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SPANISH WOMEN, — By WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP (THE AMERICAN NOVELIST). an^ ^erf °* tlack bulls was being driven in \r e,.1^e'°Ping whirl of dust across the old Moorish bridge a* Cordova, while the peasants and tha usual traffic were backed up into the old gale of the Puerta del Puente to give theIn passage. The ordinary stir and move- ent resumed their sway, and there came by, rest, a small group of working They were going over to their daily P suburb on the other bank of the u Q*ver' a w'^e> ooffee-coloured stream icn here makes a orescent-like sweep. One of them said to a member of the band Who took toll at the gate, in the customary oreign way, of all market-prod ucs coming into the city, AdiosT Adi-os! hsrmosa,pretty, or beautiful, one-he rejoined. The description was well bestowed; she as a pretty girl without any manner of doubt, rather large than inferior of stature, and with something majestic about her which always belongs to the peasant simplicity of costume. She bad the fine dark eyes which seem to say everything even when they say Dothmg, and the very dark skin found in countries well baked bv the Sun; a smooth akin, nevertheless, and quite capable of giving pusage to the blush that mantled it at her OWn forwardness. She was perfectly we!! e in all those points in which feminine per ection ia outwardly visible, and from her rut !lught be divined the small foot and writ6 1lls';eP *liich have led poets and other ers, from Byron down, to institute com- A p n,s "Jtween the Spanish woman and the Wood8' e?T. w*s without doubt Moorish the oal"1 *» younS c^enizei1 °f the place where even irP *or centories held sway, perhaps ■"ornen supply. Not that the Moorish they m have any such gait, for dions le waddl« about in their inaommo- be a'V •0QSers> an<i let us concede that it may breedaine<* *^ter crossing of the I faicy the beauty at the bridge had no faj-L»&l*l''ance ^*e man who probed the ers oarts for contraband, beyond what r own good spirits gave her. She was some- 61 *boufc sixteen, and he was a lean, guzz.ed individual, with very high oheek oones arid Ieathery-3allow as nothing but a Spanish complexion ever can be. Naturally, girls of their station are not held to so strict an etiquette as in the highest class, and they teceive many bold oks of admiration from chance observers along the way. WeH, she had a red rofte in her hair, and ahe went away laughing with her companions across the ancient bridge, so aucient that a good part of it had been Homan even before it became Arabic and then Spanish. And so-keeping, I trust, a sate distance from the feet of the bulls;-she disappeared for ever, one of those momentary glimpaes of fairness from wbioh the traveller often parts with a real pang; a touch of youno:, warm, and breathing pr&l sent life that derived aU the greater zest from its ancient setting. A IN SP"NGTINIE, and in Cordova of jQS': C0Itie from being ceding W Vaaf; P^auted court pre- its long ifra!/ fraSraDt with ^iottireaque timo-J!! trees, and with the *11 about it an,j f 1,1 in the little streets «»e cathedul uir\being disillusioned in mevable columns in' tWtfuth'of theiunn- tenor you oan s»e b-it « f n»u«h-vaunted in- red and white prii civ. tZ at a tlme' a,ldtbe •treak of fat ai^d thJ f 0i, archltt;ci"1'«. the has been narMv 1 str(;ak of lean, as it were, rous imitatin^ ^ou ky (o° nume- Jon h^vet! • ?°S think of TQrkiHh baths *oarth-iven -{Pr' ^e''ew"3 church, on Cerent pari J ,\0r3f' wbic!l some irre- Eoly ztf ,;ionei' dubbed the Church of the it was qJ,^ ANY rat«>it was all delicious: aMlto°ghtt°be. ^Paui^h »an n°'; tru'ibfully report that all that l"ga 0le.n were like this girl P ltamark agrei>abl^ n°^ing of her companions, flow There are^^ 6ati*i^Gtoi'y is the general rale. 1 (Jre o 8° ma«y uncertainties afloat that Of g00^ r ^formation set before U8 in terms should ha.T>0Un^' ^"equivocal exactness. I Certain nn° a,cl'i',e to this damsel a °He of fcis0 f1- ?r 0{! mental traits; then take 'I l&Oie w 'gher class and deal with her the *0men w exposition of Spanish ^fritej. V„°U completed. Thus a French lately estimates that it takes a l*arisierin T*0llUn three years to become a •WtT!here is n0 lack of succiuctne33 about ih. There is no litel- of succinctness eojjgci- 13 statement, based no doubt upon a ak»truse statistics that defies the Vf'ao +url0n" It 13 the airy Aurelian school j gB • L"as Writes in the intervals of the i 8elf°US "k0'69 'n the Maim. lie is him- t p AVe'eran. or I had best say an inveterate i isiau and boidtvardier to the backbone,and one who properly estimates the worth of the ] Position to the attainment of which he affixes i the above limit of time. He goes on to say the Italian b .cpmes a Parisienne in one year, the Englishman in two generations and the German not under tive gfnerations Th? last statement must be a little coloured as part of bis quoia to the revenge for AIsAoe ] and Lorraine. The liussian woman, he con- ) eludes is born Parisian. This, too. is probacy coloured somewhat by the friendly political bias which desire*, abovo all things else at present, a Russian alliiiiee. The day after the visit to Cordova I was at Seville—Byron's Seville; the Sevil:e which It is the received tradition to rave about as the very home of exotic grace and beauty. It was at first visible on a distant height, like city in a fairy tale, and the brown plain over which we approached it was destitute of ouses, while whole tracts were covered with a small violet flower that gave them the aspect of stretches of sea. There is a great, deal of luck in these matters, atid if I did not li 6 10 the full display of female love- jtQess t"»t one is really bound to see there nit??118 on^ due perhaps to unpro- Wor "8 fortune. I saw the girls and toll?.0 °°min* °ut of the great Government <co factory almost the very first thing, ■^verybody speaks of that. Head De for?C1 £ „ tben al8° read Mario Bash- r/ • For my part, I remarked many and Qy a pale face among them, plenty of th<*7n a»°j- fe*tur8S> ajid figures without ,e;^ distinction, the result of unhygienic sickness, hard work, poverty. They all Wore red roses in their hai?, like a tl .J*011 ro#es in the bair were the rule, most without exception, that month in from M?' l<irst' in goin« UP t0 Granada seW A004' y°u"g women showed them- artmu 6ma^ stations thus adorned. I ~rni occasional scarlet carnation. A oran»A°t faces Peered through the like anotK66 ,S- ry' -1ast before BftwitS F of frmt* The wo»en sat 8tanof';«er°UI> y°QnS tailoresses, for in- PartIv'h^0»Pln ^°or8' lust oS the street, or abov« ,n!i *1 nd a CQrtain on the»' balconies %&l) f rod rose in their dark tresM* faten? I gotte.n' more rarely one w»th a 1. ^an.tll'a together at the breast "wtoV °,* them- SeviIIe is a ^^3 of plain hon«n«^' greets, formed of rather b'Mnies chLfl 7 White> VriatUnS with c 'Ut for o 7 8reen, on which the women ofendra* c[larming little women, »hQ heaet m«, wif.h air,alj plates in their hands, in the Plaza del Triunfo. They were endeavouring to add each her mite to a fund being raised for the purpose of buying a fine new veil for a popular Madonna, and they begged me to contribute so sweetly, it was out of the question to refuse. "Andal"—"go on"—"Please do," they urged coaxingly, when I feigned to deny them. This anda reminded me of another time I had heard it not long before, a dark evening, when 1 had had to wait several hours for a train at a little out-of-the-way junction. I went over to the Cantina Andaluz, which, with the station and a few frieght cars, were the only evidenoe of man's habitation in the place. There was a group of persons in the garden, a family group. 1 hardly knew what, it all passed obscurely in the dark; a girl had a guitar, and a younger sister was urging her to sing. Anda, Maria I anda anda-a-a I" she pleaded, impatient of the other's distrust of herself, which was finally overcome. The sitters around joined in and tried various things of their own, not always knowing either the words or the air very well. I am not happy, either with you or with- out yon," sang Maria. When with you you torment me past endurance; without you I die of longing. So I am not happy either with you or without you." Their songs almost invariably begin with a long-drawn, quavering cry, or whine, and then continue in a monotonous minor key—monotonous but fascinating and essen- tially Spanish. I thought the femine voices soft and pleasing, which is unusual, for it is regettable that the Spanish woman's voice too often has a harsh quality, a throat-roughness, about it. I have noticed this in Cuba and Mexico as well, where the union with the inferior races seems to soften it away. The ladies, of a higher grade, who came out from the entertainment given by a group of fashionable yoong men at the bull-ring one Sunday afternooon-the ladies who drove in the throng of fine equipages in the Pasco by the Guadalquiver-had often bad com- plexions, and some of the elder ones mous- taches like grenadiers. Bat all were very Spanish; they flaunted the Southern fan, they wore the mantilla still, thank heaven, though its days are probably numbered with the advanca of the railroad; and some of the beautiful carriages were drawn by mules all bedecked with coloured trappingEl. Spanish women are rather picturesque than beautiful, and it is the painter-like effects to which they lend themselves that account for the enthusiast, about them quite as much as their actaa/ good looks. It is a land where tyey are not afraid of vivid colours. Crirccaon and yellow drape not only the balconie/, but the backs of the dark- haired wom/n, in neckerchiefs or shawU of China silk wrought with gay patterns of dowers or birds. Look at yonder maid, in the Savillan suburb of Triana; she wears a China shawl of brilliant yellow, embroidered with green and scarlet, and she stands idly await- ing somebody in the doorway of a low house, dazzling white in the sunlight. From win- dow near by tumbles out a perfect cascade of gorgeous scarlet cactus blossoms. The best of it is it is in no way tawdry; yoa no more think of tawdriness in connection with it than with a gumming bird or a bird of para- dise. Naturally, the ingenious Parisian writer before mentioned did not mean that all Spanish women would become Parisiennes, but only those endowed by Nature with the peculiar adaptibility required. The truth is, there are no great number of Parisiennes even in Paris. To my mind, the Parisieone is born a. little indiscriminately everywhere. That union of grace, coquetry, intelligence, taste in personal adornment, gaiety of nature and well-meaning character—which yet must not be too rarely tempted—is a feminine in- heritance, confined to no particular section, and only awaiting its opportunities. If, then, even those best adapted to it cannot become Parisiennes in less than three years, it shows a certain fixity in the Spanish character, a gravity and depth even ill the lightest. We would by no means want them to become Parisiennes, at any rate in dress. Heaven forbid! This accomplished-and alas, it is in active progress in Madrid at least—muohjjg&of their interest would pass away. It is the characteristic fan and mantilla, or the laughing gipsy-like heads, with a bright handkerchief tied above them, or the water-girls going to the foun- tain, as at'Salamanca, with a copper jar poised on their heads and another on their hips. Fortunately for the traveller, the part which is most inter esting from this point of view is precisely that which it is the easiest to see. Society in the Spanish towns, if it exist at all, is retiring, and hides itself away from the"stranger. I was told of an English family that had resided in Seville for several v-ean-drawu by the.beauty of the surround- ings and the climate-and had not a single tocial acquaintance. Of course there is no tell- ing what portion of the fault wss on their side. l'he world over, no local society can be ex- pected to break up its long-established manners and customs, or to immediately understand^too entire lack of adhesion to Lbem in others, newly arriving at its gates. Native authorities give a pleasant account Jf society at Seville. There would appear to be plenty of re-unions, tertullias-not so many dinuers-balls, and even pic-nics, and rowing-parties down the river. In the course of these, notwithstanding that the Moors have left to Spain the tradition of bringing up its women under an unusually close supervision, there are y)ften as free and inerryvgoings-on as if it wVre Amerioa. Then, after all their gaieties arjd coquetries, the young women" settle down, and become the best of wives. The more one travels about and happens, as he will, upon little natural incidents and home-like traits common everywhere, the more often be is inclined to think that thdre are no really inveterate national types, but, only differing individuals speaking different languages. There are light Spanish women as well as dark; reserved and silent ones as well as gay bustlings pirits actively forwarding the march cf modern progress, as well as those who sit under the sober shade of arcbtnic traditions. It would be difficult to find in any country at present, in the domain of intelligence, a more energetic worker than Senora Emilia Pardo Bazan. She devotes herself especially to the mere enlightened treatment of women, whose state she pronounces a veritable slavery, now maintained-by iron bars, now by fetters of gold and diamonds. In She school that she is forming around her she welcomes especially every woman who can contribute to the emancipation of her set not mere sentimental talk, nor ridiculous exaggerations, but tangible d.ed! of merit. She does her own part as a novelist and essayist, and in these fields takes the highest rank. With all this, she is no lladioal, not even a Republican; but, strangely enough, a Monarchist of the most uncompromising sort. It is quite refreshing her denunciations of the poor farce of Parlia- mentaryism. "Representative government, How and How Much our posterity will laugh at it," she exclaims. There is certainly much to be said for the monarchy when it can present those personal models which take a more powerful hold than any others upon the subjects; there would be everything to be said for it if these could be coustant. There are two European countries, namely, Spain and Italy, ^hich find them- elvas in this barmy condition at present! so far as women are concerned. The sweet young Queen-Regent of Spain, with her baby son in her arms, is a picture not ouly hanging in all the public assembly-halls, but impressed in feminine hearts and silently making a type and strengthening the domestic virtues. It would be curious if there were not a fund of gravity even in tha lightest minds in Spain, for it is a country that has always taken things seriously. It has always had heroic, even if somewhat mistaken, ideals; and personal convenience has never been allowed to stand in the way of carrying them into effect—whence, perhaps, one may traoe the modern indifference to the cruelty of bull-fighting. How could all Spanish women be alike with the prodigious variations of clinfate that raise differences between them ? On the high central plateau there are no oranges nor myrtles no more the delicious gardens of Bindarja nor Maria Pradilla. Barren la Mancha is fit for th", melancholy shepherdesses, the Cucinda8 and Camillas, who aired their misfortunes there. A chill wind blows at Madrid, and there are no red roses in the air. Further north more barrenness, yet without the resource of the ordinary society that at Madrid seeks its re- oreation within doors almost as it might in London. The neighbourhood of Avila, where the winter is long and harsh and there is no spring, is characterised as a country of stones and saints. In this stern spot Saint Theresa was born, a woman who, aa an ideal, still influences the women of Spain enor- mously. She was a saiut, who, her sanctity apart, was full of an eminent common- sense, an originality that has commended her to readers of all opinions. Without even having been taught, she wrote a style that an eminent member of the Spanish Academy, Juan Valera, has declared to be a model among the foremost. According to the testi- mony of her contemporarie<she,was beautiful. She was always gay. Amid her severe auste- rities she permitted herself but one luxury— it is one I thoroughly appreciate—she always placed her convents in a beautiful point of view. "Above all things, she said, If let us-not stultify our intellects; no one has any too much." Saint though she was, there was something very humanly lovable about her. I am not af; aid to quote, even in so close a connection with a revered name, one more of these faaci- natiug little songs, for guitar and caatanets, in which the popular rhymers of Spain show their own appreciation of their wouienkind. A star out of heaven has been lost, and in its place it no longer appears. In thy chamber instead it dwells and 3hines through thy radiant face. It shines through thy radiant face. A star out of heaven has been lost. Thine eyes, 0, my brown one, entrance me more than roses; more than the jacimino flower they delight. Ah, truly I am ill of them; to the hospital of i^an Augustine I must go away for oure."

"YF CRYSTMAS DAY ON THURSDAY BE." As Christmas Day falls on a Thursday this year, the following extract from a.n early poem in the Ilarleian MSS., in which the characteristics of the season are predicted according to the day of the week on which the festival falls, will profcably be read with some degree of interest: — Yf Crystmas Day on Tiiurs-cTay bo A «yn<ty winter yee shall see Or wyndes *r><J wedwra aU waited. And harde templates .strong and "thyewe. The Kom«r shall be goode and dry"; Cornys and bast-es shall multSplye, Tha' v(tv ?s good l >nds t) tylt'ie, Aud kyng*s and prynces shall iiye by skylle; What, chylde that day borne tiee He shaUe have lnppe riglue we!i to thea Oi' deeds liee «h»p)e go<xio and .vtibylle Of spebe ntul tc-nge wyse and re;ison:>bv!l". Who so tliat day any t-b»f!e nboute H.} shalbe_«tiente wyth-owtyo cJowfe And yf serenes* on that dav bcyiV, Ilyt soon fro the glyd«. GardeJ1fr. 41{u£J'1:-itle.

lix-K ng Miltn of Servia. n once more ia London. Onø thing is CErt,lif!; Ii,> will gtt n" invitation to Oaborn1, for the Quyen ii hnowu to have in virions ways privately shown her ."yn pathy with hit! divorced consort. On Christmas Day, wish a view of rrfkVmg distress, and ns the results of subscriptions, 3,500 hot-pols were distributed in Liverpool, which, it wascaleuhit d, would provide dinners for neatly 20,000 persons. Tto locked-out, duck labourers "f U-araton were provided with 300 hot-pot?, and a' Bootle tile mayor gave 400 hot-pots. The late Mr. Philip Horstnan, the donor of the Art (ia!lery to Wolverhampton, has bequeathed to the town (he wllole of his paintings and uri; treasure", the value of which is estimuted nt 9.25,000, condi- tionally on their being placed in one room in the gallery to be allotted for their exhibition alone. The pauiting", however, aio to remain in tho possession of the widow, a Ja,ly 77 years of age, during her lifetime. Plum-pudding never disagrees with mc.ltfJlI:et'e,' much I take of it. No more do iiii rice-pie?, no matter how many I eat. Stemming hot-and-stronjr gin- punch is the mo-it wltolescme beverage', so, also, is brandy-punch. Ic can't harm anybody who. on the Pickwickian principle, "takes enough of it." Both beverages go admirably with cigars and pipes. If you have anything like a headache on Boxing Diiv morning, depend upon it, it comes from «b9'«miou9iies» in drinking, eating, and smoking.— Punch. While the average yield of potatoes in the United States this year is given by the Depart- ment of Agriculture as only 57l bushels per Acre, an offer of prims by the American Agriculturist for heavy crops has brought to light some cases of extraordinary productiveness. The first priz-s £100. was won by a. farmer in Wyoming, who raised 974 bushels on a single acre of virgin soil. The pr .fit on this acre, apart from prize?, was d6143. The iand was riell in potttsh, and copiously ungated by water containing nm:h saline material. "CADBORY'S COCOA has, in a remarkable degree rhoae natural elements of sustenance which give the system endurance and hardihood, tmilciiug np muscles and bodily vigour, with a steady action that render it a moat asc ptable and reliable beverage."— Health. Lc5 Arx DKr.Wi.re PERSONS, especially females, should fortify themselves to meet the trials of the approacbine eeld and wet season by a fr<e use ot Gwilvm Eratis^ Hitlers. Bottles 'it. 9d. aui 6.1. eaph, „ 91279

L PUBLISHED BY THE CONSENT OF HER QltACIOUS MAJESTY, THE QUEEN OF ROUMANIA OUT OF TWO WORLDS, OR THE PRINCESS AND THE PROFESSOR. o By Carmen Sylva (ELIZABETH, QUEEN OFEOUM^IA). Ilancheustein, October 23, 1864. Bruno I wish I had not come. But, no I wanted to come I knew beforehand how it would be—a canossa They would almost have shut the door in my face; but I was already in the hall before anyone knew that I was coming. I stood dripping wet, dead tired, and so afraid! There was a confusion; I was treated with such coldness, like an entire stranger; only my Owlet stretched out her hands towards me. I fell on my knees before her, with my head in her lap, and wept as though my heart must break with sobbing. Ah, Bruno! Why did you not secure me, ithen I could not have done it. I am perishing through longing after you. I believe 1 have taken too much upon myself. I cannot carry it. out. I have imagined 1 could move roclis I ? But who am I to be able to do such things? I was soon called, and am allowed to go in to see my father, but in such a way that he would not see me. He could recog- nise no one. They said he would not survive till morning. I trembled so muck that my knees would scarcely support me. The whole family was assembled about him. They hardly turned round to look at me. There lay my father, quite unrecognisable in the dark, and was raving in delirious fever And I was obliged to stand and listen to what he said about me. And the others heard it and looked at me as though they would like to stone me. But that gave me courage. [ thought, if I have duties, I have privileges also. 1 stepped quite calmly up to the bed, although my uncle bad seized hold of my arm, and without say a word I began to lay wet bandages upon his head, to turn the pillows, to bathe his hands and moisten his iips. He became calmer and sank into a momentary restless sleep. They wished to approach ma and whisper to me. I put my finger on my lips and pointed to the door. And they went out What gave me the authority? I do not know I only felt that they must obey me and my iron will. Sinoe then I have not as yet undressed, not changed my boots, and am writing to you by the glow of a night light with a pencil, so that he may hear no noise, it was high time that I came They were doing all sorts of foolish things. I do not speak to them at all. Since they would not speak to me at first, and since I do not quit the sick-room, I demand silence. He speaks almost continually about m«, sometimes raging, sometimea lovingly, and the others always oome in at such moments and throw glances at me like daggers. But I only bend my head, so that my face is invisible in the shadow. Ah, 1 am suffering! In a few hours I have already emptied a whole cupful of bitterness. You will say "Right so why did you go away?" I know why and see why, and yet I think fought to be with you! But he will only be waited upon by me, although he docs not recognise me. lie pushes all the others away V. hat will happen when he discovers me ? I hardly venture to think of it, when 1 hear what be says And if he dies, and has not said one word of forgiveness to me, I believe I shall uot survive it. Ah how unhappy 1 am. Why need it have happened thus ? And I wanted to be in heaven with thee, and walk upon clouds Who can release me from this anguish of soul, from this purgatory ? Do you know what is the meaning of -1 Canvssa for a pride like mine? I sue no future at all, only a present like the darkness which surrounds me here, where no ray of light may pene- trate. J HY WIFE. Banchenstein, October 30th, 1864. got u word from you yet 1 For God's sake, one small word, and even if it ware as dreadful as those which fall from my father's lips, I would take it in submission. But to bear your silence and the raving of my father at the same time, that is almost beyond my strength. I have not yet rested a moment I believe the anxiety on your account makes me withstand the anxiety on my father's account, but you are cruel, Bruno. Surely, I cannot have ceased to exist for you ? V ou cannot blot me out of your life even it I yoct sbonld wish to do so You must drag this chain after you, and even I cannot set you free if (iod does not set you free. Have you no pity at all for me ? Can you push me < aside thu3, as if I had been nothing to you ? J \m 1 nothing to you but a burden and a j delusion? Nothing more? And thonghyou were to strike me, I should bend without a murmur under your hand. Only this terrible sileuce—take it from me Think of it, that I cannot sleep, and am thinking of you day end night, whilst I am wrestling to rob death of my father, who curses me! Bruno, it is superhuman. THY WIFE. H.M!chenstein, Nov. 7, 1864. Do yoa want to be dead to me, or do you think I am not as yet sufficiently crushed and humiliated? Oh, Ht uno Is that all your love Has it died and become extinguished so soon? As as our happiness ? No, you have never suffered, else you would ] have pity with my anguish Ah, I should like to flee from this despaiving sick room to thee, and then I ask myself, How will you receive me ? I feel like in a nightmare, where you hover about iu the air, always in J danger of being either crushed against the ceiling or being hurled down into the abyss. [ am nowhere, for nowhere will anyone recognise me, neither my father nor my husband, just as if I were already dead and wiped from off the faoe of i the earth. But I live! I live and love. And owing to my love I perish, for it finds no pardon. I sometimes feel as though I would like to run my head against the wall, only to free myself from the naaty dream. For reality cannot surely be so cruel! No, it is < not possible! I am only so much exhausted and 1 see phantoms You have not both of you ostracised me. You will both of you return to me and say: Your suffering was greater than your fault, and you shall be ours." But my father is dying with a curse on his lip3. And the curae will pursue me to my end! Oh, who, who can help me in this torment? Oh, Bruno, Bruno!—Your poor little ULLA. lianchenstein, Nov. 10th, 18G4. Oh, my God! Is there no pity with men ? Am I condemned by him and by thee? I am already hiding from all men I conceal myself behind the curtains, so that the air in the room may not see me. Bruno, if I cannot survive it, will you bo able to forgive yourself for having so much increased the measure of my sufferings that I could not  bear them ? Bruno, you were a god to me; If you had pity you would be so again I Have I-, not saorifioed everything for you ? And yet you will not pardon one single act of disobedience My patient's weakness is increasing. He calif me continually, and then I say," Yes. father 1". and take him in my arms. Then he smilea and goes to sleep. Why, he smiles at the sound of my voice-have you no longer a smik Mi Ut ipie ? Youa W ifE. Greifswald, November 19, 1804. To her Boval Highness the Princess Utricky at Horst, Banchenstein. I can have no pity upon my wife," for I have no wife. I have never had one every trace, every remembrance is destroyed. That I wish you that his Serene Highness may recover, and a bright life is self-understood. I have nothing further to say. BBUNO IIALLMUTH Banchenstein, Feb. 10th, 1805. My father forgot in his long and severe it4 ness that I was married. I told it him yester- day. Like a comical story, so laughable, that he really laughed. And now I will tell the story to Professor Bruno IIallmuth. Perhaps, he, too, will laugh :—There was onoa a king, who had an only ohild, and he loved this child more than his life. And the child loved him as much as it could love such an old man, when it has nothing else in the world. One day he went with his little daughter for a walk by the sea-ahore. Then the sea began to sound a mighty symphony, ICvcry drop was a sound. And upon the sounding waves there came sailing a ship, and by the maat there stood a man like a young god, and sang. And the Royaf child felt that it loved the man by the mast better than its father—better than its life. And the king spake:—"Say on, beautiif' youth, who art thou?" 'Jhen spake t^ youth—"I am a pearl fiafaer. I dive into unexplored depths and bring counties* riches to light. Will yoo give me your child to wife? It shall be rioh and happy like none upon earth!" "Go to Jericho!" exclaimed the king, for he was very angry, "You shall on no acoount have my uhild to wife. for it will be a queen." li Ob, father spake The maid, do you not see that he is a god ? A king- dom is nothing to me in comparison to him! Oh, that 1 were only a pearl in bia band 1" Then the king became still more angry and threatened the fisherman so much that he raised his anchors and turned away his ship to whence ha had come. But the maid tore herself from her father's grasp and fled to the youth upon the ship and sailed away; and would not see how the old man tore his hair and screamed for his only child. It only thought of being a pearl in the fisher- man's hands. And they dwelt together in the fisherman's hut by the stormy sea, and she was his faithful wife and served him, even when he was strange, and she always thought herself too lowly for the god whom she had loved. And the god had said: "For ever." For ever would he love her, like on the first day. She was only to forget the old king who had once been her father. And this she could not do. Then he quarrelled with her and scolded her: Proud Royal child High-spirited woman 1" and, even though he did not say it, yet he thought it. She could read it in his eyes, became more humble, and tried to forget her old father. Tben a meuage was brought to her that her old father was ill with grief-tiok unto death! She told her husband, and prayed him to let her go for a little while, saying she would belong to him much more after having obtained her father's blessing But he threatened her, and spake If you go you are no longer my wiff But she thought of his word—"Forever!" took a little ship, and sailed through storm and tempest secretly away. Cold and hungry and dripping wet, sha stood before the king's door. They would not grant the poor woman admission, and would no longer recognise her. But she had fought alone with the elements and overcame men also. She forced her way in and nursed the king, unrecognised, for many months. And when he at length recovered behold he had forgotten that his child had fled from him and was married. He knew nothing of the curses which his mouth had hourly uttered against her, although he would only benuraed by her hand. He was, therefore, quite astonished that his child should daily become more pale, and so weak that it could only creep down to the shore and look out to sea and wait. For be had said, "For ever." One day the sea began to sing, but such a sad tong And the ship came sailing on the waves as before, but it had a black sail, and against the mast leaned one whose name was "Death." He disembarked, took the waiting woman in his arms, carried her into his ship and sailed out to sea, for ever When I had come to this place my father began to cry 10 bitterly that I was obliged to quickly invent mother conclusion, in which the fisherman ■eturned, and the king embraced him and all tvos well, and if they have not died they are itffl alive to-day. But I know that it was >therwise. Perhaps the fisherman returned. but he no longer found his wife. He only :ound a childish old man, who demanded back bit daughter from him, and said to him that ho had killed her. I suppose the J:oyal shild was not of much consequence, and on that account the two men let it die so quietly. So very quietly, simply because it oould not live any longer, For it said nothing more than the one word, "For ever For ever! For ever Then came eternity, for it belongs unto the heart of no human creature it is much too small for it It must belie or it must die there is nothing between. How tho wise, learned professor will laugh at the stupid story, which has neither any ethical nor asstbe- tio value, such a nurse's story for a convalescent patient, whose braius and limbs are still equally weak. So poor and so devoid of fancy, like the life of a sick nur,-e. Sometimes 1 relate stories to the other people, when I want to revenge myself for their icy, pointed remarks with which they think to punish "Mrs. Hallmuth." My blows fall with greater force, for my tongue becomes sharper everyday. It is quite a delight to see how catting it has become. People get quite cold over it. One of these d'lYs the professor will get a story like this, not a gentle fairy tale, like to-day, but one which will make him feel icy-cold as well. I can promise that. So certain am I iu my effect. Many do not reoogniae me, neither my face nor my tongue; even my hair has become so-veral shades darker, and my 8atire" sound so dread- fully true, bccause I no longer know any sonsid'-ration. ULRICKS. (To be continued.)

The betrothal of the eldest daughter of the Dukll and Duchess of Edinburgh is talked of. Her R"yal Qighuese has attracted the interest of Prince Ferdinand, of Roanianin, the cephe" and pre- sumptive heir of King GHarles. The Princess is fifteen and the Prince is 25 and wealtty. Such an alliance would carry with it c rtain political possi- bilities which Turkish diplomacy would probably gibe fit, though it would be obviously impossible for Constantinople to look for prot-c'ion to England. MAX GKEGEH'S CABLOWITZ."—Thtee f -cts to be remembered about C»rlowitz. the celebrated red Claret of Hungary:—It is perfectly pure. It civet impr >veddige#tton. It I. pmDOullCod cJl:cell..nt. A better light dinner wine tban Mux Greger's Carloriti is not in the market. Prices from 24*. per dozen —Mm Greger (Limited). 65, Bumaer-street. S.C. Lc7SS CAVBUBT'& COCOA. A Coeoa. poss-.&in? valiv able flesh-forming qualities, and imparting sUli -%it, pitaylilcr IDOWPr. V-j