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CRITICISM.
CRITICISM. Crude, pompous, turgid," the reviewers said Sham passion and sham power to turn one tick Pin wheels of verse that sputtered as we read- Rockets of rhyme that showed the falling stick I" But while, assaulted of this buzzing band, The poet quivered at their little stingp, White doves cf sympathy o'er all the land Went flying with his fame beneath their wirgs! And every fresh year brought him love that cheers, As Caspian waves bring amber to their shore. And it befell that after many years, D Being now no longer young, he wrote crce more. Cold, classic, polished," the reviewers said A book you scarce canlov?, bowe'er you praise. We missed the old carelesssgrandeur as we read, The power and passion of his youneer (Jays — Atlantic Monthly. e BILLINGS ON AN AMERIC AN WATF.IUNG-PLACE. -In his new book, Trump Kard," Josh Billings says: Long. branch iz a w(,rk ov na'ur, and iz a good job. I put up at the Oshen hotel the last time I was thare, and shall put up thare again the next time I go, if I bav to sleep on the ver-indy, I never leave a good hotel for a better one; I lernt this fishing for fro;;s; if I am whara the frogs bite, that's mi puddle. Mi wife puts up with me at the came hotel; it is an old-fashioned way we have ov doing things. She always goes with me to fashion- able resorts, whare young widders are emiy ways plenty, to put me oa mi guard, for i am one ov the easyest creatures on record to be imposed upon, espeshily bi yung widders. She 13 an ornament to her sex, mi wife is. I would like to see a yung widder, or even an old onp, git this start of me, when mi wife iz around. H I just step out sudden, to get a weak lemonade to cool mi akeing brow, mi wife goes to the end ov the verandy with me, and waits for me, and if i go down onfo the beach to astronomise just a little, all alone, bi moonlite, she stands on the bluff, like a beacon lite, to warn me ov the breakers. The biggest thi, g they have got here, for the present, iz the pool ov water in front ov the hotels. This pool iz sed bi pood judges to be 3000 miles in length, and in sum places 5 miles thick. Into this pool, every day at ten o'kloek, the folks all retire, males, females, and widders, promiskues. The scenery here is grand, espesbily the pool, and the air iz az bracing ÐZ a milk puntch. Drinks are reason- able here, eEpeshily out of the pool, and the last touch of civiliz-ishun haz reached here also, sum enterpri- sing missionary has just opened a klub housa, whare all kinds cf gambling is taught.
THE "SONG OF THE BROOK.
THE "SONG OF THE BROOK. From the spring beneath the beech-tree, Where the bubbling waters rise: There began my wayward wanderings, 'Neath the blue of summer skies. Like a thread of liquid crystal, By some fairy fingers spun- Lengthening out my tiny current, Day and night I tireless run. Through the meadow, where the daisies Fleck the emerald turf with snow, With the sunshine on my bosom, Singing merrily I go. Down the rocky hillside sliding In and out from stair to stair, Till, midway the rocks o'eraweeping, One swift plunge, the last I dare. 'Then, from out the white foam stealing, Past the mill I make my way, Where the ponderous wheel hangs dripping, Green with moss for many a day Underneath the little foot-bridge Where the sunburnt children fish, With their bare feet dangling downward For my cooling lips to kiss. Hiding in the rocky shadows, Shining by the dusty way Murmuring by the lowly cottage, Whispering 'neath old turrets grey, Chiming this refrain for ever, As I tinkling ripple on 'Tis the heart we bear within us Maketh life a sigh, or song.
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS:
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS: A STORY OF A LIFE. --+- CHAPTER XV. A SOLITARY individual might have been observed, for some time, pacing backwards and forwards under the wall of Sand well-park. The iuitiated reader would at once have recognised the person called Nim, to whom he was introduced a few pages back, in Regent-street. Nor was his exterior much changed. There was the same over dressing, the same profusion of lings and chains, the same cver- done importance of look and swagger of movement, which are conceived.to be so entirely "the thing" by the practiser, and which are so transparent to everybody else. There was that in the swing of Nim's unexceptionable cane which, in his own eyes, had the true aristocratic air about it; but which would merely have told the discerning ob- server that he was not much accustomed to carry one. Neither discerning nor undiscerning eye, however, marked him just now. He had the whole promenade to himself, and, judging by his frequent halts, and impatient glances down the road which led towards the town, did not particularly enjoy his solitude. He was evidently expecting some one; and, for a while, had nothing but expectancy to feed on. At last, how- ever, the figure of a man made its appearance in the distance. The person in waiting watched him atten- tively for a few moments, and then, as if satisfied with the result of the investigation, quickened his pace, and joined him. Well, Rufller," he said, abruptly, "what news? Is tho Barker down yet ?" No, and be hanged to him," was the reply and that's worse, they say, now, that he won't be here these three or four days. I tell you what it is, Nim, I don't think it's using us fairly, to bring us all the way down here, and then keep us walking about with our hands in eur pockets, as if we had nothing else to do but to play the swell. I don't see what we want here at all, for my part." "Oh, I can tell all about that," remarked Nim, with a wink. I am a little deeper in the secrets of the cibinet than you are, Rufller. London was getting a little too hot for us, you see; and I know the Barker got a hint that we were likely to be looked after. So be thought it was best to cut and run, for a bit; just till the scent was gone off a little. Oatch a weasel asleep. He's a sharp fellow, that Barker." Well, so he is, I'll say that for him," assented Rufller. But it's a miserable hole to come to, for top sawyers like us." "Why, it does smoke like a great tobacco-bex, cer- tainly," said Nim but it's a rare place of business, an-A that's the thing, after all. We shall get along like cock-fighting; while they are looking for us at Brighton, or Cheltenham, or Whitby, perhaps, and wondering wherever we can be got to. It was a real clever dodge of the Barker's to pitch upon this place. They would as soon think of look- ing for us in York Minster." But if he must book us for smoke and cinders," grumbled Rufller, "why didn't he come himself? We can't begin till be does, I suppose ? "Of course not," replied Nim "he has got the dies with him. Nothing to be done till I come,' as Jack Ketch says. Beg pardon for tha allusion present company excepted, of course. And as to hie not coming, it is vexing, certainly; but it's as much so to him as it is to us, take my word for it. Just look at the thing now. Here's a hint passed that they are beginning to take notice of us in Scot- land-yard. If we pooh-poohed the thing, they would have been down upon us one of these mild nights, and it would have been up dickey. Now, by starting in time you see, we leave them to think it was only a false alarm or, if there should be a doubt left, it is sure to fix itself on the Barker. He knows that, well enough, and he's bound to throw them off the scent. Well, and how is he to doit?" Why couldn't he come here, as well as we ?" asked the other moodily. Not so green," chuckled Nim. "Why, they'd be down by the next train, and catch us all like rate in a trap. He's a little too wide awake for that. ETe will have to dodge about till he throws the scent off, but he'll be here at the first safe moment, make up your mind to that. He can't come till the coast is clear, of course." Well, there's something in that," observed Rufller; but it doesn't make it any the pleasantor. His message said, 'The sooner you are off, the better;' so I came down at once, off band, thinking I should find a supply of everything when I got here instead u of that, here's a cheque on the pump-and the fact is, I'm hard up. You couldn't lend me a flimsy or two, could you ? Changed my last yesterday morning," replied Nim, And it is all gone but a few shillings. I was asking myself, just now, how I could manage to hold on till the Barker comes." "I can't want, I know that," said Rufllar, gloomily and I won't, in a country like this, I can tell you. When I see people, by the score, shoving me f'ght and left, and ready to push me into the gutter, if I would but let them, and when I think that every soul of them has got enough in his pocket to buy me twenty times over, I say it again, I won't want. Nobody ought to want here, and nobody would want, either, if it wasn't for the laws. Tho laws are all Wrong, Nim. They are made by a class, and they are ttade for a class. As a free-born Englishman, I hate them and I'll never pay any respect to them as long 8s I live." "Ah," observed Nim, "you are a cleverer fellow than I am, Rufller, after all. I never understood the thing, before. Of course, I know, the laws must be wrong, because I never did anything that I felt I ought to do but they bad me up for it; but it never struck me that it was all owing to what they call class legislation." Well, well," replied the other, a little peevishly, don't let us say any more about laws. I'm sick of them, for my part, and have been long ago." A very natural feeling," remarked Nim but I Wns just going to ma e an application of what you S'ild.. It's a pity so much good logic should be lost. Here are you, hard up, and I'm all but; this ought, not to be, but the laws are all class laws, as you say, and they have no remedy for it. What follows? Why, that we extemporise a law for ourselves, to be sure. I'm not going to starve while there's plenty about me, any more than you are; and as we can do nothing in our own way till the Barker comes, what do you say to our acting on the advice of our friend Pistol, in Shakespeare ? I don't know much about Shakespeare," repli(d Rufller; but as you speak of Pistol, I suppose its something in the stand and deliver line and I must have money, somewhere and somehow so I'm quite agreeable—that is, if you have got a pistol, because I haven't." Nor I either, literally speaking," said Nim. "The fact is, Pistol was—but there, I won't puzzle you with the state of things in his days. It is enough to tell you that if you and I had flourished at that time, we jbould have been regular first. raters, and the Prince of Wales would have been the man to tell us so. What the present prince would say is, of course, an open question, as h9 has noi the privi- lege of our acquaintance my private opinion is, that r he would not appreciate us. But as I was saying, we want money the Barker is not here to give us any, and it is inconvenient to wait." Inconvenient!" interrupted the other; rather worse than that, Master Nim. I don't see where my dinner is to come from. Not out of my pocket, I'm sure of that; and my landlord won't tick, and be hanged to him. So it's a little more than inconvenient, as far as I'm concerned." Well, well, we won't quarrel for a word," returned Nim, in a condescending tone; "I only put it mildly. The real thing is, we must have the needful, and as society won't help us, we must help ourselves and there's no reason why we should not do it at once. There's a young fellow coming along the road now if appearance goes for anything, he is able to assist us and he will do it, I dare say, if we ask him in a proper manner." If we knock him down, you mean," observed the Rufller. "You are really a capital fellow," replied Nim; you catch tbiogs by a sort of instinct. Pity you were not better educated. You would have gone ahead like a balloon. Very well. You catch the idea. Now we will put it into business language. Nobody knows us here, and, if they did, there is nobody in sight, luckily. He looks a slight young fellow, and one that can't give much trouble. We may clean out his pockets in two minutes, cut over the park wall, and be off in a crack. Now I'll give you the plan of the campaign—I will go forward, and pass him. As he comes by, TOU make a dash at his watch. I see the chain glittering as he comes on, and we'll hope it's a good one. I'll turn short round upon him, and help you by giving him a touch over the head, just enough to make him sen- sible, without hurting him. I can't trust you to do that. You have got a confounded heavy hand, and you are a man of impulse. There would be a coroner's inquest out of the matter, if you did it. Now, you shall see how neatly I'll manage the thing. Here he comes. How you may always tell a real swell! That fellow walks like an emperor, every inch of him I have been trying for years to get into that sort of step, but I never could." And, with an admiration which seemed to have superseded, for the moment, all thought of ulterior designs, he remained gazing in abstract silence on the advancing figure of Reginald Vernon. CHAPTER XVI. BUT, however much the student of Shakespeare might love to indulge in the poatry of his profession, he never thought of allowing it to interfere with its prac- tical prose. Have your wits about you, Rufller," he said, as their intended victim approached, "and mind that you don't speak. If you should happen to be thrown together again, he might recollect your voice. Some people have plaguy long memories in that way. Good night, Mr. Erlmistone," he continued, in a louder tone, and a totally altered vo,ce, as Reginald, little dreaming of the character of his new neigh- bours, came within a few yards of them, evidentlydeep in thought. Gradually quickening his pace as he spoke, Nim passed him without apparent notice. Following closely in his wake, Ruffler, as had been concerted, grasped at his chain as he passed in turn; and as Reginald, by a sort of intuitive movement, threw out his arm to guard it, the marauder grasped it firmly by the wrist. What does this mean ?" cried the young man, in an indignant tone; and, as he spoke, be struck the hand which held him so smart a blow with his cane, that the grip relaxed, and he was able to free himself by a sudden jerk. Seeing his antagonist preparing to renew the attack in a more formidable manner, he dexterously eluded the attempt to close witk him, and dealt the ruffian another blow with his cane, which caused him to recoil several paces. In the same moment, however, a blow from behird descended upon his own head with such crushing force. that all his powers seemed paralysed. He felt himself grow giddy the wall, the trees, the figure before him, swam round him in an indistinct mass; the dead, heavy pain, that shot up to his very brain, seemed to swell it to bursting his senses began to fail; he bad a vague consciousness of tottering, of being seized in a powerful grasp, of offering an ineffectual resist- ance and then, his fainting senses suddenly rallied again, as a clear ringing voice exclaimed in a loud commanding tone- Hold off you cowardly scoundrels! Do you call yourselves Englishmen ?" At the same moment Reginald beard the sound of several heavy blows, struck in rapid succession, and feit that the grasp which had hitherto held, him, as in a vice, was suddenly withdrawn, and that he was saved from falling by having staggered against the wall. Almost before his feebly returning sense had realised these things, a strong arm w's again passed round him, but this time with evident care and tenderness; and the same clear ringing voice which he had heard before, but now modulated to a tone of earnest sympathy, ex- claimed— You are not much hurt, sir, I hope ?" Reginald had by this time recovered sufficiently from the effects of the stunning blow which he had received to be able to reply with courtesy and, raising his eyes to the questioner, he beheld a tall, and apparently powerful figure, evidently in the full vigour of youth- ful manhood. The features of the new comer were partially concealed by a large cap, which in the late struggle had been drawn very much over them but the sound of his voice at once invited to confidence. Having ascertained that his opportune arrival and the very efficient part he had taken in the me ca had pre- served Reginald from serious injury, the stranger's next inquiry was for his residence. Villa-road-terrace," he repeated. "I was about to offer you a rest at my lodgings till you were more perfectly recovered but your own are the nearer of the two, and we cannot do better than proceed there at once." You are very kind," said Reginald but I musi not increase my obligations to you by trespassing on your time. I can walk quite well now." "I shall see you safe at your own door before I leave you," said the stranger; you must be still weak. It was a heavy blow. I heard the sound of it before I leaped ever the park-wall. Besides, they may still be watching, ready to pounce upon you egam as soon as they see ua separate. No, no, sir you will not shake me off yet, I promise you. Take my arm, and be silent as we walk. Talking will do you no good." Drawing Reginald's arm within h's own as he spoke he turned in the direction cf Villa-road-terrace, and so literally enforced his considerate injunction of silence, that scarcely a word was spoken till they reached its entrance. "Here, then," said the stranger, pausing, we may part. My conscience will acquit me now." J "But mine would not," replied Reginald, whom the fresh breeze and the gentle exhilaration of the exercise had now tolerably restored. "You have rendered me a signal service, and we must not part so lightly. Besides," he added, opening the door as he spoke, for they had paused at the entrance to his lodgings, you have other thanks to receive as well as mine." The sound of his voice had already caused the door of the little parlour to be tbrown open, and Ellen stood ready to receive him. The stranger had no ex- cuse to avoid entering. His appearance without his bat more than con- firmed the favourable impression Reginald had already taken of him. His figure was tall and we)l proportioned his faca somewhat thin and pale, but with features of a high and thoughtful cas"; the lower ones indicating considerable energy and decision of character, and the whole wearing that oxpres ion of manliness and honesty to which the far greater proportioa of us give our confidence at a glance, and rarely find ourselves deceived. If his address could not, in the strict sense of the term, be called gentlemanly, it had a quiet independence about it which was equally removed from assumption and gaucherie. It was marked, moreover, by that innate courtesy wkich, as it is a simple transcript of the feelings, does not require the polish of polite society, and whose absence, where it does not naturally exist, no artificial polish can supply. With his per- sonal appearance so manifestly in his favour, and the additional prestige of his share in the event which had been the means of introducing him to the household, it need scarcely be said that his reception was of the most cordial kind and, if any ingredient bad been wanting, the infusion of which could give it a still deeper tinge, that ingredient was found in the modest manner in which he disclaimed his right to receive a welcome. A mere nothing," he said I bad been across the country on business, and was making a short cut through the park on my way home. Just as I reached the wall, I heard some sounds which told me that a struggle was going on, and leaped it in time to prevent mischief. That is all." "No, that is not all," cried Reginald, not a little pleased to see both his mother and sister smile as he said so; "your promptitude and energy against odds which very few would have challenged, have per- haps saved my life, and we must not part like this. It has not been a common-place introduction, and I hope a friendship will grow out of it which will be as little so as its origin." And he held out his hand. "Nothing is common-place with me," replied the visitor, accepting the hand frankly, and returning its grasp with fervour: "where I give my hand, my heart goes with it. But I am forgetting myself," he added, rather hesitatingly. "I have no right to talk in this manner to one in your position." "We will waive all that," siid Reginald, in his most cordial tjne I am too proud a man to pay compliments but, whatever your own sosial position may be, you are evidently one of Nature's gentlemen and, as far as the world's version of the word goes, I have lost caste. We meet, therefore, on equal terms, even in that point of view. But your remark leads to a question which I was about to ask. To whom am I indebted for my escape from a robbery which would have been a serious loss to me, and perhaps from death ? You will insist on overrating my poor assist- ance," replied the stranger but as we tradesmen say, I must not allow myself to make capital ou-t of it. I am not much accustomed to what is called genteel society. It is proper to tell you that I am no more than a mechanic. I am in the employ of Mr. Weldon, and my name is Charles Manly." "What!" cried Reginald; "is it possible that you are the Mr. Manly whom I have heard so much about? The manager of the whole establishment, and almost as much regarded there as the principal himself I" We must not say tbat, sir," replied Manly, with a quiet smile. Of course, I know something of the trade. I entered the works a poor boy, with no pros- pect before me but such as my energies could give. I felt that I had tbera, and determined that they should not lie fallow. They have not done so, and the result is my present position. Still, I must not forget that I am but a working man." A working man! cried Regfeald, with emphasis. In this busy beehive of ours, what prouder title can there be ? Wherever civilisation has been advanced wherever science has been extended wherever enter- prise has been stimulated wberevc-r knowledge has been deepened wherever intellect bag burst into a loftier growth, or imagination soared to a prouder flight; wherever the interests of the great human nce have been mors understood, have been more developed, have been placed on a higher and firmer basis; wherever ary shin g really ami enduringly great and good has been achieved, we have been indebted for it to the energies of working men. Those lofty spirits who have devoted themselves to the necessary efforts who, bv the often unbeheld and un- thonght, of-of their tim?, their weahh, their energies, t-h«r talents, bare produced the magnificent results on which the world now gszea with admiration, have been essentially and pre-eminently working men. Without working men—and none of your holiday amateur workers, but bfeadfast, untirirg, undaunted, and therefore indomib Me conrrontera of the ind,s- pensable toil-—where would have been the proud posi- tion which the present age so justly glories in—where the wonders which have made it what it is ?" "Why, Reginald," cried Mrs. Vernon, who had been making one false stitch after ano'her in her crochet, and no-? dropped it in despair, "whoever would have thought to hear you talk like this ? You positively amaze me." I am only adverting to facts," pursued Reginald. "Every man who. according to the bias of his genius, has earned a niche in society's great temple of worthies, has been eminently a working man. Indeed, as no one who will not climb ever stood upon a mountain summit, so no one who will not work will ever occupy a place among the great and the good-will ever earn an honoured position among his fellows, or will ever go down to future ages among those who 'die not with their dust.' Wo have higher titles among us, but one of tbe noblest which a right-minded English- man recognises i, that of working man." Strange anomaly of human nature. The utterer of these sentiments, who uttered them in all honesty and fervid feeling, had just shrunk from being detected by one of whom he had little knowledge, and for whom he had no esteem, in the character of a working man. Perhaps it was that very want of esteem which made the difference or else tho severe communing he had held with bis pride since his moment of weakccga. Whichever it was, he seemed determined to make the mortification of pride com- plete, for he added— "I am a work in,? man myself, in every sense. I am a poor drawirfr-mester, dependent on my exei- tions for my daily brend and ItS these exertions are of a more precarious character than yours, you are entitled to rank above me in the social scale. So there can be no objection, in any form, to our becoming friends." And he hf Id out his hand again. The preserver of my dear son's life must always be a valued friend of mine," cried Mrs. Vcrnon and all her exclusive reelings faded, for the moment, from thA mother's mind, -g she imitated the action. EilndidsotsppRkas she followed the example; but the glance of her beautiful eye, when she put her small white hand into his, was perhaps the most elo- quent appeal of the three to Charles Manly. At oil events, he bowed reverentially over her hand as it lay for an instant within his own and his look into the lovely face above it brought the slightest tinge of colour into a cheek which had passed through 4he ordeal of being one of the leading belles of a London season, and had not found its equanimity disturbed. CHAPTER XVII. THE acquaintance so singularly commenced between Reginald and Charles Manly speedily ripened into intimacy. Fj" this, indeed, the elements already existed. Both were young, ardent, and energetic; lovers of knowledge, and unaccustomed to be daunted by difficulty. So many points of agreement were sufficient to have created a bond of union between them, irrespective of the circumstances which bad first thrown them together and when these came to be added, it was small marvel that their connection should soon become of the closest kind. Reginald was delighted with the frank, straight- forward, persevering character of his new friend; but the Folid advantages of the intercourse lay mainly on the side of Charles Manly. He stood in precisely the same social class as Mr. Weldon-that of ealf- mademen; but the wide difference of their charac- ters, both in mind and heart, would have been con- clusive evidence of the fact, if it had not been demonstrated a thousand times before, that no class can be adequately represented by an individual specimen. Thrown on his own resources at a tender age, the greater portion of Charles Manly'a early energies had been naturally required for the supply of his physical wants. As steady industry, and the skill which he evinced in mastering the details of his business, gradually improved his position, he had eagerly availed himself of his increased means and leisure to remedy the defects of his education and, at the time of his introduction to the reader, he had acquired an amount of general know- ledge superior to that of many whose advantages, at starting, had been much beyond his. Still, his acquirements had, naturally, been of a stern, prac- tical character. While grasping eagerly at the utile, in whatever form he saw it within his reach, he had found little leisure for the cultivation of the dulce -in fact, had rather despised it than otherwise and he was at a loss to account for the gratification hich he now found himself experiencing as he looked at Reginald's tasteful sketches, or listened as the fine voice of EHen brought out, in its full facination, the bsauty of Verdi or Bellini, Not that, however charming he found these things, he trusted himself within their spell beyond certain limits. He felt the development of a new taste within him and its indulgence, coming, as it did, as an easia in the hard and sterile desert of his life, was of the most exquisite nature; but he felt also—and, with him, a conviction was a thing to be at once reduced to action, and acted upon, like a law of the Medes and Persians—that, circumstanced as he was, the fascinating guest Trust be admitted as a guest only and that the time it was permitted to occupy, however delightfully it might be spent, must be sternly interdicted from intrusion on the hours dedicated to the real business of life. Its poetry, as he now caught his first glimpse of a portion of it, might appeal to a correeponding sense in his own breast, hitherto lying dormant and un- dreamed of; and the awakening of that sense to a new and beautiful life might be of the most enchant- ing character, and might make him feel as if he had but just begun to live. Bat it behoved him to re- member—and, at this dangerous moment, to sound it in Li8 mind's ear with more stentorian tongue than ever—that his business was not with the poetry of life, but its prose its stern, flowerless, every day, hard-working prose; that the first was, at best, but the honey-drop of existence, and, however sweet in itself, was unfit for general nutriment. Still, with all the predeterminations of hia judgment, and with his strength of character to carry them into action, it might have been a nice question whether these in. dulgences did not sometimes overstep the boundary line which prudence had drawn between relaxation and duty, especially as they were aided by the inte- rest which Mrs. Vtroon so naturally took in the man who, though nothing but a bourgeois, was, neverthe- less, the probable preserver of her son's life; and by that which it was pardonable for a London beauty to feel for a young, handsome, and interesting young man, who had fought himself up from a mere nothing to be all but a gentleman, introduced, too, under circumstances almost chivalrous and with ideas so fresh, so fervid, and so sensible, that he was positively quite a study. So affairs went on. The ladies did honour to the simple worth and modest excellence of a nature so new to them and Reginald, while looking deeper into character, estimated at its full value the sturdy inde- pendence and bold hardihood of a spirit akin but superior to his own—a spirit which, instead of being the slave of circumstances, wrestled with them in Samsoa-like strength, and moulded them to its will. Th,) trio, while they felt thus, equally enjoyed the gratification afforded by the present, without bestow- ing a thought on the future. Charles M-mly himself, if, in accordance with his deeper and sterner nn-tur, he did sometimes glanco at the future, glanced at it casually and lightly and found the present too beautiful and too intoxicating to be fur- rendered for the sake of a barely possible contingency —a contingency which might never have any actual embodiment, and which, if it should, might easily be coped with and put down. Meanwhile, that future was advancing, stealthily but steadily on them all big with events which none of thorn could foresee, and with influences which were destined to determine the character of much of their after lives. (To be continued.)
LADIES' COLUMN. --
LADIES' COLUMN. PARIS FASHIONS. House jackets, called in Paris vestes d'apparte- ment," have become very fashionable for wearing at five o'clock tea, and many new forms have appeared, notably two—the Sultane casaque, and the Poliguac casaque. The Sultane is made of thick Broussa. silk, with coral-coloured ground, studded with flowers embroidered by hand. The back fits the figure, while the front takes the form of a sailor's blouse I allude to those navy-blue serge blouses worn by little boys, and confined round their waist with a leather band. With the Sultane, there is no bacd it stops at the waist, only from the hips fall two Bash ends, which are knotted and descend to the centra of the skirt, after the fashion of Oriental -cos- tumes. The Poligoac cassque is made of broca1,d mauve silk, and it opens in front over a chemisette of Argentan lace. It has long rounded barques, turning back on the hips, with a double row of Breionne l -.o.e a cascade or lace also ornaments the front. For dressy chateau dinners, a bodied called the "casa- quine ha3 been introduced, and is likely to become popular. It is the peasant woman's cas»quin,as WO-B in Louis XV.'s reign a basque is added to a bodice, and an open fan-shaped space is left in the centre of the back. The richest m&terials are used for the casaquin I saw one at Mma. Philippe's made of white watered silk, and fastened with paste di-tnoc-nd buttons, which was intended to be worn over a skirt of white Indian muslin. Another casaquin was of ribbed velvet, bege colour, on a pale pink ground, the rib or stripe being very fine and very close. A third was in embroidered velvet, pale blue ground, with pile pink flowers, and a convenient point in its favour is that the casaquin can be worn over almost every variety of skirt. Then tbero is the redingote a la Fravgzise, with a large petit maitre waistcoat. It ia made in velvet, particularly ruby and navy blue, with the waistcoat in white faille, or in some pale colour, such as ecru, light blue. &3., and sometimes it is made of crepon embroidered wish silk. These embroidered crepons are sold at the Mr-ga- zing du Louvre as long wide scarves together with remnants of embroidered velvets, and these are most convenient for retrimmins summer dresses. With a good pattern for guide it is most easy to make a drâs look well with these embroideries. A jacket and a casaque different from the skirt gives a charming variety to a toihtte, which the uniform colouring, even to the smallest detail that now prevails, always lacks. For autumn and winter wear plush is to be ngain fashionable, and a large variety of bodices made of light coloured plush have already been prepared. I have seen pale pink and pale blue, poppy red ard ceriae plush bodices whijh were intended to be worn. with barege, and silk skirts for evening demi- toilettes. The following is a charming example—a mauve Surah skirt trimmed down the front with bands of old Flemish binche and flat bows of violet satin lined with mauve satin. Low square bodice of mauve plush, with large revers of Flemish biccha lined with violet satin the band also violet satin. White is worn almost universally for casino dresses, particularly white b>reje, white gauze, and white muslin, Indian cashmere, and bengaline. If colours are preferred, dark blue and green, wheat and ta»e are selected, the ribbons trimming them being always red of some shade—CMoubier, Turkey, claret, ruby, or Legion d'Honneut'. Travelling dresses are in great request; those in the best style are made of fine weollen materials of light texture. A mixture ever so slight of cotton should be avoided, as the fabric, unless all pure wool, is certain to cockle under bad weather. Bourrette t with rough threads'and sDnll checks are likewise chosen. Dark myrtle, green, plum, brown, and dust coloured camel's hair costuuics are made likewise, plain and rough threaded bunting, cashmere, tweed, and serge; the gay galons of last winter have disap- peared, and have given place to narrow braid to m tch the material used. Neat lingerie and jewellery, buttoned kia boots, stockings to match the costume, a chip hat with a grenadine scarf, likewisa to match long Lisle thread or undressed kid gloves, and a waistband of either leather or silk, make up the travelling costume, which of all things should be irreproachably neat.—Eliatie de J.1far y in the Queen.
USEFUL HINTS.
USEFUL HINTS. DUCK STEWED WITII OLIVES.-Tru.s it with an onion inside, and its legs tucked in as fowls are trussed for boiling. Mince a couple of ounces of fat bacon, put them into a stewpan with an ounce of butter, and when this is melted put in the duck breast downward, when it begins to colour turn it over, moisten with a little stock, add pepper find salt, a bundle of sweet herbs, and let it stew gently till done-about an hour. Meanwhile stone and parboil a quantity of olives, mix a little butter and flour on the fire till it browns, add as muih of the liquor (strained and skimmed of fat) in which the duck was stewea as may be wanted for sauce, put in the olives, let them boil a short time, then Dish up the duck with the s&uca over, and the olives round it. One or two tablespoonfuls of Sp anish sauce added to the sauce are of course an improvement. PASTl FROLLA, AS MADE IN rTALY.-Put twelve ounces of flour on a pasteboard, make a hole in the centre, and into it place six ounces of lard, five ounces of sugar, some finely chopped lemon-peel. and a little cinnamon. Mix the yolks of three eggs and one white with one or two teaspeonfuls of rum, and work up together as lightly as possible—the less it is touched the better the paste. This makes an excellent crust for fruit tarts, very light and shert. ÅPPLE CnA.RLoTTE.-Out from a household loaf a number of slices of uniform thickness (quarter to three-eighths of an inch); butter a pie dish and all the slices of bread; line the pie dish with the slices of bread; fill it up with layers of apples cut up very small, placing between eaih layer a ht le apricot jam, some grated lemon rind, and plenty of brown sugar. Cjver the dish up with slices of bread buttered as above, and bake it till the bread is well browned. FLY.—Grate three or four sweet potatoes (the white sort), place them in a stone jar, with twelve quarts of toiling water, one dcz-n cloves, clear sugar to taste, and clarify with the white shell of an egg. Letitetand twenty-four hours, then strain, bottle and cork tightly it is fit for use in a week. SUBSTITUTES FOR ASPARAGUS.—There must be ia the wcrld thousands of plants suitable for man's enjoyment and sustenance as articles of food of which he is yet entirely ignorant. Amongst these unknown treasures there may be many sub- stitutes for asparagus, hut, so far S3 such supposed substitutes are known, it must be confessed they are rot of great value. It is possible, how- ever, that at this season of the year a list of plants properly coming within this category may ba useful to many, and the following is offered as a contribution towards a list, for there cannot be a doubt that many more plants might be to it: Salsify (Tragopogon pomfalius), Buda kale, Swede turnip, butcher's broom, milk thistle, burdock (Lappa major), common cotton thistle (Onopordimn acantkhini), Star of Bethlehem, bladder campion, tho rose bay willow herb (Kpilobium angustifolum), bistort or common buckwheat (Polygonum bistorta), the hop, and J "pan"se asparagus (Polygonum cuspidatum).— The Gardtners' Magazine. To COVER PRF ten thin brown paper with the white of an egg. This perfectly excludes the air. DISINFECTION BY SULPHUR.—To disinfect clothing it should be lightly sponged or sprinkled with water containing well minglzd milk of sulphur, in the pro- portion of a teaspoonful to a pint of water, and then ironed with a flat iron, heated to a temperature suf- to vMs.tilise the sulphur without burning the c g. fl i hold Gui.'e.