-0. SAFE The"nov Ilv deep o'er close and keep, The .Lc.-r ilcl to his hold Swept keen and fast the biting blast Am. n.^ t my tender Told My lambies wee were snatched from me And buried in the cold. When hastened Spring his love to sing Unto each op'uing bloom. Low on the ground, in sorrow drowned^ I laid me by their tomb:— Though sun shone bright, I saw no light— My soul VPs steeped in gloom. Summer ekioe, and Antumn dyes, And Winlwr chill and drear, With breaking heart I watched your prtrt", And jriii the year on year. 0 weary 5fee, with sorrows rife, Awake— thy end is near Fierce blows the gale, loud tempests wail, The clouds by storm are riven; But, safe and fast, my soul at last Is sn God's Harbour driven. All joy is mine, all praise is Thine, For Iambics safe in Heaven 7-
A WOMAN'S TV ILL; on, ENERGY REWARDSD, CHAPTER XIV. THE PLOT. "MTas GODFREY," said Lady "VVhittlosen, "I atn getting quite worn out." I'car me cried Winifred, anxiously. Wkat is the msittor r" I want you to write to those people in Poreet- ?&lre, and p't a luttor of recommendation. Mrs. florae,. > Lauy Whittlesea, if you snppect w..e, I had better deave at once," said Winifred, calmly. keave Ob, dear, no! I could not spare yon for the world, especially with the wedding- just tomiiirr off. Anastasia will be married in June." lo Sir Philip r" i!' c'0i-rse. Who else should she marry ?" Exactly. Isio one eke," replied W nifred. ^-nd you see w'hxt a great trouble and iatigne it ^vill be to me," continued Lady Whittlesea. '"Sho ,B going to be mairied from here, and now you talk °f leaving-. Was ever such ingratitude i" I have no wish to leave you, Lady" hltcleqoa, Paid Wmifrod, in. a linn tone; "but this tort of thing cannot go on. If Mrs. Horace is constantly fiusp.-cting L" We!l°well, let Mrs. Horace alone. I am-sure I am satisfied." Put 1 will iiot submit to it," mid Winifred, Btemly it is not to be expected /'Never mind," said the old lady, getting frightened I won't say another word, and Mrs Horace shan't fay another word, and nobody shall fiav another word——" But I insist on going if Hash hush I mean to raise yct?r mlnry flY- and-by. What do you say to fifty pomide instead of forty >" "Thank yo-i," snid Winifred, shortly. "I am sure Sir Philip is a very nice -gentleman," continued tho old lady, eager to get on to another topic. "lIe has invited Harry to the wodding. How do you like Harrv, Wiss Godfrey r" M;ddling," :replied Winifred, coldly. Only middling:! That is not saying much." Winifred was silent. Some of these days I may make Harry my heir," said the old lady, who was in one of her communica- tive moods. Winifred uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Yes. I never had a son, and Mrs. EM awe never bad a son. My nephew Dick, as we called him-his mother died, Miss Godfrey, soon after her marriage; Ehe was my eldest sister-he ought to have had the probity." "And why didn't he?" asked Winifred, curious to find out the grounds of Harry's possible prefer- ment. Ho of ended me, Miss Godfrey. He went and ■ married ".m actress. That the Whittle^eas could Dever hrcok. We tracu our pedigree as far back as tile C onqueror." to your" said Winifred, in a tome of in- •djfterence. Yc< and it, was not likely that anv share in the great iVhilleasea estate should come to the children of an actress." "And what has become of your nephew ?" asked Winifred. "I don't know. I never hear anything either irom or about him." Poor itllow said Winifred with a half sigh. He should have played his cards better, Miss Godfrey. He might have married into the beat family in the county. Now, Harry's parents, though they were unfortunate, were well born, both of them," said the old lady in a tono of satisfaction the Kings held their heads very high at one time." Ty the, young man to live with Mrs. Horace all Lis lifer" asked Winifred. I don': know. He is the son of her husband's favouiito Fistcr, so he has more claim upon her than he has upc n me. Still Lady V littlesea paused. She had communi- cated as mliehof the family history as she thought proper. Meanwhile, great preparations were being made for Anasta^'a's wedding. Silks, s atins, and jewellery seemed to flood the louse. R< vera! rooms were wholly abandoned to the ■cosily litter that tilled them to overflowing. Jt "8 settled that Airs. Horace and Anastasia -should stay till after the wedding. Indeed, the important event seemed now to be spoken of as an established fact. Sir Philip came daily, and looked on the prepara- tions with calm satisfaction He was tender to Anastasia, but not demonstrative. Demonstrations eeened to frighten her. 10 more Winifred taw of Harry the less she liked him. He was silly, empty, and conceited. Sir Philip was the true gentleman. ) S.ie i ad not betrayed Anastasia, though she had doubts on the subject. Certain considerations with- held her; such a revelation might blight Harry's prospects, and Anastasia's likewise. No the mania must be over by this time. It was mere childish rhodomontade the whole of it. As Winifred mused thus she was taking an even- ing stroll in the garden. A shaded walk led by the back of the summer- house, ajid as Winifred sauntered along she heard a whispering sound. She stopped and listened. The sound, ame from the summer-house. Something suggested to her that the voices be- Iongcd to Anastasia and to Harry. She stood quite stIll. gathering her skirts round her, lest a single rustle might betray her presence. Odious as the character of listener might be, the circumstances of the case teemed to justify her in adopting it. For a few momenta all waa silent. Then a faint murmur proclaimed that some kind of conversation was going on. Evidently the lovers were afraid of being over- heard. 0 Presently Anastasia said, in a louder kcy-" Yes, liarry, I will do it." J Now what piece of folly is that child planning" thought Y\ inifred. ° Harry's reply was too low for Winifred to hear. "1 don t at all mmd being poor," observed Anas- tasia, soon after. Ah," thought W inifrou, little she knows about it You are quite an angel exc'aimed Harry, in a transport of rapture. Another low and inarticulate murmur followed this outbreak. Then Harry burst out again. There is a worse business than that, Anastasia." What is it, Ilarry ? Aijy thing that can part us r" Not exactly. But we are both minors, anl our fiiends may separate us even after we are married." How dreadful!" cried Anastasia, with a little shriek. I'nlesa we run away from England, and hide some where." Anastasia did rot answer, oxcept by a soft buTr?1'1" 60un^ wholly incomprehonsibla. to any Presently, however, Winifred's ears began to ilttb«u»¥ld-<li«tint!iuish the W^Srd^^fklrt" .Tune cab-driver — station — packet "— above a flood of inarticulate talk. -=. She V-gan to think the misclu-ef was serious. 11 Shoa'd eho go at once to Lady Whittlesea, or sheuM sho trust to her own eloquence ? Vtvhappilv, she decided on the latter course. TSio whole ?.fi*Jiir appcnrûd ridiculous in the eyas of Winifred. She did rot attach to it sufficient im- portance. It is true she resolved to crush the plot of the two children, as she called them, hut she did not think it neccssavy to disclose it at onco to the friends of the intriguers. Sho stffod waiting until the conference was finished. It had exceeded already the bounds of prudcucc, and presently Winifred, through an opening in the shrubs, caught sight of the lovers walking away, their hands fast locked aa a sigu of indissoluble a.'iection. Then she betook IKTSGLC to the house in an exactly opposite direction. CHAPTER XV. A FALSESCKNT. A>"A"T\STA'S maid had left her for the night, and she was standing by the window, wrapped in a dressing- gown, her hair falling loosely about her, and reaching nearly to her feet. Like all romantic heroines, she was looking at the moon and while she looked, she was musing about llarry. There was present to her mind's eye a iOvely -scene in somo dell or glade, such as poets paint, where she and Ilarry could wander free as air, or where, like O'Connor's child, she could— Sing to him in happiness Anastasia's Eden lay far beyond the vulgar re- quirements of this mundane sphere: no wintry blasts, no cold or hunger, could ever enter there. Sho was masing thus, when a tap at the door roused her, and in came W inifred. My dear, what are yoK doing out of bed at this hour? I don't wan't to go te bed. I have been watch- ing the moon. See how Nonsense about t^e moon I dare say your feet are as cold as ice, paduling about without shoes or stockings!" I don't mind my feet. There is such a sweet poem in my hook that says t "Come/into bed with you!" cried Winifred, energetically. And, suiting the action to the word, she laid h0'd upon her, and fairly tucked her up I before\she was aware. Now r can say what I want," added she, sitting by the bed. Anastasia had nestled down in the pillow, her fair hair surrounding her like a nimbus. When Winifred spoke, she moved. uneasily, and her eyes had a frightened expression. What do you want to say ? she asked meekly. That I disapprove of clandestine meetings in the Buminer-houso, my dear." Anastasia lay quite still, and did not answer. "You must g.vo up tiiis hero cf yours, Miss Horace, and come back to common sense." I will never give him up, Miss Godfrey!" cried Anastasia, vehcmentlv. "Highty t' ghty Then I must tell your mamma, and you must bo made a ward in Chancery." "A what 'r cried Anastasia, with a frightened look. A ward in Chancery. Dent you know what Chancery iiicztiis., No." IT will tell you. It is a great place where young ladies who want to run away and get married, are put under lock and key. That is what it is A nastasia'a face grew white, and tears came into her eves. So that yon must really give Irm up, my dear, or there is no knowing what may happen." Oh, Miss Godfrey," cried Anastasia, sobbing, do have some pity. Were you ever in love ? "No," wd Y\'inifred, bluntly. Ah! then you don't know what it is, or you would be more tender-hearted." And let you run your pretty little neck into a noose? No! no! you must entirely brcak off with Master Harry, or I shall tell Lady Whittlesea." Anastasia hid her faoe in the pillow, and sobbed. "Then you must marry Sir Philip like a good girl, and be happy ever aUer," added Winifred, in a cheerful tone. I hate Sir Philip ejaculated Anastasia, her face still buried in the pillow. Winifred rose from her seat, Good night, Miss Horace. To-morrow, by this time, the-episoda touching yourself and Master King will be made public. And Winifred marched ba -k into her room. Nonsenye! said she, brushing away a tear. What if she does lie awake and cry ? Better ono sight than many The next morning Winifred rose with thctull de- I termination of disclosing this ridiculous affair, as she called it, to Lady Whittlesea. She meant to touch upon t lightly, and make no more of it than its im- portance actually demanded. She did not for a moment suppose that Sir Philip's claims would be set aside by those of a mere lad— if, indeed, Ilarry had any claim at all. Winifred had no patience with him. It shows his utter want of sense, and of prin- ciple, too," she thought, as she dressed herself. Of course, he is not half good enough for Anastasia!" Winifred had plenty of discrimination. She felt eure that, under the heap of soft, silly nonsense which at present characterised Anastasia, there lay fine and sterling qualities. Her unselfishness was -one: her unworidiiness was another. Besides, she has been kind to me," thought Winifred, li and she shall not wreck herself by marrying that good-looking simpleton." Anastasia did not appear at breakfast. She had a bad headache, and tea was carried to her in bed. »• Winifred did not go to her. She was too busy concocting a proper speech to make to Iituly Wrhittle*oa. Mrs. Horace, whose mind was wholly bent on i the wedding finery, went to her mother directly after breakfast, and the two ladies were closeted together the whole of the morning. Consequently, Winifred's scheme had to suffer delay. Towards the middle of the morning, Harry, who had been ostensibly on an errand a few miles distant, came into the room where Winifred was sitting. W inifred took no notice of him. She was copying a list of persons to whom Lady Whittlesea wished to send wedding-cards. Harry fidgeted about a few minutes, then he said— I am going off to day, Miss Godfrey." « Oh, indeed replied Winifred. She did not like to say she was very glad of it. Yel", and it is time I did," observed ilarry, in a confidential tone. "You are wanted at home, perhaps?" replied Winifred, not Quite understanding what he meant. No—oh, no I it is not that. If I had a. mind to stay, I would, in spite of the old woman p • Whom do you call the old woman r" interrupted Winifred, angrily. Mrs. Horace, to bo sure—though, for the matter of that, I might say old women. I am sure-" You will please speak of Lady Whittlesea and of Mrs. Horace with respect, when you address me," said Winifred, in a tone of severity. Well, I am mrc You are a queer fish, Misa Godfrey. Ine,er know what to make of you. Have you anything particular to communicate c said Winifred. I am busy just now, as you see. "Me Oh dear yes. I came on purpose. I am in no end of a bother just now." Winifred looked sharply up at him. You see, its very unlucky," added Ilarry, sink- ing his voice to a whisper, but Anastasia has fallen head over ears in lore with mo." Winifred's lip curled with intense scorn. She really has, and the poor child fancies I am going to run away with her. Of course, one can't hol[1 such things," said Harry, smirking a little, "if girls 1lill, you know—why And Harry paused with an air of bland conceit, that made Winifred laugh in his face. He was too much self occupied to notice her derision. I've just had to cut the thing right- through," continued Harry; "it is of no use mincing the matter. I have no doubt I shall be in a position by- and-by to marry anybody. But as I ani young, amd Mrs. Horace won't bo very likely to make us an allowance, I thought I would give Anastasia up." And what have you done, pray ?" asked Winifred. I have Met her a letter, nnd told her my mind, and advised her to marry Sir PIC lip. That's the right way, isn't it?" > y<rtr8t<f rgyeafr brute f"" cried Winifred, I fiercely. Why did you win her aNections ? j I didn't. She won mine. I Winifr -d turned away in disgiis £ Z" Good-bye, Miss Godfrey," suid Harry, holding out his hand. Winifred did not take it. She got up and went hastily to Anastasia's room. Anastasia was lying in bed, her face-in the pillow, perfectly motionless. My dear child." began Winifred. But Anastasia waved her awav. "Go! go!" she said. I can't bear it. I don't want anybody." Winifred would have approached her again, but Anastasia refused to be omforted. So vehement was she in her entreaties to be left alone, that Winifred was at length compelled to retre*t. As she passed the head of the stairs, she saw Harry starting off, followed by the footman carrying his portmanteau—a spectacle which greatly consoled Winifred. At all events, I can keep my own counsel," she said to herself" Anastasia can tell of her folly if she likes." (To be continued.)
BHED IN THE BONK NOT far from the market-place stood the gAol-a fcrey stone building with grated windows, and a dreary yard fenced in stoutly with wood and iren, within which the condemned were executed. One Friday morning, Mother Potter, going home as usual from the market, saw a crowd without this gate, and, pushing through it, inquired of a mao who stood in its midst what was the matter. '= Woman dropped dead," said the man—"she that her husband was hung this mornin' in yonder. Th-jre'a a baby here s«me'r» that, she had in her arms." Poor critter 1" cried the market-woman. 11 Well, she's had trouble enough. Couldn't he think of his wife and family afore he took to murdering? Ah, I see her now. A pretty girl she's been once. Let's see the baby." Adi)tywcman,whe held two dirty children in her arms, thrust forth the dirtiest. '•This is hern, ma'am," she said, *'and as fine a boy as ever I see, if his daddy was bung." If his daddy was hung? bah cried Mother Potter. What on earth difference can it make to a baby? How ridiculous folks are An innocent thing like this Is all the same innocent if his father was amnrderer, and it's a shame to miscall him, on account of such a thing. Sup- pose you was to up and hit me a Hop now, and I'd pop over dead? Where'd be tho justice of pointing out your boy for it?" 11 But that one's daddy killed a man for ten pound," said the woman, and what's born in the blood will come out on the skin. Xe matter I've no grudge agin a poor baby. Why sheuld I? One that's got only a workhouse afore it, Gecl help it, toe." "A cried Mother Potter; "look here, mates, some of you that knows me over in market there, I'm going to tike this child home. I haven't any one to spend a penny on,and I'm my own mistress. If there's in juiries made for it, why, you all know me. I've took the child, unless friends turn up; and I'll show folks that it don't make much difference who your father is. I'll bring- him up particular, and I'll keep the black story from him. He shan't be crowded down into the dirt, by knowing that his father died on the gallows, and his mother, for grief of him, at the prison-gate. Born in the blood, ell 1"c'll se-2 that Yes if any one wants to knew where the child is, send 'em to Mother Potter. And lifting her basket to her arm, Mother Potter deposited the child therein and marched-off with it. In a moment or two more twe policemen arrived with an ambulance, into which the dead woman's body was lifted, and the dingy crowd, after talking over the afiair for a while, scattered itself through the shabby streets. Some went baik to their to afc-ionnging-place in some tap-rtom. The women carried their squalling burdens back to their own houses, the little boys rushed off with a shout to play at hanging each other, and the grim, grey walls which hid the gibbet were left to them- selves again. After a while a hearse drove up before it, a codin was put in, a man or two came OLt to witness the affair, and all was over. Vennis Leal was no more a trouble to the detectives. As for Dennis Leaf's boy, no ons inquired about him, and Mother Potter wheld undisputed possession of his infancy. She was a clean old woman, with plenty of savings. She washed the child, and bought him a r ice wardrobe. She hired a neighbour's girl to take care of aim VI hen she went to market. And when the next Snnday came, she had him christened Adolphus Potter, in the church of which she had been a member since her youth. Even the name of Leaf should not cling to him, she deter- mined. Perhaps in a higher sphere, and with more education, Mother l'otter would have been what is calleo a strong- minded woman. She would have died for an idea or theory had she belonged to a class where people had theories or talked of their iaras. As it her "I'll show 'em all how he !I turn out," had mere in it than a dozen lectures on hereditary good or evil, for ,¡he did more than talk. Mother Potter brought Adolphus up as far as in her power, in the way he should go. As soon as he could stand he went 10 Sunday-school. As soon as he could limb into the high pews he went to church. She put him to school in his seventh year, with admonitions to the teacher to make a gentleman of him," and she dressed him a, well as any of his comrades. Never a "naughty wo-d" was Dolph allowed to utter never a slap was he allowed to give any play- fellow. He was taught to be respectful to his cldtrs, and to comport himself modestly, and he grew up a decorous, smooth-faced young man, with eyes that could not bring themselves full into those of another, but with a pretty manner that made most people admire himve.-y much. Poor old Mother Potter was well on in years by this time. She was no longer a market woman, but lived in her own little house on a pleasant road leading from the city. She had found her protege a clerkship in that city, and she had made her will, in which she left everything she possessed to him. She was very liberal to him, and seldom refused to give him money for charitable purposes. To tell the truth, be asked for a great deal. There was always a poor woman up ten flights of stairs, or an old man in a cellar, or ten orphan children in an empty wag- gon, whom if Mother Potter could see, she would And Mother Potter always did by proxy. So Dolph lived like a Prince amongst his comrades, and smoked cigars and drank fine wines, and spoke of his old grand- mother who had left him everything in a way that made hearts burn enviously. But when he wen theme he wore bis fober suits and ministerial neckties, and talked piously to the old Lady, and let her draw from him the fact that he now and then did suffer from his exertions for the benefit of the poor, and perhaps did without many things he needed. Whereupon the old lady cried with joy over her Dolph, and gave him moie m.ney. Ah," she would say to herself, what a pattern he is And how it goes to preve that it don't matter who your father is. The goed is in yourself. It ain't handed down like money or silver spoons-n." no, no." Hypocritical Dolph, with his meek, downcast eyes and oily smile, being successful, went deeper. He began to owe debts, and to carry on flirtations of no elevated order. Mother Potter was old, and her money would be sure to save him at last. So he grew reckless and one day a poor tailor, despairing of his pay, found his way to Mother Potter's cottage with a bill. Dolph's Saturday-night arrival home was not the scene of pleasant greeting that it usually was. Mother Potter scolded her boy. I've paid the bill," she said, "but never let me hear of such a thing again. I never owed a penny in mv life. Why, it's thieving to ewe folks. Don't you And I give you oceans of money besides your wages that you get as clerk." Then Dolph told a tale of a harrowing description. Two old women, about to be thrust into the street 'Iv a cruel landlord, hc- Dolph-had hired rooms for them and fed them ever since, until—and here Dolph, having no remorse for his imaginary characters, finished them off neatly—" until they both died, reading tracts of his providing, and calling down blessings on his head." <• Oh, why didn't you tell me, Dolph ? » cried Mother Potter. "To think of me a-blamiag you. You ought to be a minister." And Dalph humbly took the praises and more monev. So ended the first peep at the truth, which the poor old woman had vouchsafed her bat ether peeps came in time; other creditors, hearing pf the tailor's good lack, went down to M-ther Potter's with their bills. And finally a veang womall, in a fit ef jealousy, exposed Dolph's soings-oa with another young woman, to his adopted mother. Dolph was growing wild, Mother Potter declared to herself. D<Iph mast be held in check. It was "those young felltws at his place he was being led Rotrav; and so she waited for him Saturday evening, with all her natural strength of mind in fall force, ready check the evil in its bndding. But when he came "lie was so much her darling that she fouiyi it hard work to do what she MW felt her «[uty. Slit t:a it, however, bravely. ( You see." she raid, yOU've been foolish. I don't I know when you began to go wild, but it can't be long, I you've been so very steady and se charitable; but I'm going to era it. Y 011 ii haye all I haYe-auQ that ain't a little-when I die. I lived a market-weman five-and- twenty years, but I'm richer than some fine folks, after all. So when you have it I want you to be able to use it right, and I'm going to step allowances now. Send them you owe to me I'll pay 'em but you must live on yonr salary now till you settle down to the dear, good boy I know you need to be. I ain't a going to spare the rod and spoiltlte child now, no more than I did when you waslittla. It shalat be said G' me I helped you to go wrong." i And when she had made this speech the old woman drew her tall form np and threw back her broad shoulders, and Dolph knew that she could not be coaxed into yielding, any more than she could when he used to coax to be allowed to stay home from school. What's for your good you must do, Dolph, she used to say and she looked" it now. So Dolph, penitently humble, replied that ha thought there was no one with whom he could not settle himself; that he felt that yeung Burke, of his place, had led him to wasting money, and all that sort of thing, and that he'd do better henceforth. I know it was my fault," said Mother Potter. Young men 'ought'nt to have too much money but if you meet any poor-people you wish to help, send 'em to me, and- I'm a'most seventy-five, Dolph. Dolph went up to his room in a strange mood that night. The last words rang in his ears— almost seventy- five." Well, what of that? She might live to be a hundred, and he would be an old man himself then. He should struggle on for ever a poor ,.ierk what was the use of having his name in the will ? Now—now—now he wanted the money new. He tossed on his pillow for hours, whispering these words to himself, thinking over and over again: If she would only die now; I should be rich in my youth, instead of dragging on a dull and pinching life. Then, as the church clock rang out one, another doubt possessed him. Perhaps ehe was cheating him old people had been known to play such tricks on dependents. Perhaps his name was not in her will at all. The doubt almost drove him mad. He knew the old woman kept all her papers in a little tin box in a small, old-fashioned safe, and he made up his mind to have a peep at it that very night just to satisfy himself. He arose from his bed, and crept down stairs in his stocking feet. The safe stood in the little parlour closet; beyond was the closed door of the old woinans bedroom. He lit a candlc, opened the safe, and knelt down before it. The parchment, tied with red tape, was in his hand in a moment more, and he had read the truth there. All was his, and the all was much more than he had hoped. If, by some accident, the woman, whose irregular signature lay before him, died that night, he would be out of the reach of pecuniary anxiety, free to lead the life that best pleased him. But she'll finger for ever," he muttered to himself. "Forenr, for ever She's healthy and rosy, if she is seventy-live." Some one at my safe," screamed a voice. Robbers robbers Dolph Holph help, help, help He had extinguished the light at the first cry, but the stout old woman was upon him. "Dolph!" ehe screamed again. "Dolph, robbers! Help, help, help!" And as she did so, his hand fell upon a heavy iron bar that stood beside the safe. The next morning some neighbours found Mother Potter dead upon her lloor, beaten to death with some heavy instrument. Dolph, who was not in the heuse, was telegraphed for, and came at once, inconsolable for his ]* and remorseful that he had net spent that Saturday night at the cottage as usual. It was all very well managed, and he was a good actor b it murder will out, especially in these days of acute detectives. Ahandfulofhairwnsintheold woman's clutch, and there was a torn spot on Dolph's scalp whence just such a handful was torn. The marks of nails were on his checks, and the mirks ofhisfootstepsonthecottagefieor. A thousand little things combined to fix the murder upon him, and in the end he was hanged in the same goal-yard where his father died, and at the gate of which his mother dropped dead with her babe in her arms. Without, in the dingy streets, a dirty old woman stood amidst the crowd. Poor Mother Potter!" she said "he picked him up on this very spot. I remember telling her that' What was bred in the bone would come out in the flesh but she would not heed me and you see my words have come true.
MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS. THE superiority of some men is merely local; they are great because their associates are little. IN table talk," wrote Montaigne, "I prefer the pleasant and witty to the learned and grave." THE AcT OF THE A special present, for instince, at the recent ceremony of the new Law Courts, would till up the intervals of waiting by making sketches of the various State costumes—perhaps thumb- nail" portraits of the functionaries who wore them- indicating little idiosy.icracies of bearing and gesture and expression. He would make, also, a variety of sketches of the broad general aspect of the scene, so as to get it thoroughly in his mind: thoroughly mastered and ready to hand as it were when the culmination of the ceremony should arrive. And at this point his abilities are most severely tested. There comes an instant when the scene resolves itself into a true piclure, which remains for a minute, perhaps, and then melts. For that supreme moment the special artist watches with all his faculties; it burst- suddenly upon him, and insiautlv he mu;t bde. and record its essentials. The teeming details, win jh (though he sketch never so rapidly) he cannot indicate with his jc-ncil, he must photograph in his memory. All this implies the possesion of a rare combination of faculties swift and accurate observation, great coolness and self-command, a tenacious recollection, aud above all a complete aud ready knowledge of pictorial necessities—composition, light and shade, and balance both of line and of effect. The work of the idelll special, in short, should record leading facts with artistic charm, and with some suggestion of human interest and human sentiment.—The .J[a:raZÍ'ne of Art. TTIH HUMOUHS OF EXAMINATIONS.—It is re- lated of a rough-and-ready examiner in medicine that on one occasion, having failed to elicit satisfactory replies from a student regarding the muscular arrangements of the arm and leg, he somewhat brusquely said, Ah perhaps, sir, you could tell me the names of the muscles I would put in action were I to kick you "Certainly, sir," replied the candidate; "you would put in motion the ne.\ora and extensors of my arms, for I should use them to knock you down History is silent, and per- haps wisely so, concerning the fate of this particular stu- dent. The story is told of a witty Irish student, who, once upon a time, appeared before an Examining Board to undergo nn examination in medical jurisprudence. The subject of examination was poisons, and the ex- aminer had selected that deadly poison prussic acid as the subject of his questions. Pray, sir," said he to the candidate, what is a poisonous dose of prussic acid ?" After cogitating for a moment, the student replied with promptitude, "Half an ounce, sir! Horrified at the extreme ignorance of the candidate, the examiner exclaimed, "llalf an ounce Why, sir, you must be dreaming That in an amount which would poison a community, sir, not to speak of an individual Wei), sir," replied the Hibernian, "I only thought I'd be on the safe side when you asked a poisonous dose But pray, sir," continued the exa- miner, intent on ascertaining the candidate's real know- ledge, "suppose a man did swallow half an ounce of prussic acid, what treatment would vuu prescribe ? I'd ride home for a stomach pump," replied the un- abashed student. Are yon aware, sir," retorted the examiner, that prussic acid is a poison which acts with great rapidity?" "Well, yes," replied the student. Then, sir, suppose you did such a foolith thing as you have just stated," said the examiner; "vou ride home for your stomach-pump and on returning you find your patient dead. What would you, or what could you do then ? asked the^rxaminer in triumph, thinking "he had driven his victim into a corner where there was no escape. What would I do r" reiterated the student. Do (- why, I'd hould a post mortem For once in his life that examiner must have felt that dense ignorance united to a power of repartee was more than a match for him. —Chambers's Journal. As there is much beast and some devil in man, so is there some angel and some God in him. The beast and the devil may be conquered, but in this life never wholly destroyed. OittinNALLY, the Arvan nations liyed in the highlands of Central Asia ea«t of the Caspin Sea and north of the Hindu Kush Mountains. The climate of this country was then much more agreeable than it is now, and the soil was more fertile. The dispersal of these tri probably took place about 3000 B.C. A .HORSE IN SPECTACLES.- An interesting experiment was notlong since made in Berlin, upon the possibility of treaiing cases of neaieightcdness in horses. It appears that a ine horse had become intractable in consequence of detective eyeeight. The animal was so uab^ nth^tj(j U vOwn<sy determined tp- have £ pair of spectacles specially made for it/Tnis* was done' "attsfactory results, the horse becoming as docile as ever.—1 Magazine. THE Slave Emancipation Act was passed in 1838. MEMORY is ever active, ever true. Alas! if it were ouly as easy to forget. MOT.TKE.—Moltke, who was born inlSOO, and was therefore an o d man of TO at the time of the war —is a native of Mecklenburg, of Danish extraction. In early life he eutered the service of Denmark, but soon transferred himself to Prn^ia, and studied with the utmost labour the methods of scientific warfare. It was not, however, until 18< 4 that he had any positive experience of fighting. In that year he acted as chief of the staff to Prince Frederick Charles during the Schte-wig-UoIstein War, and earned a good deal of distinction but his fame was chiefly acquired in the Austro-Prussian war of two years later. The entire plan of that war was prepared by him, and worked with an efficiency which we all know, yet with a quietness and secrecy which were almost appalling. Moltke is like an embodied Pate, preparing in mystery and gloom the blows that are suddenly to fall on mighty armaments with crushing effect, and in a few 'veeks to reduce great military Powers to ruin and humiliation. He is seen less often t.han commanders generally are, and, when seen, presents a. hard, stern face, completely shaven, and showing in every line the presence of a cold.self-cenlred intellect. The front of the battle frequently knows him not. On the great tichl of Sadowa he was seated in a tent at the rear, where he was constantly informed by the field telegraph of ^hat was being done by each corps'; where he consulted his map, telegraphed his orders to the various Generals, and conducted the battle like a game of chess played at a distance. His mind takes note of every detail of military administration, from the largest to the most minute and the vast operations of the war of 1^70 were managed by him with the same unresting vigilance and calm prevision that had been manifested in the shorter war of 18()6. He is certainly the most accomplished of modern strategists.—Cass/ll's lllvstrated Histoiy of the Franco-German War. BURMESE SUPERSTITIONS.—The Chinese hill tribes believes that man has only three souls, and these are more satisfactorily disposed of—one atipropriatelv and conveniently remains in the grave, another takes up his position at the ancestral board, and the third roams about unrestrained in the spirit world, and not necessarily upon earth. Many of the hill women are fond, as in India, of giving their dead child a dog, or (by dint of prayers and supplications) the departed soul of an old and experienced person as a guide, that the infant wanderer may rot miss its way on the path to the spirit world. For this reason it was that the Mongolians t^en t slaves to accompany their dead Princes. The Chinese, however, have a more human idea. They believe that since it is likely that the dead min will be unable to find his way safely to the world of spirits, and mav as probably as nut stray from the right path, the. Kings of the under-world furnish him with a lntle devil to act the part of guide and servant to the newly-dis- embodied spirit on its journey. The Poles used to have a notion of a similar kind, though they, like the Chinese, did not nhplay it in such an unpleasant way for survivors. It was their custom to lav bears' claws in the grave, to serve the dead man as hooks, with the help of which lIe might climb the great glass mountain. According to the common notion among the Karenns, the dead renew as plu-pho in the world of Pin, under the sovereignty of the great King Cootay or The.-do, the occupations which they had followed while as yet mortals upon earth—a curious hint at the. e:v.te system of the Hindoos, which has no place with the Karenns while they are alive. Some of the tribes are so impressed with the dangers that may come upon them through departed spirits that they destroy their villages when the death of a grown-up person takes place, just as many ne::ro tribes do with the house in which the dead man lited. It is, of course, a very simple matter with them where the houses are mere wattled shanties that can be restored in a day's time by a mode.ately industrious man. Where the houses are at all of a better and more substantial character, or where the community is fairly numerous, it is generally found quite sufficient to purify the house with the aid of a witch doctor and propitiate the new nats. Anything that gives very great trouble is much more speedily found out to be grossly superstitious than a measure which entails no great labour, while, at the same time, being of a very obvious and extensive character, it seems likelv to be efficacious. The destruction of the house or village is. of course, intended to get. rid of the dangerous proxi- mity of the departed spirits, who, according to the Lacs and many other tribes, withdraw into a corner of the, house where the death has occurred, and have a knack of making themselvei extremely unpleasant unless they are well cared for. The Ho have an idea, which is curiously at variance with the Western theories, as to the habits of ghosts. This emi-Chinese tribe aver that the spirits of dead men wander about during the day, but when night comes on reiiro to their homes in the most domestic possible way, for all the world as if they were good solid flesh and blood. Possibly this may be due to the difficulty of su ii'enlv changing the habits they were accustomed to, while yet they existed upon earth in the bodies of men, and it may be only the new enfranchised spirit* that act in this way, though the Ho do not sav so. The opponents of the destruction of villages to dispossess the nats have a very strong case in the argument that as long as the demons are in the houses cne knows where they are, and is enabled to conciliate them with more or less succe-w whereas if they are ruthlessly evicted they wander about homeless and in an agneved state of mind, likely to be extremely dangerous to the luckless wights who come in their way, especially as the victims have not the means of finding out where to propitiate them, however re-;>evtful their sentiments maybe. It seems, therefore, that house burning will shortly be attogrther abandoned ns selfish and antagonistic to the public welfare.—(Jondi.ill Miit/azine. MAiK.AHET I'AXTHR.—Margaret possessed a competent income, so Baxter was relieved from pecuniary cares. Hut if he had a fortune with his young wife, he had a greater fortune in her. No marriage could have been happier, no husband more affectionate, no wife mors kind and devoted. But they did* not live for themselves. As is well known, Baxter preached and wrote as opportunity served, and Margaret was a true sister of mercy to the sick and poor. Several years they lived at Acton. Baxter and his wife attended the parish church, and when the law allowed, he preached twice a day in his own house. Crowds attended his ministry. The incumbent of the parish, who held three or four appointments besides, was angry that Baxter and his wife made his prodigacv a reason for their not communing at the parish church. His resentment let to Baxter's apprehension and a sentence of six months' imprisonment. It was altogether illegal, but he submitted. Even their enemies must have ad- mired the heroi,, devotion of the young wife. She would rot be separated from her husband, so she shared his confinement, and brightened the gloom and cheered the tedium of the prison with her sunny pre-enee and loving ministry. Of this incident Baxter writes in his Brcviates of M-s. Baxter's Life" "When Iwas carried to the common gaol for teaching the people, I never saw her troubled at it. She cheerfully went with me into the prison; she brought her best bed there, and did much ti remove the removable inconveniences of the prison. I think she had scarce ever a ple-isanter time in her life than while she was with me there. Tile Qvivcr. GARIHALT^I AT THE SITINI? OF ROME.—"Ah!" writes Garibaldi," it was a Urrible night. The artillery and fury of the skies mingled with that of the earth; the thunder answered responding to the cannon the lightning ran its livid liues across the path of the bombe 1" The last struggle was at hand. Then was seen a thing unheard of in the annals of war. A reserve of the wounded volunteered to take their turn in the trenches, and men were seen wi;h blood streaming from their heads aiKJ^breasts, bandaged, with broken limbs and arms in slings, spending themselves ia a last struggle for freedom." Garibaldi now resolved himself to die in a hand-to-hand conflict. About midnight he unsheathed his good sword, as he firmly believed for the last time, and went into the Aurealian trench to lead a final charge. On that terrible night," writes his friend Vecc-hi, an eye-witness, "Garibaldi was great indeed; greater than even we had ever known him His sword flew like lightning, he was like a man inspired every one he smote fell deal before him, the blood of one washed from his steel the blood of another We trmbled for him, but be was unwounded, he stood firm as destiny.' At two o'clock Garibaldi was recalled by the Deliberative Assembly under Mszsuni, then sitting in the Capitol Whcn I appeared at the door of the council had, he writes, <• all the deputies rose and ap- plauded. I looked about me and upon myself to see what had awakened their enthusiasm. I then perceived, for the first time, that I was steeped in Llood-my clothes were pierced with balls and bayonet thrusts -my sword was jagged and stood half-way out of the scabbard, but I a not a Bcrntch about me. It was a miracle.In all the great crimes of Garibaldi's stormy life there was a deep undertone of religious feeling: God first and the country next," he would often say to his men." He be- lieved that he was raised up for a special purpose, and often protected by Divine interposition. He thought he saw his mother praying for him in the thick of the light —-r«w.-kad.ta&tf}jt)'liim r.niibla lessons of religion and patriotic in his childhood. He believed his "life was given to her intercessory prayers.—Good Words.
LADIES' COLUMN. DRESS AND FASHION. According to Myra'g Journal of Drew and Fashion, "The utmost simplicity is rigorously observed for morn- ing outdoor costumes, and, indeed, as far as < olouring goes, afternoon, visiting, Or driving dresses are as dark and sombre as possible, even if very rich. For the even- ing, elegantes wear the palest and also the brightest colours, but for morning wear vrtcment and dresses of the plainest and most sober cut and materials are adopted, especially by laaies o* the greatest wealth and position, in wpom such economy as this becomes almost affectation. Their principal morning garb is now a plain cloth or tweed dress and vete- ment, utterly devoid of trimming, fitting, however, to perfection, and of the best tailor make. It is said that this extreme simplicity caused some surprise at Nice, where the provincials thought that the leaumoiule had strangely deteriorated in taste. Ladies of fashion wear principally the long "Dandy" redingote, BO called in remembrance of the davs of D'Orsnv and lirummcl. The round Gainsborough hat reign, d almost without a rival at Nice in November, trimmed with long feathers, and of course was imported to Paris in dne time. It forms a very suitable chnpeau for cloth and plaid" dresses when made of felt matching the prevailing colour of the toi'ette, and is exceedingly becoming. Among the new materials one of the most important is lioval satin, figured, and in three or more different colours much as a grenat background with flowers in old-gold and moas-green or admiral blue, with the desire inold- gold, pale blue, and pale mastic or bishop's violet tigurea with mauve and hydrangea. It is an exceedingly handsome, rich material. Another new variety of satin is- striped and sprinkled with coloured lozenges or with some Persian or Syrian design a beautiful specimen is pale-bb-.e satin striped with threads of gold, and sprinkled with moss-green, pink, and brown lounges; this is used for the skirt and corsage, the scarf, paniers, and draperies being of plain blue satin to match. Plush and cashmere still continue to be a favourite combination for isiting or reception dresses, the plush generally forming a plain skirt, crene- lated or cot, and the waistcoat or plastron to the corsage- sometimes,also, it forms the under part of double basmU which are crenelated like the skirt. There are many beautiful novelties in trimmings; rich embroideries in silks or beads, embroider-d tulles, materials with broch6 pompoms of silk, plush,s with pastilles of silk, and chenille; in endless variety. The Pyrenese tahlier is a beautiful specimen of silk, with broch6 rays of plush and small balls of silk sus; ended from the fabric, like those worn by the Basque muleteers. Panels of jet passementerie consist entirely of scintillating stars with two immense butterriies placed close to the ed«e' On a black velvet, faille, or satin skirt these pa^lg have a superb effect; they are very original, and, among the latest novelties, two facts w iich, in the evea of many, add greatly to their charms, and. although expensive, they are less so than the voluminous draperies otherwise used, which absorb yards upon vards of lace passementerie, or costly fringe. The 1wautiful HOW open- work passementerie is much used to embroider tablicrsfor rich reception or dinner-dresses indeed, the tabliers often consist entireiy of passementerie, as .his season tablicrs short, and, on the whole, little trimmed, will be in fa hion' at any rate for some time. Bands of passementerie' alternatnl with flounces of lace, will also form be.uiful skirts, for dinner toilettes, the paniers, neck, and sleeves simply edged with a tioun- e of lace and band of the same Some of the historical hats of plish and velvet now worn are very trying to the wearer; indeed, none but the young and pretty should attempt to adopt them ihe Charles IX., with its high crowr, with velvet strings tying under the chin and secured by a metal buck lev is specially trying, being stiff, and needing very nretfv soft hair beneath it. The Henry II. t )que is exceeding pretty, with a soft crown made of plush, a ruche of old point lace, with a golden or pearl-Uvied cord touching the hair. Ibis toque is undeniably coquettish s'ylish and becoming if suitable, but it needs a young and nrettv ace beneath it or the effect is deplora ,'le, spoiling even the most perfectly appointed toilette. However no woman of seise past her youth would think of wearing this coiffure, for her the stylish capote of chenille is far mone e;egant and becoming. Chenille holds the most prominent place in millinery fabrics, either plain Cllellille or chenille pastilles, balls and loops on a satin or ottoman ground.. jcnty of metal ornaments trim the new models, golden pins with round heads securing draperieT strings, and bows; feathers are plentifully used and amongst them artificial flowers are often put, especiaiV large flowers in warm colouring; wall-iiowers, tea rosaT peonies, bright-coloured nasturtium, £ c., are tV favA„»' ites, made, of shaded plushes. As the season 'advances" the si e of the chapeaux is leading more and more to th £ med.uni, the large round hats being principally reserve? in ,elt and beaver for young giris, or for demi-toilette for young married ladies and in epi„gjine chenille, oj gauged satm for bazaars, afternoon theatres, concerts <Lc. The favourite colours for ti ese ar*' ruby, trimmed with gol 1 ornaments and shaded gold feathers, bronze and mose-grcn with paie-blne and shnmp-pink; old lace is extensively used as coquilks on the brims, or as a lining for black felt chapeaux. Doves are now the favourite birds for hat ornaments, their use surpassing that of the long-tailed Bird of Paradise, al- though they have a less dressy and good effect except for grey chapeaux, m fe't or plush. All the new jnnons are trimmed with thick ruches of Jace, which help make the foot look small and slender. Skirts for da wear are made of black, brown, or iron grey satin, with plea tings or flounces at the edge, the flounces falling over ace or else edged with pleatlngs of lace. Skirts of biao. satin or plush are frequently trimmed with the fine wooden laces that cannot now be used for ornament- ing confections although they were formerly so fashionable for that purpose. For under jcpons'with ball toilettes white plush is used trimmed with iace this material gives the necessary warmth without weight. All jupons are made narrow, with the fulness drawn to the back, and kept in place bv drawing tapes, f-ome new models are made with a deep, trimmed llo mce, which can be added cr removed at will, and which ornaments the whole of the edge of the Fkirt, The materials used for quiet morning confections are cloth embroidered with braiding, and plaids in two colours such as moss and blue, red and pine, gold and brown, or' red There M a great deal of cachet in these simpfe woollen mantles when worn on an elegant figure, but in spite of their seeming simplicity their use is InxuriouT for these phnds will .soon be out of fashion, superseded by other., and if worn again will at once be stamped as a m.,iiitle bought at a certain date. A cloth paletot or mantle is not quite snch a sign of the times, as on the whole the cut has lasted some time and will last still longer. The visite per excellence is of small size, made of terry lampas vclv.-t, a magnificent material with bou- quets of cut and uncut velvet on an .rtoman ground It is edged-with fe .th.r trimming, or wiih lace mixed with chenille fringe.
USEFUL HINTS. PRESERVED CJUKBSBEXES.—TO lib. fruit put jm loaf sugar melt the sugar with a little water ad frS fl J'lWii f i thm put 111 the rest of th' fruit and boil fiaif an hour. flour, 3o: butte-. :1oz. white L nutmeg, ground ginger, and lemon peel l.r i Urf^3 an^ k|iea<I *11 woll together a taste jf on?X M an im^rove:uent- RoU them Sin. thick, cut off a 8ir.aU slice a ad roll into an oval, not too chin • cut two slits in it, BUT not through either end proSS the Jeft ian(i through the ap-erturc to the right, and throw into boiling fat. A brass or metal skillet is Wt to cook them in about five minutes to cook th'm, turn onoe. TUANSFNININCI IMPRESSIONS OF FEIINS TO WOOD. 1-lrst, well dry your fern leaves between blotting paper- then soak them in Judsou's aniline dye (the cclour you want), take them out. and re-dry them nice and flat, then damp your wood, and lay the fern leaves upon it. and apply pressure. Some beautiful impressions have b*n taken in this way.—Enjineer and Building Trades* Almanack. ÜLUE FOR IRON AND WOOD.Iron and wood may be joined with the following composition: Fine Russian isinglass is dissolved in strong acetic ackl (pyrolignefms acid) until the consistence of a strong, linn glue is obtained.—-Oil and Co!ourviaiC$Journal, ANGELS !■ uon.~ Whites of eleven eggs, one ar.d half tumbler of sifted granulated sugar,'one trim bier sifted flour, oue teaspoon of vanilla, oae of cream taitar; sift the flour four timM, then add cream ttrtar ann sift again (but measure it before patting in the cream tartar). Sift sugar and measure beat the eggs to a stiff froth and add the sugar lightly, then the flour verv gentlv, then vanilla do not stop beating until yen put it in ",ha pan to bake. Lake forty minuter in a moderate try .n with a straw, and if not done let remain a few miavtos longer. Do not open the ovea until it has fc-en in at least fifteen minutes. Turn pllrl upeide down en saacere to coo!; take out by loosening around sides with knife. TlK-a ice. ese I)atiis t' f.i have never been greased. Icing: Whites o. eggs, two teacups granulated sugar; boil sugar until cio«p, with enough water to moisten it. Having beaton eggs to a froth, row bofiwg eyrup very slowly over tiMHa and add easenw oi leaKflk