suddenly converted into steam, and explode, scattering the fat in inconvenient direc- tions, and perhaps burning your face and hands. We then rub the sole in flour, causing as much as we can to stick to it. This not only gives a pleasing brown colour, but helps to form the outer crust which retains the fish's juices. The fat in the pan (sweet pork-lard), tested by the strip of bread, is hot enough. In with the sole then, by the help of the fish-slice. We leave it a minute, to recover its sur- prise, just raising it, to prevent its sticking to the bottom. The under side being nicely browned, we turn it. In another minute or so, we promptly lift it out of the fat with the fish slice; a few drops fall from it, and it remains suspended in air, dry and golden-brown outside, aBd savaurily succulent within. We lay it daintily on the napkin with which the dish is covered; and, 'though a well fried sole needs no sauce, we send up with it, nevertheless, a little deli- cate shrimp or anchovy sauce, and two or three smoking mealy PotFtoes.- Casseles Household Guide. SCALDS AND BURNs-Dr. South, in a recent work, gives the following advice, which cannot be made too public. The object is to keep up for a time the high temperature of the injured part, and lower it by degrees to the natural heat of the body. If the blistered skin be unbroken, it may be covered with dry or wet applications indifferently. If the skin be broken, wet applications, if obtainable at once, are best; otherwise, dry ones must be used, as it is of the utmost importance to protect the exposed, sensitive true skin lying beneath the scarf skin, of which the blister consists, from the air. The best dry materials are flour, cotton, cotton-wadding; the wet are spirits of turpentine, spirits of wine or good brandy, linn water and oil, lime water and milk, milk alone, or bread and milk poultice; all these, wet applications must be comfortably warm to the finger, but not hot, and tbey are enumerated according to their precedence of merit." VENTILATION or BEDS.—However agreeable, it is well-known that, if the stay in bed be prolonged be- yond that period necessary to recruit the energies, the consequence is weakness and not strength. Bach hour's delay in leaving the seductive couch, entails additional mental depression, physical lassitude, and reluctance to exertion. These feelings are not to be lightly attributed to indolence, since, however, they may vary in individuals and with circumstances, they follow alike in all from the retention by the bed and its drapery of the carbon thrown off by the invisible perspiration, that acts upon the physical system as a narcotic poison. The reluctance to arise in cold and cheerless weather is not solely caused by the action of the imagination, but rather by the particular condi- tion of the atmosphere, which is unfavourable to the escape of these exhalations from the body. The remedy is to be found in perforating the coverings with holes in ornamental patterns, and so arranged by diversity of pattern in the several coverings that they may not coincide, and thus admit the air too freely. Therefore egress will be given to the foul air or car- bonic gas, whereof now the greater portion clings to the bed, and engenders not only mental weakness put frittir* disease.

VARIETIES. We make ourselves more injuries than aw evei offered to us. We should always be very careful on whom wo confer Benefits; for if we bestow them on the base- minded, it is like throwing water into the sea. THE PRESENT.——In order to enjoy the present, it is necessary to be intent on the present. To be doing one thing and thinking of another is a very unsatis- factory mode of spending life. A golden rule for a young lady is to converse always with your female friend as though a gentleman were of the party, and with young men as if your female friends were present. FLATTERERS.—The flatterers of kings and princes have ever been held in deserved hatred and contempt. In this country they seem nearly to have had their day; but their successors, the courtiers of the people, are equally contemptible and much more pernicious. TRUE REPARATION. — If thou hast wronged thy! brother in thought, reconcile thee to him in thought; if thou hast offended him in words, let thy reconcilia- tion be in words; if thou hast trespassed against him in deeds, by deeds be reconciled to him; that recon- ciliation is most kindly which is most in kind. HIDDEN LIFE.—A man says, I have thrown away forty years; I have wasted my whole life"—or, as the more common expression is coming to be, I I My life has been a failure"—because the thing at which he aimed has been lost. As if a man's life consisted in the abundance of exterior things which he possesses! As if a man's life were not hidden in his own self. ABOUT EYEBRows.- While the Danes profess to know a man who is a wehrwolf by his eyebrows meet- ing, the current saying in the South of England is, It is good to have meeting eyebrows; you will never have trouble." In China the people say that people whose eyebrows meet can never expect to attain to the dignity of a minister of state," that "ladies with too much down or hair are born. to be poor all their lives," but that "bearded men will never become beggars." KIND OmcEs.—Few things can be done to oblige others but at the expense of some convenience, grati- fication, or wish of our own; and he whose means are limited should seek to evince his attachment to friend or family by every little sacrifice in his power. We attend to large concerns for our own sakes; we should attend to lesser ones for others. Our efforts to please others never fail to reward ourselves. There is nothing more lovely than to love to oblige others; nevertheless, it is the duty of a discreet man not to be so far overcome by his obliging humour as to promise anything that is desired of him without considering whether he can or ought to grant it. EARLY ROMAN DINNER-CLOTHS AND NAPKINS.— The first dinner-cloths used by the Romans were made of wool, under the emperors of old Rome; linen and also silk, embroidered with gold and silver, were the fashion, according to La Mosaique. It was only after Augustus that the host offered napkins to the guests; before this time the invited company brought their napkins with them. The chief reason for changing this custom was that the slaves who took them back were often suspected of stealing and carrying off valuables with the soiled linen. Before the use of napkins at feasts in Rome, a wet sponge was passed round after eating, and bread-crumbs were used for drying the fingers; these latter were thrown to the dogs. SALT AS A SYMBOL.—A man who has partaken of salt with you is bound to you by the laws of hospitality, and thus bread and salt are eaten at the ratification of a bargain or treaty, to make it binding on all parties. Salt is also an emblem of desolation; conquered cities were sown with salt. In Scotland and Ireland salt appears to have been considered to represent the incorruptible spirit, and Was therefore laid above the i heart of a corpse; and in some cases a platter was 80 placed containing a small portion of salt and earth un- mixed, the one to represent the immortal, the other the mortal part. In former days, when it was the custom for all the household of a nobleman or gentle- man to dine together, the large salt cellar, which was placed in the middle of the table, was the boundary of distinction between the family and the menials. SOAP.-The Gauls, the ancient inhabitants of the country now called France, are said to have been the first people who used soap. The Romans, about the first century of the Christian Era, learned its manu- facture and use either from the Gauls or the Germans. In the time of Homer (B.C. 850), washing seems to have been done with water alone. A little later, a ley of ashes was used for 6ome kinds of washing. A mineral called nitrum and various kinds of earth were employed, both in Asia and Europe, in the bath and for washing clothes. Clothes, the colour of which easily fade, may be washed well with bran. The meal of oats, barley, and beans may be used for the same purpose. This use of bran and bean-meal is supposed to have been known to the ancient Romans. On holidays and festivals, the poor people of Rome rubbed a kind of white clay over their clothes to make them appear brighter. The more difficult it was to rub out the clay, the better it suited. BONAPARTE'S OPINION OF HIS Two WIVES.—Their characters were diametrically opposite. Never were there two women less like each other. Josephine had grace, an irresistible seduction, an unreserved de- votedness. Maria Louisa had all the timidity of innocence. When I married her she was a truly vir- tuous novice, and very submissive. Josephine would sacrifice millions upon her toilet and in her liberalities. Maria Louisa, on the contrary, economised what I gave her, and I was obliged to scold her in order to induce her to make her expenditure consistent with her rank. Josephine was devoted to me; she loved me tenderly—no one ever had a preference to me in her heart. I uniformly held first place-her children the next. And she was right, for she was the being whom I most loved, and the remembrance of her is still all-powerful in my mind. AQUA TOFANA.-This is the name of a poisonous liquid, which excited an extraordinary amount of attention at Naples, at the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth centuries. Tofana, a Sicilian woman, seems to have invented it. Accord- ing to Lobat, after she had murdered many hundred men, she was strangled, although, on the discovery of her guilt, she fled to a convent. Keyssler, on the contrary, affirmed that she was alive in prison, 1730. The drink is described as transparent, tasteless water, of which five or six drops were fatal-producing death slowly, without pain, inflammation, convulson, or j fever. Gradual decay of strength, disgust of life, want of appetite, and constant thirst were the effects, which soon changed to an entire consumption. That the exact day of death could be predicted, is a mere able. The strangest stories with regard to its compo- sition have gone abroad. A solution of crystallized arsenic seems to have been the chief ingredient, to which something else was added, probably to conceal the presence of it. AN ECCENTRIC MERCHANT.—At Hanau, a merchant' resides, whose history is somewhat curious. A quarrel with his stepmother induced him to leave his father's house," when young, and embark for England. Having acquired in trade, in London, a fortune sufficient for comfort in Germany, he married and returned to his native town, where he found that his parents were dead, and that their property had i devolved to him. A large rambling house, containing thirteen rooms on a floor, and adorned with pictures of old electors and landgraves, was a part of his patrimony. The house goes by the name of Noah's Ark, from the singularity of its construction, arising, I as the story goes, from a cause not less singular. The upper storey is a complete second house, erected on the first. The builder, an opulent citizen, who possessed ninety-nine houses in Hanau, was ambitious of rounding his number to one hundred; but the jealousy of the citizens opposed his whim, unless he consented j to pave a path to the church, some hundred yaeds long, with rix dollars. He declined this exorbitant tax; but, unwilling to resign the distinction of own- I ing one hundred houses, he contented himself with I a hundredth placed on the top of one of the ninety- nine. SKILFUL JUGGLERY.—One of the favourite tricks which are performed by the jugglers of Madras is that of making the dried skin of the cobra live. You may examine the apparatus closely every time, and watch the operation as carefully as you please, yet you can- not detect the modus operandi. The performer hands you a little flat wicker basket, some eight inches in diameter, and asks you to inspect it, while he folds the cobra skin, which you have previously well ex- amined, into a square, leaving only the tail unfolded. So soon as you have given the basket back, the juggler the cobra skin, which you have previously well ex- amined, into a square, leaving only the tail unfolded. So soon as you have given the basket back, the juggler places it on the ground, in full view, and under the lid puts the folded part of the serpent's skin, the tail* being in your sight all the while. You may, at this j stage, lift the lid once more to see that nothing but I the serpent skin is in the basket; but after this you must interfere no more. A white cloth is taken by the man and placed over the basket, after having been well shaken, so that you may be assured nothing is in it. A pipe is produced, and with it a horrible noise, similar to that always made by snake charmers, and not unlike the sound a cracked and badly-made bag- pipe would emit, is made. No one goes near the cloth or basket, except the almost naked man, who cannot possibly hide any live snake in his sleeves, for the simple and sufficient reason that he has neither sleeves nor jacket; nor, indeed, any other clothing than a pma.ll waist-cloth, which cannot be used as a hiding- place. Finally, the sheet is lifted; you look at the basket, and see the tail of a living snake being gradu- ally drawn into it, and on the lid being opened a most distinctly energetic serpent is discovered. No sooner is it stirred than it raises on its tail, spreads its hood, and strikes its fangs and tongue at the charmer. No one would care to examine that basket now, with a cobra four feet long making vicious snaps at the juggler. The charmer takes good care that the snake comes near you; for, with a dexterous movement, he Beizes the reptile by the head, and holding it in onp hand, comeB to you with the baskgt in the ofher, whjufl you put a rupee into ffc* re^wcra, if olnly to rcfltroe him to go awayf ENGLAND—PAST AND PRESENT.—Of a truth, whoso- ever had, with the bodily eye, seen Hengist and Horsa moving on the mud beach of Thanes, on that spring morning m the year 449, and then with the spiritual eye looked forward to New York, Calcutta, Sydney Cove, across ages and the oceans, and thought what Wellingtons, Washingtons, Shakespeares, Miltons, Bacons, Watts, Arkwrights, and William Pitts, had to issue from that business, and do their several taskworks 60. he would have said those leather boots of Hengist's had a cargo in them-a genealogic mythics, superior to any in the old Greek—and not a mythica either, but every fibre of it a. fact Carlylt. A TRUE FRIEND.—What is a true friend ? A true i friend is he who not only shows himself so when the frowns of misfortune fall upon us, but even when we treat him as a foe builds friendship's altar higher and firmer with the very stones cast against him by our folly or perverseness. ENGLTSH WOMEN'S RIGHTS A THOUSAND YEARS AGo.-Married women could sue and be sued and inherit and dispose of property of all kinds. Women could attend the shire-gemot, even the witenagemot- could sit, that is, in vestries or in Parliament—and were protected by special laws in matters where their weakness of body would otherwise place them at a disadvantage. Our fathers acknowledged and practi- cally enforced the equality of the spindle-half and the "spear-half" of the human family. -From To Hughe's Alfred the Great." ROTUNDITY OF THE EARTH.—Mr. A. R. Wallace, oflers the following proof of the earth rotundity:— Almost every where on our south or east coapts the moon may be seen to rise or set over the sea. Let the observers notice if it appear or disappears on the sur- face of the water or some distance above it. If the former let him consult a good map of Europe, and see if in the direction of the moon there was any mountain range which ought to have hid it at a considerable distance above the water. As the moon shifts its points of rising every night, a few observations will soon settle this point; and if any number of compe- tent observers see the moon in a given direction rising in a clear atmosphere, not from the sea, but froma point considerably above it, and at an elevation proportionate to that of a mountain range known to be in that direc- tion, it will be a fact, if constantly to be observed, greatly in favour of a flat earth. Such a fact, how- ever, has never yet been recorded, and it can hardly have escaped notice till now.—English Mechanic. PIGEON POST.—I have seen "carrier" pigeons figured in books, flying with all speed, and bearing under their wing an ordinary-sized letter. Now a pigeon could no more fly with a letter dangling under its wing, than a man could swim with a heavy weight round his neck. Any pigeon-flyer would just as soon think of fixing a message to the bird's beak as fasten- ing it under the wing. The place which used to be adopted was to write either words or cypher, or some very abbreviated form of communication, upon a strip of very thin vellum or other material, and then to wind this slip very firmly but neatly round the tarsus, or the scaled part of the pigeon's leg, fasten- ing to finish with fine sewing-silk. Now, however, the camera and microscope have altogether changed the system, and a good paragraph can be sent by pigeon easier than a few words could only a short time ago. It is a startling fact, and one of the most remarkable achievements of modern science, that so many as 3,500 despatches, each consisting of twenty words, all told 70,000 words, by photography, to be read with a microscope, can be easily and readily car- ried by a single pigeon .—Leisure Bour. A SELF-TAUGHT MATHEMATICIAN. — Mr. Thomas Barker, a self-taught mathematician and practical engineer, has just ended his days as a poor brother in the hospital of the Charterhouse. He was the son of a farmer at Old Park, Durham, and the solution of many of the most difficult problems in the earlier stages of railway surveying and construction was due to his genius. It was he who invested the celebrated method of laying down railway curves, and a local journal says that he laid out the Stockton and Dar- llington Fiulway, the first line in the kingdom." He also laid out the atmospheric line from Dublin to Kingstown; and in the infancy of the railroad system he was largely engaged in many parts of the kingdom. The last line that he surveyed was that projected by Mr. George Hudson connecting Lowestoft with London, and for making that town on the eastern coast a second Liverpool, a project which the ruin of the Railway King" extinguished. Mr. Barker was the author of several works on mathematics, both theoretical and practical; of these the best known are the "Elements and Practice of Mensuration," a Treatise on Land and Engineering Surveying," the "Principles and Practice of Statics and Dyna- mics," a Treatise on Subterranean Surveying,' the Mechanical Companion," and "An Original Method of Integration." PARAGUAY ITS BISHOPS AND JmuiTS.—Paraguay was constituted a bishopric by the Pope in 1547; but the first bishop who arrived was Pedro de la Torre, in 1555. Buenos Ayres was refounded in 1580, and, being declared a separate colony in 1620, gra- dually took the precedence of Paraguay, which till then had been the most important Spanish depen- dency east of the Andes. The first Jesuits who reached Paraguay were two Italians, Simon Maceta and Jose Catalino, who arrived at Asuncion in 1610. They and others who succeeded them laboured faith- fully to benefit the natives, first gaining their respect and confidence, and then rebuking their indolence a.nd vices." They were opposed, however, by the Mamelncos or Parlistas, pirates and slave-dealers, who, assisted hy a wretch named Luis de Cespedes Jaray, who had been appointed Governor, destroyed the reductions, as the Jesuit settlements were called, and depopulated the whole province of Guayia, to the north-east of Asuncion; but, after the removal of Cespedes the Jesuits recovered their power, and had more than a century to Christianize and civilize the Indians, which they did in such a way that they rendered them mere helpless, passive machines. Of this long period there is little to record. It ended in 1773, when Clement the Fourth ratified the act which expelled the Jesuits, who were sent to Spain in July, 1767. An uneventful period succeeded, till, in 1810, Buenos Ayres, having declared itself independent of Spain and shipped off its Viceroy, sent a small army into Paraguay to revolutionize that country also, and depose its Governor, Velasco. Belgrano, who com- manded this force, was defeated by the Paraguayans, who nevertheless, deposed Velasco, and elected a trium- virate, Caballero, Yegres, and Jose Gaspar Rodriguez Prancia.- Washburn's History of Ptragumy. AN ELEMENT OP SUCCBM.—It is no exaggeration to say that health is a large ingredient in what the world calls talent. A man without it may be a giant intellect; but his deeds will be the deeds of a dwarf. On the contrary, let him have a quick circulation, a good digestion, the bulk, thews, and sinews of a man, and the alacrity, the unthinking confidence inspired by these, and though having but a thimbleful of brains, he will either blonder upon snoceea or set failure at defiance. It is true, especially in this country, that the number of oontours in every com- munity—of men in whom heroic intellects are with bodily constitutions as tough as horses—is small; that in general a man has reason to think him- self well off in the lottery of life if he draws the prize of a healthy stomach with a mind, or a prize of a healthy stomach without a mind, or a prize of a fine intellect with a crazv stomach. But of the two, a weak mind in a herculean frame is better than a giant mind in a crazy constitution. A pound of energy with an ounce of talent will achieve greater results than a pound of talent with an ounce of energy. The first requisite to success in life is to be a good animal. In any of the learned professions, a vigorous constitution is equal to at least fifty per cent, more brains. Wit, judgment, imagination, elo- quence, all the qualities of the mind, attain thereby a force and splendour to which they could never ap- proach without it. But intellect in a weeWjr body, is 1" like gold in a spent swimmer's pocket. A me- chanic may have tools of the sharpest edge and highest polish; but what are these without a vigorous arm and hand ? Of what use is it that your mind has be- come a vast granary of knowledge if you have not strength to turn the key f A STUDENT'S SUCCESS.'—"Well sir! on Saturday night, Sir Martin Arches Shee took his chair (as presi- dent of the Royal Academy, at the distribution of medals to the students), and there were present an overwhelming number, more than on any other pre- vious occasion, for Sir Thomas Lawrence made it a private concern; the Duke of Sussex, Lord Brougham, the Bishops of London and Llandaff, and all the noble and distinguished patrons and lovers of art, artists, members, associates, and students. Well. as I was paying, he took his chair, and begun to address tho successful candidate (for the gold medal), but who that wa^ t°r whom the eulogy he poured forth was in- tended, was a matter of the most anxious doubt for the trembling seven that sat on the seat before him. Never was a full quarter of an hour's praise felt to be inoromomentous; for mypart I don't recollect one word but m y own name, which completed it. Heretofore i they may have been more merciful, and have imme- j dia.tely made the announcement, and taken time for the display of their eloquence in commendation after- wards. I, however, do not affect to forget certain piquant words he used—e.g., 'fancy, taste, originality, industry, having taken the highest honour to the Uni- versity of Art,' &c. When the decision was made known, the clapping of hands from the roomful was not unpleasant to my ear, as it displayed a general feeling in my favour. I have since heard, from good authority, that all the members voted for me. Sir Martin made a most eloquent discourse. After my hand had been well rung with congratulations, I found Donovan, Roche. and other friends in the hall. They had already heard of my success, so went and had some champagne, &c. Then it was raining when I came home; I unlatched the door, tumbled upstairs, broke my lamp, and was obliged to go to bed in the dark. On Sunday, when I wtoke, I felt ill, dined out, and drank Wo much —" Mimter of MtMise, fl..4."