The Welshman

LITERARY NOTICES I Fr-,&SBIVS MAGAZINE.—The recent edition of Bacon's Philosophical Works (collected and edited by Spedding, Ellis, and Heath) is the subject of the opening article in the October number of Fraser. It notices in the first place the character of the new edition, and then discusses with much ability the nature of Bacon's philosophy, as he him- self understood it, and its real value, both in reference to our actual possessions in the field of science and to their possible future extension. Mr. Keightley contributes a valuable and very interesting article on the life of Edmund Spenser, in which several moot points in the poet's life are, we believe, for ever set at rest, particularly those which relate to the birth place and family of Spenser, the time of his birth, the personality of Rosalind, his residence in Ireland, and his courtship and marriage. Mr. Keightley promises a continuation of this article, for the purpose of offering some remarks on the poetry of Spenser, which may have the charm of novelty and perhaps be founded in truth." Mr. Chorley finishes this month his Notes on the National Drama of Spain." c, Holmby Hou3e" is con- tinued, and some of the later chapters are finely done with the hand of an accomplished artist. The manner in which Dymocke makes a clean breast of it" to Faith is perfectly true to nature. She obtained a knowledge of what Dy- mocke saw on the road—how the sorrel recognized Bosville in the disguise he had assumed-that Bosville had been several days fishing at Brampton ford- that he was waiting there with a political object-that the ladies and Sir Giles had been within ten yards of him and never recognised him. In dressing Grace for supper, Faith disclosed to her all that she knew respecting Bosville. She received the intelligence with surprising composure. He was looking dreadfully altered," she muttered to herself; but she only told Faith that if this very improbable story were really true, it was incumbent on the possessor of so deadly a secret to bridle her tongue; and she went down to supper with an unfaltering step. She can't care for him one morsel," said Faith to herself. The girl had no idea of the power possessed by some natures to suffer and be still.' In a parallel case she would have cried her own eyes out, she thought, and it would have done her good. She did not know, and would not have appreciated, the enduring faculty' that seems most fully developed in the two extreme races of the patrician and the savage, and esteemed herself doubtless happier without the pride that dries our tears, 'tis true, but dries them much in the same way that the red-hot searing-iron scorches up and staunches the stream from a gaping wound. Grace pos- sessed her share of this well-born quality, for all her gentle manner and her quiet voice; nor did she ever draw more largely upon her stores of self-command than while she sat opposite Sir Giles at supper that evening, and filled out his dish of claret' again and again with her own pretty hands. She thought the meals never would be over. This staunch old Cavalier was in unusual spirits with the prospect of his Majesty's visit, and laughed and joked with his thoughtful Gracey,' so perseveringly as almost to drive her wild. She alsolutely thirstedfor 8(,Titude, and the enjoyment, if such it could be called, of her own thoughts. But supper was over at last. Sir Giles, leaning back in his hih carved chair, sunk to his usual slumber, and Grace was free to come and go unnoticed, for Lord Vaux was still on a sick bed, and Mary Cave, pleading fatigue and indisposition, had remained in her own chamber. Now, it is a singular fact, that although neither of the ladies who occupied Lord Vaux's roomy old coach had im- mediately recognised the disguised fisherman at Brompton mill, a certain instinctive consciousness of his identity had come upon each of them at the same instant; and it is no less singular that neither of them shoujd have offered the slightest hint of her suspicions to her companion and that although the manner of each was more affectionate than usual, by a sort of tacit understanding they should have avoided one another's society for the rest of the day. Thus it came to pass that Mary, who never used to be tired, went to her own room immediately she returned from Holmby, and begged she might not be disturbed even by the burnt posset,' which was our ancestors' jolly substitute for a I cup of tea.' Mary Cave was ignorant of Bosville's movement. He had written to her frequently, and once she had brought herself to write to him, but the letters were intercepted. Now in the solitude of her room the intensity of her passion for Bosville led her to brood over her treatment to him, and to resolve never again, should the opportunity present itself, to act as she had done. Grace wandered into the Park, and deeply pondered over Faith's narrative. Her meditations were disturbed by the sudden appearance of Effingham, who had been raised to the command of a divi- sion of the Parliamentary Army. He declared the affection he had long borne for Grace, and told her that he was in command of a large force at Northampton, to watch the district, where it was supposed that some conspirators Were concealed, and eventually to escort His Majesty for greater security to the neighbourhood of London. When the con- fession ended, Effingham suddenly left Grace, who hastened to tell Mary Cave all that had happened. Mary at once resolved that the King should hear all, and early next morning she set off alone for Holmby House, and delivered with her own hand, in true romantic style, a letter in cipher containing a narrative of all that she knew. The King took no precautions, made no effort to protect him self, but retired to consider an abstruse question in casuis- tical divinity and the unfinished tag of a Latin verse. This instalment of "Holmby House" is followed by an article on the West Riding, in which we find some interesting historical notes and shetches of the character of the people. We transcribe one or two passages. Take, first, an histori- cal retrospect of Leeds We will imagine, then, that, travelling by the Great Northern Railway, we have arrived at Leeds, with which, as one of the busiest and most unpicturesque towns of the Riding, most persons are familiar. Some hundred years before the reigns of King John-who granted a charter to the Lord of the Manor, which contained a clause to the effect that no woman who was to be sold into slavery should pay custome in the borough—Leeds was a wretched village con- taining some twenty houses while not more than a century ago its inhabitants were characterized by their indolence and want of enterprise, having nothing to boast of in their town except the parish church, which, Thoresby tels us, resembles the spouse in the Canticles-for it was black but comely.' In Leland's time the population was not equally quick with that of Bradford, and until the beginning of the present century but little change had taken place in the manners of the people. At that period, therilarkets were kept in a street called Brigate which was'admirable for two things —one, the Bridge-end shot, at which the clothierlcould hue a good pot of ale, a trencher of roast or boiled meat for their breakfast for two-pence, besides a noggin of pottage; the other, that several thousands of pounds of broadcloths were usually sold there in a few hours, and that with little or no noice. On a sudden, by the sound of a bell, the cloth and benches were removed, and the markets for other trades began. The roads in the neighbourhood were formerly in a wretched state, and exceedingly unsafe, consisting as they did of a narrow, hollow way, which in winter became a per- fect slougb, and along the side of which ran, at the height of several feet above it, a narrow, paved horse-track, the remains of which may often be trac d at the present day bordering the highways. Travellers meeting on these pack roads found it difficult to pass each other, and winter jour- neys were toilsome and perilous in the extreme, especially when performed, as was frequently the case, by night. Yet when an attempt was made to improve the state of the high- roads a riot ensued, which rose to such a height that the Mayor of Leeds, in order to quell it, was obliged to call in the aid of a troop of dragoons, who firing upon the mob quickly put them to flight. During those rude and sluggish times few men of note arose among the inhabitants of Leeds the name of one worthy deserves, however, to be had in honourable remembrance. This was Peter Saxton, some- time vicar of the parish, who during one part of his life became a Nonconformist, and went to Boston, in New Eng- land. Thence, in his old age, returning home, a violent storm overtook the ship in which he was, when he, never daunted by the fear of shipwreck, triumphantly exclaimed in the hearing of the crew, 'Hey for heaven, hey for hevmf The next quotation relates to the people of the West Riding, who are thus pourtrayed: Independent as they are by nature in everything which regards secular affairs, they are equally so in all mattters connected with religion, which in them favours strongly of Puritanism, and is almost entirely wanting in the element of reverence. They have moreover a strong natural tendency to dissent, and feel but little respect for men who do not profess decided opinions, even those who set both law and conscience at defiance, being neverthe- less strict religionists, esteeming faith more highly than they do works. Methodism is rife throughout the Riding, and of the local preachers many amusing stories are told, of which here is a sample: Some years ago a Revival took place in one of the hill villages, when the minister desired the meeting to join him in prayer after offering the usual supplications, he thought he might venture upon a petition of a more practical nature, and accordingly prayed that the time might quickly come when t?ne "o'w"n of Guisley would be lighted with gas, and Yeadon e d" ing village) become a seaport town. eaI :o and often brutal, rugged and untractable like the? ?? wnw? MI?nd barren moorlands though the men oo^f tlLnee ^wer siRxvS iuii K maj y be by nal??uret they are, however, .bl f IfvalioD and  manners have under- susceptible of culti » thejr manners have under- gone to some extent a coftenine and refining process within the last quarter :f a cceennttu uryy, who, » when they are moderate, patient, and hard-working, need never ddeesspnaaiirr of seeing their labours in some degree crwned with success, though the work they have to p? erform 'so? course exoeedumly onerous; the state of morals, especially in villages which are partly agricultural, partly manufactur- ing, being at a very low ebb. On the confines of Lanca- shire, where old families, the introducers and nourishers of civilization, are seldom to be found, the manners and morals of the people are degraded in the extreme. The towns and villages of the West Riding are therefore no places for a timid or indolent minister, while they form excellent schools for earnest, active, energetic men, whose hearts are really in their work, and who ever bear in mind that their parishioners care nothing for the Established Church as a Church, but are attracted there simply be- cause they expect to hear a good logical sermon. Among the petty manufacturers, a spirit of equality is universal and having neither superiors to court, nor the amenities of social life to practice, there is a tone of defiance in their mant3er and apeech which to a stranger is repulsive, and which also is a symptom of their tendency towards eharÛlm and dissent. It indeed the people weje bound together by some cementing tie, instead of being split into seperate communities, they might become very formi- dable in a political point of view; as it is, their possession of rapid means of communication, and the circulation among them of Radical publications, would render them, in a time of unsettled government, difficult to manage. A great change has, however, taken place among the people of the hill districts since the commencement of the present century. Forty years ago the children of the working classes seldom wore shoes and stockings in sum- mer, and their food was chiefly porridge made of oatmeal and water, with oat cake, which they call Aver bread.' At that period mourning was not often worn at funerals, and even now the gayest dresses and smartest bonnets are sometimes brought out to grace the sad ceremonial. In those days the Sunday attire consisted of a brown or black gown and a scarlet cloak now the newest fashions, small bonnets, and crinolines, may be seen in almost every village. The majority of the labouring classes were then small farmers, as well as woollen cloth weavers, taking the yarn from their masters to weave at home-a practice which still obtains in some of the manufacturing vil lages. We cannot resist the temptation to give the writer's account of his pilgrimage to Haworth, the home of the Brontes: It was on a soft grey Sunday morning in the middle of August that we set forth on our pilgrimage. Immediately on leaving Keigbley we began to toil along the road which, by an almost unbroken ascent, leads to Haworth. At every step we took we seemed to be leaving in our rear all that was pleasant and cheerful; the hills on either side becoming more and more destitute of trees, more and more brown in colour, while the hedges which had hitherto bounded the road, were exchanged for stone dykes, with no soft oovering of moss to conceal their nakedness, and affording no little crannies where flowers might take root, no coigns of vantage wherein birds might nestle and sing. Low down in the valley ran a tributary of the river Aire, and here and there on its banks grew some few trees, principally fir, poplar, and ash; but though we were only in the very beginning of autumn, the foliage was already brown and withered, and many of the trees almost entirely leafless. If it had not been for the continuous lines of small houses stretching along the highway, and the villages clustered on the hill- sides, with the sturdy towers of their churches rising above them, the sense of desolation and want of finish, so to speak, in the scenery, would have been painfully oppressive, while the sickly appearance of the people, many of whom were afflicted with goitre, and the stolid, vacant expression of their countenances, gave no favourable impression of the healthiness of the district. For some two miles or so before arriving at Haworth, the village is visible from the road, and a very eaale's eyrie it looks, perched up on the moors, rising dun and sombre behind it. When we reached it, it struck us as being more foreign than English in aspeot; the hous38 are old, and built of dark grey stone, though here and there a smart unpicturesque modern dwelling has sprung up, trying to put its neighbours to shame, but looking far less honest and genuine than they; the principal street is very narrow, and paved with large flat stones, on which the houses immediately abut; and perhaps it is this absence of pavement or trottoir which more especially gives to Haworth the aspect of some second-rate French village. Every reader of Mrs. Gaskell's work probably has some idea of Haworth from her description, yet though it would be difficult fir us to point out wherein her picture differs from the original, we must confess that the impression produced upon us was different from the one she had given. Of one thing we are pretty certain, and that is, that no one can thoroughly un- derstand Charlotte Bronte who has not visited her home, and afterwards read, by the light which acquaintance with her surroundings will give, the history of her life penned by her own hand in the pages of Shirley. There, better far than Mrs. Gaskell or any one else could show, they will see how it came to pass that Caroline Helstone complained so sadly that she dreamt melancholy dreams, and if she lay awake for an hour or two at night was continually thinking of the rectory as a dreary old place.' You know,' she says, it is very near the churchyard; the back part of the house is exceedingly ancient and it is said that the out-kitchens there were once enclosed in the church-yard, and that there are graves under them. I rather long to leave the rectory. I think I grow what is called nervous. I see things under a darker aspect than I used to do. I have fears that I never used to have-not of ghosts, but of omens and dis- astrous events. Calm evenings are not calm to me; moonlight, which I used to think mild, now only looks mournful.' And again, when Shirley asks, Will you think of Fitful Head now, when you lie awake at night, rather than of the graves under the rectory back kitchen ?' who is it but Charlotte Bronte herself replying, I will try; instead of musing about remnants of shrouds and fragments of coffins, and human bones and mould, I will fancy seals lying in the sunshine on solitary shores ?' Many and many a time doubtless has Charlotte Bronte, like Caroline Helstone, in the summer nights sat long at her lattice, gazing down on the old garden and older church, on the tombs laid out all grey, and calm, and clear in the moonlight.' A melancholy home, in truth, for a spirit like Charlotte Bronte's, must have been that dreary Haworth parsonage; no trees shelter- ing or shrouding it, and yet all pleasant vit:ws shut out; nothing visible from its windows but the desolate-looking, walled-in garden, with one stunted lilac tree in the middle of it, along its walls a row of thorn bushes, and beyond, the wide, crowded churchyard encroaching more and more upon the grim silent moors, crossed often, as on the day we were there, by fitful gleams of sunlight or by wreaths of mist, j more welcome because partially concealing their harsher features and somewhat softening their dreariness. Whether the home may have looked more cheerful in poor Charlotte Bronte's lifetime we cannot tell; nothing, however, can be more desolate and forlorn than the aspeet which it wears at present, the garden entirely neglected, no gentle hand to tend its flowers; the little gate leading into the churchyard blocked up with a lank growth of grass and weeds the win- dows of the house partially closed with shutters; no sign of life or cheerfulness about it externally. Very sad, too, and lone must be its interior now, its only inmates the aged, childless father and the bereaved husband. To the left of the rectory stands the schoolhouse, beyend which is a ruined old tenement, every pane of glass in its windows broken, and altogether in the most dilapidated condition. Opposite this ruin are several ancient-looking buildings, the backs of which abut upon the church and queer erections they are, full of recesses and projections, and outside stairs leading to the upper stories, giving them a quite foreign aspect; one of these is a public-house, of which there are three or four in the village, none of them particularly clean or respectable in appearance. The principal one is the Black Bull, close to the church, a dirty little place, and the sight of which, in connexion with the remembrance of Bramwell Bronte, can. not but be painful. In the room where he so often used to spend his evenings, the principal ornaments are two pictures, one representing Her Majesty Queen Caroline landing at Dover, after an absence of three years, to demand her rights, dignities, and privileges;' the other A monumental Tri- bute to the memory of Queen Caroline, who, after being refused an earthly crown, was called to wear a crown in heaven.' When we reached Haworth the churchyard was full of people sitting on the gravestones, waiting for the morning service to begin, while the bells, the only cheerful thing about the place, were pleasantly chiming, and calling to distant stragglers to hasten their steps. Entering the ohurch we were placed in a pew in the gallery, and had time to look about us before the clargyman, Mr. Nicholls, made his appearance. The interior is large, and contains three galleries; in the one over the communion-table the organ is placed, and to the right of it are affixed against the wall the tables of the commandments, looking very much like the backs of colossal books On the south wall, in a corner, is a clock, with the inscription, Life, how short eternity, how long;' against the west wall, near the vestry, is placed a tablet, stating that the steeple and the little bell were made in the year of our Lord 1600. The pews are very large, and inside them are painted on great labels, the names of the owners- e. g. Mr. Pigshill has two sittings here for Gar- grave; Mrs. Ellis for Far Intake; Mr. Horsfall for Wild- grave Head, &c. See. The attendance was small in the morning, but better in the afternoon, when Mr. Bronte preached owing to his advanced years, he is not able to attend the whole of the service, but comes into chureh when the afternoon prayers are half over. A most affecting sight, in truth, it is to see him walking down the aisle with feeble steps, and entering his solitary pew, once filled with wife and children, now utterly desolate, while close behind it?ises the tombstone inscribed with their names. Full of sorrow and trouble though his life has been, the energy of the last survivor of the' race seems not a whit abated; his voice is still loud and clear, his words full of fire, his manner of earnestness. Lucid, nervous, and logical, the style of his preaching belongs to a byegone day, when sermons were made more of a study than they are now, and when it was considered quite as necessary to think much and deeply, as to give expression to those thoughts in language not only impressive and eloquent, but vigorous and concise. It would not be easy to give a faith- ful picture of the impression which Mr. Bronte evidently produced upon his hearers, or of his own venerable and striking appearance in the pulpit. He used no notes what- ever, and preached for half an hour without ever being at a loss for a word, or betraying the smallest sign of any decay of his intellectual faculties. Very handsome he must have been in his younger days, for traces of beauty most refined and noble in expression, even yet show themselves in his features and in his striking profile. His brow is stilt un- wrinkled; his hair and whiskers snowy white: lines very decided in their character are impressed about the mouth; the eyes are large and penetrating. In manner he is, as may have been gathered from what has been already said, quiet and dignified. "Sword and Gown" is in truth a singularly clever tale, and the part given this month attains the highest pitch of in- terest. Last Spring in Rome" and A case of Hard- ship" are contributions which should not escape notice, the latter in particular, which is designed to ameliorate the condition of an over-worked and under-paid class of men. We have also in this number a review article of Schimmelpenninck's Select Memoirs of the Port Royal and Piedmont and Italy in 1849 and 1859." BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.—Capt. Speke's journal of his Explorations in Africa, for the Royal Geographical Society, is continued in the October number of Blackwood, and that part of it which relates to the discovery of the supposed source of the Nile is intensely interesting. The second part of Horse Dealing in Syria, 1854," is as attractive as the first part, from which we made several extracts, and we cannot this month do better than transcribe two or three passages. An Evening Scene.-Every morning, at sunrise, the herds of camels belonging to the camp marched out to graze in dense bodies, which at a little distance looked like regulated squadrons. Shortly before sunset they might be Been, far and near, returning from all quarters; on far-off ridges, showing like small pyramids against the evening sky or close at hand, with head up, neck curved, and hump shown in fine profile, solemn and very like a camel in a picture- book. This, at least, is the demeanouf of the more aged and respectable ones; the younger, and especially the half grown camels, execute curious gambols as they come at night, Some one of them, taking a sudden fanoy, starts off as hard 1 all as rm go, liu" igh lop out Tioltatly at eacu ittidtl as to make a caricature of an animal at speed, and stretch- ing along at a pace you could hardly expect of him. This inflames another, who, wishing to indulge in a still more frolicsome caper, adopts a yet absurder gait executing a series of jumps in which he exhibits all the motions of the most extreme speed, throwing his legs out with desperate exertion, but in reality spending all his efforts in jumping off the ground rather than i? getting ove it,; his tail curled upwards like a tarrier dog's, and hi long curved neck working up and down in ?:n with the Bpastns of hfs legs and the rocking motion of his body, till he looks like nothing but a jointed toy-beast c^ out m card-board and twitched by strings. Another and then another takes up the gambol till the whole train, catching the hrt, burst O?lt iXo?per.,al'but the very big and reverend camels, who stalk in groaning lamentabl Y. *T.i5 p?:' b:?he readers the cven? scene I used to watch from one of the camping grounds of the tribe. It is just sunset. I am sitting perched on  grey wall of a deserted village close in rear of our tennt ts Af small light clouds hang low down in the sky, b it the ??lo zenith is of the clearest light blue, touched, ne^r the setting sun, with the gleam against which stand ^n^ a few isolated round hills, their shoulders fringed with an edging of small trees. Behind these I catch a glimpse of the snow-streaked range of the Druse Mountains ptariy grey and distant. Turning to the opposite dire et ion-to the east, to the heart of the desert-I see the yellow-brown plain streaked with Strata of black stone, its nearer udges catching a gleam of bright yellow and its further a tinge of purple in the setting sunshine, stretching away, broken only by a small hill or two, till it fades in the far clistanee. CIOso at hand, the centre of the panorama, lie the low black tents of the Anazeh, over topped by a line of high white one- poled tents belonging to a party of Damascus traders who have come and set up a sort of temporary bazaar, and nearer still are our own tents, with a line of thirty and more horses picketed in front of them. From all quarters camels are flocking in, with a slow solemn stalk those already arrived standing patient and motionless. All around rises their strange cry-a sound resembling, in quality, a grunt, but with a prolongation that gives it the character of a bellow mingled with the cries of the dark herdsmen, who, sometimes on foot and sometimes perched on the top of a big camel admonish their flocks with frequent hollas. "Whoa-hup! whoa-hup; whoa-hup!—Yah I' —cries he herdsman and, with a curious variety of woe-begone End despairing tones, the camels answer in strange chorus. First camel, very gutturallv, O-o-o-o-o-o second camel wrathfully, Wa-ow-ow-ough third camel, most pitifully as if it was really too bad, "O-o-o! Eu .gh," winding up with an accent of disgust. The Anazeh, -Every reader who has followed me thus far, knows pretty accurately how long I was in the desert, and what opportunities I had of observing its inhabitants. I shall therefore leave it to him to form his own judgement as to how far my experiences may b-3 considered competent data from which to draw inferences as to the character of a nation. All that I mean to do, is to give the impression produced on me by my experiences, such as they were and that impression distinctly is, that the Anazeh are a disgust- ing race of beings, and that, apart from their fine horses, they have no more claim to our interest or admiration than Hottentots. In person they are filthy. I never saw the slightest sign of a change of raiment being possessed by any of them, and I certainly do not believe that the practice of washing is known, even by tradition. Their moral pecu- liarities are more agreeable than their personal. They are as destitute of any feeling of discretion or decency in regard of intruding upon the traveller, as the traveller might be in point of disturbing the privacy of the orang-outang at the Zoological Gardens and, once inside his tent, unless told in very plain terms to get out, will squat there from morning to night, amusing themselves with the contempla- tion of his habits. As for keeping them from staring in, we found that utterly impossible. It was the commonest tiling in the world to have a couple of them lying on their chests on the grass, just in front of the door, with their chins resting on their elbows, calmly surveying us and all our proceedings; and if any one of them was admitted on business, a whole troop flocked in with him squatting them- selves down all round till the tent would hold no more, and the rest were obliged to sit outside, peeping over each other's shoulders through the door. They used to steal horses' nose-bags out of the servants' tent, and head-stalls from our horses as they stood at their pickets and if a sad- dle or other piece of furniture was given in with a hrse, used to scuffle for it with such vigour as to put all chance of our getting it quite out of the question. One Humdan, the second great mam of the tribe, and the Sheikh's locum- tenens, was an especial reprobate. He used to be very offi- cious in bidding for horses, professedly to assist us, but, as we felt certain, really to run up the price and go shares with the seller in the profits. One day we found him claiming in our name, from the late owner of a horse we had just bought, a grand red saddle and saddle-cloth that had been nowise included in the bargain, with the intention of appropriating them. He was always begging for a little tobacco or a little sugar to refresh himself after the laborious fast he was then keeping for Ramazan and always hanging about us accom- panied by a little child of his, whom he was constantly privily instigating to come and kiss our hands the child afterwards bashfully hiding its face in its father's gown, and the father looking affectionately amused at the child's aim. plicity, as if the whole manoeuvre had not been got up with a view to further tobacco. To sum up, the Anazeh are bores, thieves, beggars, swindlers, and extortioners of the most shameless nature, and if they possess, in any but their relations to their horses, any good quality whatever, cer- tainly never showed it to me. So much for the results of my own observation. Backed as we were by thirty stout Druses, and further protected by the interest which the sheikh had in keeping well with the Turkish Government, it was not likely that the tribe would give us the chance of having anything much worse to urge against them. But I never yet met with a man who knew anything of the Bedouins who had a single good word to say for them, except on this one head. They are not, it is said, blood- f thirsty, unless provoked. A limited virtue for when you come to investigate, you find that provocation," as they interpret it, means pretty nearly every difference of opinion an honest man may entertain with a ruffian, and that their merits amount to about this, that provided you eat with satisfactory resignation all the dirt they may please to ofler you, they had rather strip you and turn you loose to live or die as Heaven pleases, than settle you with a lance-point at once. A limited virtue indeed, but one for which—remem- bering the pleasure that much of mankind has in cruelty for its own sake-let us give them every credit, and see that at our hands, at least, the devil does not come short of his due. A Moorish Castle,—Aa I have before stated, our stay in the desert was broken by a visit to Damascus. The road we chose on that occasion crossed the Druse mountains. From Merj Kotrani one day's march carries you into their very heart, and offers in its course a curious change of scene. Quitting the open plain for rocky tracks intersected by outlying mountain-spurs and studded with a beautiful yellow broom, you scramble up and down by stony paths, till, standing in a rocky dell, you see a long descent bear down before you. Close by is a village whose flat-roofed houses look each one like a great square brown peat-turf with a little door and window cut in the side. A stream of water splashes by, and then drops foaming over broken steps of rock iuto a deep ravine, which winds away through interlacing projections of the rocky bush-clothed hill, and gives to view, at its distant <?OM<'?'< ? glimpse of far off plain with a line of blue mountains beyond. As you de- scend into this plain, the path, bordered by honeysuckles in full flower, winds steeply down amongst grey crags topped with bushes and mingled with patches of cultivation. Glancing up the steep of the rugged mountains that rise on your right hand, you may see a line of shattered old fort. like ruins on a projecting crag; to the left, perhaps, lies a little vineyard with the broad leaved plants trained along the ground, or, in a small patch of arable ground, you may see an ox-plough turning up the soil. Now, crossing a lev61 belt, you come on a small winding stream, hidden by a magnificent screen of enormous oleanders spotted with large clusters of pink flowers, reminding you of the impossibly gorgeous patterns of a flowered chintz. Then you traverse a little patch of cornfield, shaded by small ttees, old and gnarled, beneath which women and grey- bearded men rest in a patriarchal group Then you pass Banias, where, amidst leafy thickets, your horse drinks of a small sunny stream whose waters, gushing hard by from beneath a scrap of high grey rock, join foaming in a shallow pool, and, through a thicket of trees, flow down to You- the Jordan. On through the Jordan conveying reverently, amidst slight chuckles from your comrogues, a beer-bottle filled with Jordan water, and corked with a rag—the bottle having been previously hunted up in the village and cleansed, by your pious zeal, of its profane label of" Bass's Pale Ale ;then, turning sharp to the right, along the broad valley you have hitherto been looking down upon, you travel through luxuriant cornfields and grassy stretches, all studed, park-like, with small trees—a scene than which I could have pictured to myself no better ideal of those fields of Galilee where Jesus went on the Sabboth-day through the corn." Then, up a steep hillside,, amongst grey olive-trees into an narrow and ravine-like valley, where cultivation strugglee with the stony soil; along the slope whose hot side you wind, rising and rising till you see, covering the summit of a height that juts forward from the right-hand ridge, the little Druse town of Has- beya, crowned by an old towered castle of Moorish aspect. We dismounted in a small gravelled square at the very apex of the town. On one side rose the old stonewalls of the little castle-five hundred years old, they say-with projecting stone-carved windows, and with a solitary gate approached sidewise by a small flight of steps, now crowded by retainers assembled at once to gratify their curiosity and to do us honour. On the other side of the square rose a khan or coffeehouse-a glimpse I got of multifarious turbans of serene and cheerful aspect in its interior .led me to think it such—and a minaret eonspicuous like a lighthouse from whose very walls the steep slope dropped down, covered with mulberry trees down to a little rocky stream that marked the valley's deepest course, and beyond which the opposing ridge rose steeply. Behind the castle, again, the stone houses of Hasbeya-the dwellings, they told us, of six thousand souls-swept down the little prominence that uplifts the town, and then again, rose with the rising heights behind. It was a delightful old place. If one had had a bugle-horn and known how to blow, one could not but have wound it straightway at the castle door. The emir's fair daughter might have looked forth from one of those stone-carved wrhdows on to a Christian knight be- low. I am sorry she didn't. And to see it next morning when they brought us horses for sale when its door was crowded by a group of Druses and Mussulmans watching the horsemen that dashed their gaudily-accoutred horses across the square; one might have thought one saw a Scene of old Granada,where Moorish knights carecred before some ancient Andalusian stronghold. We were received with the greatest courtesy by the emir, lord of the eastle and governor of Hasbeya a man of an old and noble Mussulman family that had dwelt there for ages, but which, at the time of onr visit, in common with all the other families of similar standing in those parts, was muched reduced in circumstances. We were led, through a cloister skirting a large paved court, into a long narrow vaulted room. At its further end, a small divan, raised above the level of the floor and lined with carpets and cushions, occupied the whole interior of a large bay- window divided by stone pillars, but perfectly open and without either glass or shutters, looking down upon the square. The old emir gave us pipes and iced sherbets. He himself could take nothing, for it was Ramazan, and the 'un wu not Jet dgwu; so he nt patwatly watob- ing the closing evening till the Muezzin, with a wonderful cracked voice that broke every now and then into the shrill screech, proclaimed sunset. Instantly a servant rushed in with a great cup of sherbet, which the emir took down and immediately after, dinner was served. We sat smoking in the window after dinner. It was pretty to see the daylight fade, and the mountain-side across the valley darken into a black ridge, and the stars brighten and brighten upon the growing night. It was a pretty old room too, dimly lighted by a lantern suspended from the roof, and another larger one on legs set on the floor. The painting round the bay-window was terribly faded, and the plaster was cracking off here and there but still the room was picturesque and pleasant, and with its dilapidation combined an air of nobility in a way that suited it excellently well to the fallen fortunes of an old emir. I suppose that the time of these old Syrian nobles is come, and the moment in the world's history has arrrived when all they have to do is to vanish, the qnicker the better. But the process of extinction is a sad one to see. Formerly they were the feudal lords of the country. The revenues were collected through them, and provided they delivered to government a certain sum, they were entitled to appropriate to themselves the quite uncertain sum which they might please to squeeze out along with it. When Syria, by the intervention of powers amongst which England was one, was made over to Turkey, these feudal rightsj were sup- pressed, and a pension or stated income granted to each emir as compensation. So far, so good but in due time the Turkish Government, as might have been expected of it, stopped payment, and these unhappy old nobles, deprived alike of revenue and pension, were many of them brought close upon the verge of literal starvation. Such at least was the account of their fall given me by men who ought to be well acquainted with its history. Our host of Hasbeya had escaped this extreme ruin, and seemed in tolerable circum- stances but we shortly after met another emir of much the same stamp, who told us plainly that he was starving—a statement which the general aspect of himself and his be- longings seemed to confirm. I was wonderfully taken with that old mountain-castle. I was seized with quite a desire to be Emir of Hasbeya my self. How one might hoist one's flag on the old tower, and fill the old court with hawks and greyhounds; how one might smoke and be lazy in the open windows, or go down to hunt in the plain below what dealings one might have with one's Anazeh neighbours, for their fine horses, and how one might finally get tick of it all! (IlThe Luck of Ladysraede" is continued, and immediately succeeding it is an article on Peaks, Passes, and Glacicrs, a work recently published, being a record of excursions made by the members of the Alpine Club. We have read with much pleasure The Sea Side in the Papal States," in which we recognize the hand of an old and accomplished contributor. The article on Sir William Hamilton's Lec- tures is of a different character although treating of abstruse questions, it will find many readers who are not strictly metaphysi cal. TIT AN.-There are fewer contributions in Titaii this month than usual, but the number is not the less interest- ing on that account. In the first article the writer clearly proves that in England, "however religion, education, temperament, or the habits of early association may influence or modify their views, the humourist, the man of the world, the Christian, the scholar, the philo- sopher, and the gentleman" distinguish between true love and that misguided passion which resembles it. The contribution is edtitled Pathological Love in its English Aspect i" it is truthful, welllwritten, and conclusive. A very large space is devoted to Getting On," a tale which deserves all the praise heaped upon it from time to time. In the first part of this instalment there is a humourous account of Marley's trial, and the monomania of Sir Fungus Hope, who has amongst other things originated the idea of A Great Elastic Anti-Button Clothing Com- pany." At the trial Sir Fungus was weil nigh driven mad by the impertinent cross-examination of Marley's counsel, who seemed to know all about the mania of the Baronet. When he left the witness-box he muttered excitedly I'm afraid I have made a fool of myself; most marvellous coincidence, most unparalleled, how that man could have found out all those things about me." Daisy-" Never mind him, he is, entre nous, a great blackguard." Sir Fungus- .1 But a most successful barrister." Daisy II The one almost implies the other." Old Mr. Davenport cuts a wretched and pitiable figure in the witness-box. < A pack of thieves, my lord,' he was shouting, getting red in the face, a parcel of low swindlers, hang them all- oosrh—oogh. 1 Remember, sir, you are in the witness-box.' Witness-box! when a m-in has lost £ 12,000, is he to hold his tongue? -oogh-oogh. They told me I was to have 33 per cent., and perhaps 150 per cent. in time, and I've not had a penny. It was that scoundrel, Clutch, just like the lawyers, oogh-ooroogh -they're all rascals, all con- founded rascals.' We are all lawyers here, Mr. Davenport.' «I don't care, I've lost my money, I'm a ruined man, I've lost a fortune, and so on. Poor old fool! how they laug" hed at him, and let him rail on, till, growing tired of him, they had him carried out, raving and coughing and pouring hot curses from his withered old lips. Daisy had long meditated upon a scheme to accomplish a double good in the case of Mr. Davenport, and he seized upon this as the most favourable moment to accomplish it. He at once hurried to Brook-street and sought an inter- view with Mr. Davengort. At first it was refused, but being recognized a confidential servant inquired his busi- ness with Mr. Davenport, who was very ill from the excitement of the trial-too ill to see any one on ordinary business, and finding that Daisy wished to see him respect- ing his family, the doctor was referred to. After some conversation, in which Daisy learns that Mr. Davenport's mind has been shaken, and that a strong counter-influence was necessary to avert permanent insanity, he told Dr. Jenkins the whole story respecting Kate Morgan and her mother. It was eventually agreed that Kate should be sent for to console the old man, and awaken other emotions in his mind. Daisy, overjoyed, hastened after Kate, and found her in some distress with William, who had failed to procure a situation for want of £ 5 to deposit with the tradesman as a security. The opening had presented itself for William in reply to an advertisement which Kate had worked more than usually hard to pay for in a newspaper. Kate went readily with Daisy, but on the way she kept a little behind him, the thought of again bringing disgrace upon him, as she had unwittingly done at Oxford, oc- curring to her with some force. He fancied he walked too fast for her, and his questions drew from her the thought which troubled her. Oh never mind, child,' said he, tenderly drawing her hand through his arm, and hurryingher along. -IV. are free here; London is very different to that silly place, and people have better things to do than looking out for slips in their neighbours.' r i. n i Nevertheless, this remark of hers recalled him to a sense of the appearance he then and there presented. • If any one met us, who knew me,' he muttered to him- self, my reputation were not worth a tig. And yet-no- I'll be hanged if I do. Mens conscia reztt. I m on a good errand, and the world is evil-minded, not I. I Won t be a slave to the prejudices of the world. Let them say what they will, I'll brave it. It's disgusting that a man cannot take care of a poor girl, whose gown is not quite so good as his sister's, without imputation of evil. But never mind. Thank heaven, I'm not a gentleman. If I had any preten- sion to that valuable title, I could not do this. Eden would faint at the idea.' They were passing the Pantheon, as he thought this, and whom should they run against but Mr. Eden, with Lady Augusta Mortimer on one arm, and Carry on the other. u k t t 0t ^How do ? how do ?' cried Mar k not caring to stay, and hurled°' d A ??r' can't be young Lorimer, cried Lady Augusta in horror. h h h ,1 C ?D?isy Lorimer with such a— echoed Carry. Mr. Eden hurried them into the brougham. Tho bare idea of such contamination was too much for him. Well,' said Carry, as they drove off, and immediately afterwards passed the couple in question, well, mamma, that puts an end to our acquaintance with that youth, I supv)ose., You will believe me now for once,' said Eden, leaning towards her, with an expression unusually marked for him. Lady Augusta shook her head. Dear me, dear me, how it would break poor Lady Larimer's heart, if she knew it,' murmured she. Such members of the Atticceum who had heard of Daisy or knew anything of his father, were that same evening in possession of the intelligence, that the hope of the house of Lorimer had a^ded to his other enormities, that of keeping a mistress oLlow class, with whom he had the disgusting depravity Ik about; for the mere fact of having such a female acq tance might be pardoned, but to confess it in such a manner was a sin for which 'society' could find no punishment heavy enough, short of total excommunica- tion. When they arrived at Brook-street the servants scanned the poor sempstress with suspicious airs; the doctor did not fail to express surprise at her humble appearance. Scamps, villains, scoundrels oogh, ooghoogh-liars, cheats, thieves—oogh—I'll have their—oogh—their blood, I'll scalp them, I'll hang them, I'll have my money, my £12,000, my £ 12,000, my £ 12,000!' Such was the outburst which greeted Kate, as she tremblingly followed the Doctor in. Who's that ? Take her away. Some one else come to rob me. Take her away, take her to prison-oogh-oogh- ooroogh—' Speak to him,' whispered the Doctor, pushing her a little forward towards the sofa on which the old man lay in his furs, storming, and red in the face. I am not come to rob you, sir,' she said gently. The old man started up and looked at her steadily for two whole minutes. It was a terrible picture. His face, at first furious, gradually relaxed into an expression of awe: Then he drew his shaking hand across his eyes, and looked at her again. He muttered something in a hollow voice to him- self, and then rising full upon the sofa, drew up with all the dignity he once was master of, and which Eden used to admire as that of a true gentleman. Mary,' said he, in a hoarse but commanding voice Mary, leave the house leave it for ever: Poor Kate trembled. What could this mean ? The Doctor, who did not quite understand it either, prompted, her briskly. I am come to nurse you, sir, she said, 'at-ter him. He dropped his head at that voice again, and seemed in doubt. Then he looked at her again, but shyly, as if frightened of her, from under his eyebrows. It was but for a moment. The next he shook, threw up his arms, and with a fearful shriek fell forward on the ground. They lifted him up insensible. The shock had been too great. The servants and Mark rushed in the Doctor in a frightened voice gave rapid orders, and Kate, accustomed to wait on sickness, obeyed them with wonderful quickness, for the plushes wefe too bewildered to do anything but bustle uselessly about. Caroline Mortimer wrote to Idola, and told her of Eden's attachment, and of the low company Daisy kept in London. The chapter on the winding-up of the Company is a very good one. Daisy refused the L-50 reward offered for the capture of Marley in favour of William Jones, and his conduct in the whole affair obtained for him the favour of the Board, and in particular that of Burley, who when these proceedings terminated, invited him to dinner with the Directors, who had in the words of Burley 11 resolved to throw off business and dull care, and drink damnation to Marley and health to all honest men." We cannot follow the author inttlrthe particulars of the dinner, the interview between Daisy and Mr. Davenport, the adoption of Kate by her grandfather. the awkwardness of Kate'in her new position, the trouble she is exposed to through her acquaint- ance with William Jones, who is installed as a light porter, &c. Our readers must peruse the tale for themselves; it will amply repay not only in the mental pleasure it affords; but in numberless vigorous passages interspersed through the narrative. The trials to which Daisy was exposed by poverty are finely drawn. Driven almost to despair, he tried several methods of obtaining a honest livelihood. We can fine room for one only. One day over his cheap chop and potatoes he read thus :— WANTED a number of TUTORS and GOVERNESSES, at salaries varying from 11.0 to Y,100 per annum. Apply to Monsi< ur Formeville Smith de I'Eateyrac, 13, Bulstrode Street, W.C.' Formeville Smith de l'Esteyrac, a strange jumble of names,' thought he. 'But why should not I be a tutor? I know plenty of Greek, Latin, Mathematics, French, and German, besides Markham's History of England, and But- ler's Atlas. I think I am worth Y,150 per annum. The next day he set out accordingly. The house in question was something between a shop and I a private residence, an elegant compromise between gen- tility and business. In the window were several volumes of books, entitled, How to speak French, by Formeville Smith de l'Esteyrac,' German in Three Weeks,' by Formeville Smith de I'Esteyrac. I Tuscan Italian without going to Tuscany, by Formeville Smith de l' Esteyrac, Ph.D., late Professsor of Modern languages at the Colle- giate Grammar School of Mercenary-upon-Diddle, Cheva- lier of the Legion of Honour, formerly Tutor to the sons of I the Graud Duke of Kleinmetz-Dinkelschaffen, and Ex- aminer in French and German to the Commissioners for the Examination of Candidates for the Civil Service.' There's respectability for you there's a re-assuring list of offices honourably filled- If you can find Mercenary- upon-Diddle in the map of England, or Kleinmetz-Dinkel- schaffen in that of Germany, you have only to write and ask, and of course you will learn, whether M. Formeville Smith de l'Esteyrac did or did not fill those capacities, while the Commissioners in question will probably inform you that on some particular emergency they did call in the services of M. Formevill Smith de I'E^teyrae for a couple of days. And such information will of course satify you. But you must be a most unbelieving, incredulous, dis- agreable Hebrew to doubt for a moment the veracity of the assertions of such a charming complaisant gentleman for what object could he possibly have in deceiving you ? Daisy was a man who trusted everybody till he found him- self cheated, and had not the remotest idea that M. Forme- ville Smith de l'Esteyrac had the slightest pretension to be what he was not. He therefore entered the shop or rather office with con- fidence. A very diminutive boy with a very bad cold in his head, was seated at the table, on which were a few letters spread out, and a large entry book on a desk. Is Mons. de l'Esteyrac at home ?' 1 He's edgaged. He'll be 'ere id a midute,' replied the yonth, looking up at Daisy with that over-the-shoulder glance of indifference, tinged with contempt, which seems to say, 'What do you want here, don't come a-bothering,' and immediately resumed his writing, The general appearance of the little room was seedy, and Daisy not having been invited to sit down, and indeed, i seeing only two chairs in the room, walked round it to exa- mine the walls. Over the fireplace he discovered the diploma of the Legion d'Honneur, which considerably revived him. He read every word of it, and passed on to a calendar. While thus employed, he was attracted by voices from an inner room communicating with the other by a glass door. Although he had no desire to pry into the mysteries of this arcana, he was led towards the vitreous aperture by the glimpse of a work of art in water colours, representing a huge building, which can only be described as a mongrel offspring of Buckingham Palace and a Lancashire factory, surrounded by rows of tall straight regular poplars, planted at equal distances from one auother, and leaving very illi- beral gaps between them, This he of couse set down as the residence of His Transparency the Duke of Kleinmetz-Din- kelschaffen, and he feit a kind of historical interest in this superb piece of architecture, which riveted him to the spot, while the following conversation issuing through the dia- phanous communicator (alias glass door), attracted but did not enchant his auricular nerve. Well,' said a sharp voice with a strong foreign accent in it, 'I have nevair, madame, conceal from you my tairms. You are at the liberty to come and to go, but if you desire of me to interest myself furthair in your regard, it is all natural that you pay me my demand very reasonable.' But this is the third half-crown I shall have paid you,' replied a soft, timid, feminine voice, and nothing comes of it.' How, nothing comes of it ? Ungrateful! Is it not that that I have exert myself until to be able to die of it, in your regard ? Is it not that I mention your name to all the great countesses, marquises, and baronettes, to say nothing of aldermannes, c'est a dire, the wives of aldermans, who come inquire for governess. Ungrateful! you have had my labour, my brow-sweat, comme on dit en Allemagne, my very much exertions, and you refuse my demand very humble, that is to say, my very humble demand ah, but refuse it, I hold not to it, go, I cease to interest myself in your regard, I scratch you the name from my great book, it is done.' UMsy could not resist a glance through the glass door. There he saw the two. The one was a man of wrinkled, puckered ver ,pr,,ssive face, with a quantity of hair all flying about the forehead, and evidently long a foe to brush and comb; and he was gesticulating, more O?Hco, with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears, his hands extended, his neck stretched forward, and his lips screwed up. The other was a poor weak looking English governess, rather pretty, forsooth, with a worn poverty-battled face, but which seemed to say Half-a-crown more will ruin me.' Apparently, however, she wavered. It was a game of chance. She would toss up her last half-crown, poor thing, and try it once more. Delightful credulity He saw her draw out the shabby little purse timidly, and reluctantly count out five sixpences. It seemed to make the pang greater that the money was in such small pieces. The other took it, bowed, smiled, grimaced, and opened the glass door, saying Mademoiselle may assure herself that my efforts the most strenuous shall have the direction of her interests.' Then he turned to Daisy with quite a different look, all deference and politeness. What is it that you desire, sair ?' he asked, smiling. Will you be pleased to place yourself ?' Daisy took a seat, and M. Formeville Smith de l'Esteyrac moved to his desk, having deposited the five sixpences in his voracious pocket. You advertise for tutors and governesses,' said Mark. Certainly; we have several on our books. Monsieur does he desire an institutor or institutrix for his family ?' No I come to offer myself in the capacity of tutor.' Ah, really, so much better. Please to give me your name and address.' Daisy gave them, and the scholastic agent entered them at once in his big book, muttering to himself, tant mieux, tant mieux.1 Bien, and now your qualifications, sair, if you please.' I am a B.A. of Oxford can teach Greek, Latin.' Attendez un instant, bien, apres. You speak French ?' Yes.' M. de l' Esteyrac then bejjan talking rapidly in his native language; and Daisy, a good French scholar, answered him fluently, Ah! I see you speak very well; and German ?' Mark commenced rapidly in the language of horses;' but the ex-professor did not venture beyond a Ja wohl,' which should have been nein.' It is good. Now what position desire you ?' 1 That of tutor in a private family. I should prefer to travel, if possible.' Certainly your talents recommend you to it. I shall enter you as foreign companion.' There was then some more writing, and the agent turned and said, Our charge for entry on the foreign list is ten shillings for tutors.' Daisy hesitated and reddened. Ten shillings were now a consideration' to him. The Frenchman shrugged his shonlders. I regret I have enter you on the foreign list.' There was an appeal about him which Daisy had not the courage to resist. He therefore paid the money. 'And now, have you anything to offer me ?' said he, eagerly. ea Weil, yes—that is to say, for the moment-but stop there is the Marchioness Pachouli. William, is the Mar- chioness suited yet ?' The small boy consulted a small book. She's took Mr. Smith.' •All.' what pity. Well, there should be Lady Clanden- ni8.' No, she's withdrawed.' Ah, bigre e'est dommage. Shall you be passing to- morrow ? I shall hear to-morrow morning from an English nobleman, who desire a tutor for his two little infants. I have much applications from the nobility, Euglish and Continental. This morning I receive a note from Vis- countess Pennycashel; you know her ? by name at least. She have had many infants, and will educate them all chez elle. Ah pardi, where is it-that letter, William, ah la voila and he picked up one that had the appearance of having been well used in the service, and handed it to Daisy. You see we are quite intimates. She write me, My dear Formeville. I have known her quite twenty years, and recommend much governess- Will you call to-morrow at | eleven ? Good, au revoir Daisy called the next day, in great hopes about the noble- man with the two infants. But M. Formeville was out, and the small boy could give him no information. The neî day he called again, and saw the agent himself, who was all politeness still, and regretted infinitely that he had not yet heard from the nobleman with the two infants. He called the next day. 'Ah! I was thinking of you,' said the ex-professor. I just mention your name to William. There is a gentleman write this morning for a tutor, but not to travel. It 15 a. pity your name is not uso on the £ nglish list. Daisy, in hopes, offered to enter it, and was politely requested to dosposit five shillings, which he did much with the same pleasure as a child swallowing a black draught. to Now, you have double your chance. I will write at once to this shentleman.' He waited two days for the answer, and then called again and again, day after day. Sometimes the agent re- ceived him with smiles, sometimes with evident annoyance. Somehow he never heard from the gentleman but Daisy was determined to have something for his fifteen shillings, and called till he got it. The Hon. Mr. Macmole, M.P., Berkeley Square, brother to Lord Westnorton. Stay, I will give you a card,' he said at last one day. Daisy took the card, and being now reduced very low, went with glee down to Berkeley Square. He was ushered into a large, very comfortable library, where, in an easy chair, sat a handsome well-preserved man of about fifty, with a profusion of curly iron-grey hair, and that affable dignity about him, which seems to say, I am a great man, a mem- ber of the House, and brother to an Earl and I shall be very condescending to everybody who treats me with the re- spect due to my position.' He held Daisy's card in his hand, having deposited on his knee a new Quarterly, which he had just been cutting and though he did not rise, he smiled, and motioned the young tutor to the easy chair on the other side of the fireptace. You are recommended by M. I'l?,steyrac as tutor to my son. May I ask who your father is ?—your name seems familiar to me.' This was preoisely what Mark did not want to tell. Though he was not ashamed of being a tutor, he knew that his father would be so, and it was not kind to Sir Tattenham to publish thus to everybody the fact of the rupture between them. Will you excuse my answering that question ?' he re- plied, as amiably as he could; I have reasons for wishing it not to be known.' Mr. Macmole looked annoyed. Oh certainly, certainly. It is merely that in taking a person into one's family, it is proper to know all about his antecedents.' He then proceeded to put a namber ef questions as to Daisy's collegiate career, and so forth, and was thus occu- pied, when the door opened, and a lady entered, stood a moment at the door, stared very hard, and not over politely, at the young man; and having made an inventory of him, slowly shook her head. Of course Daisy rose and bowed, but to his surprise, the lady did not condescend to return the salutation. Why should she bow to a tutor ? She then walked up to her hqsband's chair, and in an audible whisper, said to him, He won't do.' Flattering as this was, and encouraging withal, Daisy took no notice of it, and waited patiently while the husband and wife whispered to one another. When this was over, she turned to the young man, and quite seriously said to him, Are yon good-tempered ?' D laughed. Well, really I don't know how to answer you. I suppose every man would say he was so, and believe it; but this is scarcely a question which one can answer confidently for one's-self.' The lady shook her head solemnly. 1 It is a point of great importance, for my son's temper is very peculiar, and he cannot put up with the slightest irritation. We were obliged to dismiss the last tutor for speaking harshly to him.' I I think I may safely say that I am of an easy and gentle temper, and, of course, I should be very careful under the circumstances.' But the lady again shook her head. 11 am afraid, young man, that you have .not a good temper.' Daisy coloured, bowed, and turned it off with a laugh. When a man is within a week or two of penury, he is obliged to put up with these little hits. Poverty makes us very Christian-like outwardly, but it destroys independence Well, then, Mr. Lorimer,' said the M.P.. I we will talk it over and let you know. Good morning.' He put out his hand for the bell, but did not rise. Daisy bowed to him, and, resolving not to be put out of his polite- ness, to the lady too, who again took no notice of it. t. Humph!' thought he, as he walked gloomily home, if this falls through, I shall try a tradesman next. I don't seem to care about the nobility.' The next day, came a short, polite note from Mr. Mac- mole, declining his services, without stating the reason. We have dwelt so long over this admirable tale that we have only room to mention the other portions of this number. They are a review article on La Question Ro- maine, par E. Aboul; an analysis of Fragments of the Table Bound an interesting tale—" Loaves and Pitchers for Two or, Nights in a Nunnery Five Minutes Chat, an article deprecative of any departure from fact in the fine arts; and long extracts from new books. THE ENGLISH WOMAN'S JOURNAL.—The Septem- ber number of this excellent magazine did not reach us, and therefore the continued papers" in the October number lose much of their interest to us. We have, notwithstanding, read them with considerable pleasure, particularly "The Life of Margaret Fuller Ossoli," a touching record of her soj ourn in Italy, the part she took in the memorable defence of Rome in 1848, and her death, with that of her husband and child, when the ship in which they sailed was wrecked on the shores of America. The other continued paper" is The Adventures of your own Correspondents in search of Solitude" being a humorous and pleasant description of a visit to the wilds of Cumberland. A word to the Wise" is a very sensible article in vindication of those ladies who seek to improve the condition of their sex they should not be disheartened, for they have the sympathy and approval of the greatest and best of both sexes. The article on Cottage Habita- tions" discusses in a kindly spirit a subject of considerable importance. The homes of our people" are not what they should be. What the writer says of the wretched abodes in the little town where she [lives is applicable to almost every town in the kingdom, and we heartily endorse her appeal for better house for the labour population. But it is not only in towns that the labourer is badly provided for; we believe that in South Wales there are hovela in which agricultural labourers live worse than the most wretched houses in any town. The rural cottages in Wales are for the most part small,idamp and unwholesome seldom of more than one room, six or seven feet square, with a Vet earth-floor, ad window not bigger than an ordinary pane of glass. In such miserable cottages our farm labourers are obliged to bring up a large family on six or seven shillings a-week. We believe that the English Woman's Journal, which gets into the hands of those who have it in their power to change this sad state of things, in directing attention to improved house accommodation for labourers in towns, does indirectly serve to promote better cottages for rural districts. The other contributions in this number are a poem by Adelaide A. Proctor, Life in Turin, directions for the formation of Local Sanitary Association, the Programme of the meeting of the Na- tional Association for the Promotion of Social Science, Notices of new books, and some letters from correspon- dents. THE SHIPWRECKED MARINER.—This quarterly magazine is devoted to the praiseworthy advocacy of institutions connected with seamen, and supplies in addi- tion much useful information on a variety of subj ects.