Family Herald 18th August 1860

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FAMILY& Bomesttc jKlaga^ne of

CHERISH PATIENCE AS YOUR FAVOURITE VIRTUE ; ALWAYS

HAVE A STOCK OF IT ABOUT YOU.

HERALD= ©srtul Information ani amusement

THERE ARE A THOUSAND THINGS IN THIS WORLD TO SADDEN,

RUT HOW MANY TO GLADDEN US.

N o . 9 0 3 . Y O L . X V I I I ] F O R T H E W E E K E N D I N G A U G U S T 18 , 1860 . [PRICE ONE PENNY.

T H E PI N K O F PE R FE C T I O N .

n a q u ai n t ru s t ic s eat in a b o w e r

Sat a mai d en , b ot h comely a n d f a i r ;

v e n s o r r o w b»jt h e igh ten'd h er c h a r m s

A s sh e t o y ' d w it h he r t r e s s e s of h air .

h y , forsooth, thus d e m u r e a n d d ep res s 'd ?

W h y so m o u r n fu l , a n d l o n e l y , and sa d ?

h e sw ee t l in n et s w er e w arb l i n g su c h

s t rain s

A s sh ou ld m a k e t h e m o s t sor rowf ul

glad.

u t the maidet l, a b s o r b ' d in d e e p t h o u g h t ,

A s she sat th e g r e e n b r a n c h e s a m o n g ,

Heed ed n o t t h e i r e x u b e r a n t j o y ,

W a r b l e d f o r t h i n m e l o d i o u s s @ n g .

s t h u s p e n s i v e I p on d er 'd a n d g a z e d ,

A gay t u l i p I sa w on the g r o u n d ,

s if s e o r n f u l l y t h r o w n i n d i s g u s t

B y the m a i d e n , as a n g r y s he f r o w n ' d .

n the t a b l e a rose I b eh e ld ,

W h i c h t h e b l u s h of p u r e i n n o c e n c e

w o r e ;

W i t h s w e e t o d o u r it s c e n t e d t h e a i r ,

But i ts b e a u t y d e l i g h t e d m e m o r e .

here t h e s c e n t l e s s g a y t u l ip s t i l l l a y ,

As if on ly d eservin g he r scorn ,

u i te f o r g e t t i n g t he r o s e w i t h it s c h a r m s

C o u l d tor ture inf lict w i t h it s t h o r n .

h e n w i t h o u t a w o r d u t t e r ' d I k n e w

W h y th e m a i d e n w a s s a d a n d d e p r e s s ' d ;

She had s o u g h t fo r p e r f e c t i o n in v a i n

I t was t h i s he r m e e k sp ir i t d i s t res s 'd .

T h e ga y t u l i p I p i c k ' d f r o m t h e g r o u n d ,

A n d it s st em w i t h t h e r o s e I e n t w i n e d ;

Grace , b e a u t y , a n d f ragran ce w ere each

I n th e rose a n d t h e t u l i p c o m b i n e d .

T h e s w e e t r o s e m e l l o w ' d al l the b r i g h t

t i n t s

O f t h e t u l i p s o g a u d y a n d fa ir ,

W h i l e it s s c e n t l e s s t h o u g h b e a u t i f u l b l o o m ,

W a s f r a g r a n t w i t h p e r f u m e m o s t r a r e .

T h e n t h e tul ip m o s t gra tefu l reve al'd ,

T h e p ale rose , w i t h it s d e l i c a t e h u e ,

W h i l s t i t h i d w i t h m o s t e x q u i s i t e grace ,

T h e u g l y s h a r p t h o r n f r o m m y v i e w .

T h e n t h e m a i d e n t h e t u l i p e n t w i n e d ,

W i t h th e rose o n h e r b o s o m s h e b o r e ;

N e v e r y e t s e e m ' d t h e t u l i p so gay,

A n d th e rose su c h b r ig h t ch arm s n ev er

w o r e .

T h e f a i r m a i d e n n o l o n g e r l o o k ' d s a d ,

B u t w i t h l o o k of aff ect ion m o s t k i n d ,

F r a n k l y o w n ' d t h a t i n v a i n w a s t h e s e a r c h

T h e p i n k of p e r f e c t i o n t o find.

W h e n a g a i n i n t h a t b o w e r I s t o o d ,

Sat a m a t r o n , h e r h eart f u l l of j e y ;

A t her f ee t r o m p ' d a flaxen-hair'd gir l,

O n he r k n e e sat a r o s y - e h e e k ' d b o y .

Sh e h a d h e e d e d t h e l e s s o n I g a v e ,

W h e n a m a i d e n p e r f e c t i o n s he s o u g h t ,

E l s e I s t i l l h a d a b a c h e l o r b e e n ,

A n d s he an ol d m a i d g o o d fo r n o u g h t !

J. E . W .

T H E S T O R Y - T E L L E R .

CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE." Dry up those gushing tears, dear Edith," said Kate Churchill to her

riend, as she sat by a win dow overlo okin g the o pen common.

Edith glanced at her deep mourning dress, where the tears were still visiblen the crape folds on which they had dropped, and looked up into Kate'l face

with a mute appeal for sympathy.

" I know what yon would say, Edith ," continued Kat e; " y o u think mealmost cruel for urging y ou to moderate y our grief. Believ e me, it is notruelty but kindness that prompts me to do so. There is no cure for grie f andorrow like exertion. It is painful for me to remind yo u that there is a

necessity on your part for making some effort for the future ; but it will come

with a better grac e from me, who have toiled so lo ng for a subsistence, than

rom those who on ly shared your prosp erous life. When once your mind isoccupied you will iind it easier to bear this affliction; and, believe me,here is no sorrow that will not be lightened by strong, active, healthfulabour."

" I do not shrink from labour, Kat e, " replied Ed it h; " but I do shrink

from meeting the eyes of those who have fluttered around me in my days of prosperity, but who look with contempt upon Edith Shirley now she is*poorand dependent."

" A n d do you care for such false friends as those, Ed i th ? " said Ka te ;because, if you cannot overcome this fear, depend upon it, you will have

rouble enou gh to encounter. I have lo ng ago learned that such friends arenot worth having."

Those who saw Kat e Churchill's firm and independe nt step, as she wentforth each morning to her daily task, could well believe that these might beher true sentiments. She had been thrown upo n her own resources lo ngbefore she was as ol d as Ed ith n ow was ; and in addition to this, she had ayounger sister who was who lly depende nt on her for suppor t. .

While the friends were yet sitting together, a letter was brought forEdith . It contained a cold and formal invitation from the sister of hermother to pass the winter in her familyadding, that iii that time she wouldbe able to look about for some situation in whi ch she could maintain herself.This letter did more good towards r ousing her from her grief than all Kate'sentreaties.

u An d this is the woman , Kate , whom my father brough t up as a chil d

whose home in his family was made luxuri ous and easywh o never knew awant or privation, and o n whom my father b estow ed a rich marriage port ion ,"said Edith. " No w she thinks to cancel the debt, by offering to his child theshelter of her house for a few mo nt hs !"

" I am glad you have received this letter, Edi th, " said K ate ; " it will doyo u more good than all I can say. I may seem rough a nd harsh, but I tellyo u to go to work and make yourself independ ent o f these lukew arm friends,faome and share my humble home with me, Edithit is not wh at you haye

been accustomed, to, and y ou will miss many luxu rie s; but yo u will find warmhearts and willing handsand when y ou have roused yourself from this

grief, the transition from our h ome to the scene of you r labour s will be lesstrying to your feelings than from one more magnificent."

" Wil l you indeed allow me to come ? " said Edith. " Noth ing could makeme happier than to be with you, Kateto borrow, if I can, some portion of that strong, determine d purpo se, wh ich I fear it will take me long to attain.

Yes, let me come to you, and I will try to p rove my gratitude by exertingmyself even as you do."

Th e home to which Kate had no w invited her friend, was a humble one, asshe had said. He re dwel t Kat e's little sister and a widowed aunt of the twogirls, who superintended their domest ic affairs, whil e Kat e pursu ed her da ilyoccupation of teaching.

Edith came to them that very evening, and was duly installed in their only

spare chamber, in which, however, they had contrived all the comforts whichtheir means would permit.

Edith Shirley's history was not an unc omm on one. She had been brou ghtup in a style of splendour and magn ificence whi ch her father's means did notwarrant. She was an only child, and he had built h igh hopes upon hermaking a most unexceptionable match. Edith' s delicate and unsuspiciousmind, howe ver, had never len t itself to her father's ambitio us schemes.Indeed, it would have been difficult to make her believe that such an- ideaever entered his thoug hts. Ha d she dreamed of it, it wou ld have embarrassedher in her intercoa rse wit h man y of her male friends, for who m sheentertained a sincere regard . Mr . Shirle y died before his schemes could beaccomplished, and after his decease, his reputed wea lth ha d meltedfirst,into a mere competen cy for his wife and daughter, and then into utter andirremediable poverty . His wife sunk beneath the shoc k, and it was a matter

of curious speculation among the pretended friends of the family, to note thedifference betwe en the magnificence of Mr. Shir ley' s funeral, as it issued fromthe door of his noble mansion, and the cheaper and humbler on e of hiswidow, as it came from the small house she had occupied since his death by

the sufferance of his cred itors.Edith's heart was almost broken b y her mother's death. Noth ing in the

whole rushing tide of their misfortunes had affected her like this; and had itnot been for Kate Churchill, she must have sunk powerless beneath her sorrows.But Kat e was an old and tried friend, whose pov erty had never separated herfronv the hearts of Mrs. Shirley and her daughter; and it was she who hadclosed the eyes of the dying woman, and was now administering strength andconsolation to her afflicted chid.

U

H Q W I wish you could stay at home with us, sister Kate/' said littleIsabella, the next morning after Edith had taken up her abode with them.

Aunt Manni ng eagerly join ed in the wish, and Ed ith, whose tearful eyes hadbecome more tearful whi le Kat e was prepa ring to le ave them, sudde nlyexclaimed: " Y e s , stay at home, Katehav e pupils at hometurn it intoa school for yo un g ladies, and I will be you r music and drawi ng teacher,and between us we oan educate Isabella."*

" It is a brigh t idea, Edit h," said Ka il , " and one by which I should liketo profit; but there are many difficulties in the way of its accomplishment,and, first of all, we*have not the room for such an undertak ing."

Aunt Manning suggested that two large, airy apartments were now to belet adjoining their own cottagethat a great many families in their vicinitycould furnish p upils, and that she herself, accust omed as she was to tea chin gin her yo uth, would gladly undertake the whole charge of the Englis hbranches.

Kate walked thoughtfully to her duties that morning . Such an idea hadpresented itself to her min d often. Th e more she thoug ht o f it, the morefavourable it ap peared to her, and as she walke d along , she resolved severalplans for its accomplishment, none*©!' which seemed to be just the right one.She was teacher at a school, and all scnool time her mind , wandered from herduties, and when the clock struck twelv e it was quite a relief for her to getout into the open air. On her way she met her good friend Doctor Moreton,and in the course of the conversation, she unfolded to him her thoughts on thesubject.

'* The very thing, my dear Miss Churchill, " said the doctor. " Depen d onit, you may count on my advice and assistanceay, u pon my patrona ge, too .I c an promis e yo u threepets of my own family, and my brother will, I

know, give you two or three mor e. The n, among*- the famil ies I vis it Ihave lately heard e ager inquiries after just such a school as I think youand Miss Shirley can manage so w rell togethe r. Go and secure your roomsat once, and I will engage that other things will go as y ou would havethem."

Thu s enc ourag ed, Kate hastened home , obtained" the key of the room s of her own landlord. Edith join ed in with more spirit than Kate had evenhoped fo r; and Aunt Mannin g was invaluable in her services. A womanwas soon obtained to do the household work, which Isabella and her aunt hadhitherto performed toge ther, and the w hol e family were soon employed in

. 9 0 3 '



A u g u s t 1 8 , I 8 6 0 . ] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 243

during which, time she will probably sleep. I, wi ll then rejoin you, when

undoubted ly she will be able to be conveyed home."

Isabella woke bright and clear, remembering all the incidents o f her fal ling

in the water, and trying to describe to Kate the handsome stranger who had

been talking and laughing with the children on the beach. She saw him spring

towards her, just as she felt herself sinking, and remembered holding out her

arms towards him. After that all was a blank. Whil e she was talking, the

stranger drove up to the door in a carriage ; and taking her in his arms,

wrapped as she was in her blankets , and placing Kate beside her, he carried

them to their lodg ings at the other side of the tow n. Edit h and Aun t

Manning were sitting composedly at their work, having scarcely missed

Kate and Isabella, as they were accustomed to their long and frequent

absences. Their comi ng roused them into bustling activity, and Kate, faint

and exhausted from recent emotion, was glad to resign Isabella i nto such

competent hands. She was now left alone with the stranger. The events of

the last- few hours had brought them nearer together than those of years

might have done.

When they entered the house, she attempted to introduce him to her

friends, but stopped short from not knowin g his name. He gave it as Walt er

Sherwood, and described to her that on taking his customary walk upon the

beach, he had come upon this little group of childre nthat they had recalled

memories of his little biOthers and sisters far away in a distant land

that he had be en chatting gaily with Isabella until a moment before her fall

that she had been talking to him of sister Ka te, and that he knew her from

the moment she sprang into the circle on the beach, since he kne w that no

other would appear toward the child as she had done.

It was now evident that they must remain at Ramsgate until Isabella was suffi

ciently recovered to return home. But Aunt Manning and Edith determined

to leave them in order to attend to the school, wh le Kate remained with

Isabella. Kate missed them at first, but their loss was soon supplied by the

active attentions of Walte r Sher wood, who ca me each day and held Isabel la

in his arms, lifted her from chair to sofa, and from sofa to bed, read to her,

brought her books, pictures and flowers, for Ju ly was n ow opening in all its

beauty, and with its usual wealth o f roses, so grateful to the in valid .

Isabella had never seen any mortal yet who could compare with M r.

Sherwood. She lay on her couch soundi ng the praises which Kate declared

she was tired of hearing; although, truth to tell, they each had an echo in

her own heart. But now Isabella had recovered, and Kate could no longer

conceal from herself that she was prolo nging her stay beyond the actual

necessity. On the evening preceding the day on which she intended to return,

she announced that intention to Mr. Sherwood, while Isabella lay quietly

sleeping in the next room. He started with evident pain.

" I was hardly prepared for this ," he said, at last. " These last tw o

tveeks have flown so swiftly away, that I did not think the time so near when

you would talk of parting. And why need it be parting , Miss Churchi ll ? "

he continued ; " surely that is not parting where each carries away a memory

of the other. Such memory I shall bear away with me. Such memory, if

there is truth in your face, you will bear for me."

Kate leaned her head upon her hand. Some such dream had found placein her waking hours, but this seemed all too sweet to be real.

" What am I to judge from your silence ? " he at length asked.

"Anythingeverything, except indifference," said Kate, as she looked up

to him, with lrer whole loving, tasteful soul, beaming from her face. »

" Heaven bless you, Ka te !" said he. " Yo u have taken a load from my

heart that has been burdening it for many days. Eve r since our first

meeting I have thought that so good a sister could not but make as good

a wife. Every interview since that has deepened that impression ; and now

that.you speak of separation, I know that henceforth there will be no joy in

my life unless you share it with me."

Long and earnest was the talk that evening . He told her of his family, his

friends and his professionof a disappointment, too, which had once come

upon his heart, and had almost made him renounce his faith in womanthat

he was. only restored to his former trustfulness, when he awoke to a percep tion

oth er character. Kate could only return this confidence by relating to him

her connection with H orace Landon, the loss of her parents and her subsequent

struggles and success. She told him of Edith, of her be auty and goodne ss,

and also her misfortunes ; she talked to him of the time whe n she was to havebeen her aunt's heiress, and how that sorrow which never, comes alone was

followed quickly by another. She reminded him that he would have three

claimants upon his hospitality beside herself; for that she could never find it

in her heart to break up that quartette which had so long lived happily

together. Still, she assured him neither her aunt nor Edith wo uld ever

burden him in any pecuniary wayand as for Isabella"

' S a y no more of Isabella ," he exclaimed, "s he shall henceforth be my

child, as she is yours. I shall never forget that she brought me this happiness,

and as to the others, why, those whom you tliink it right to entertain in your

home before you are married, shall be no less welcome in mine afterwards ."

He said this with such an earnest, str aightforward, heartsome manner, that

Kate could not help weeping. The y were happy tears, however.

Next day saw Kate at home busy with her unpacking, busy with Isabel la's

new summer dresses, busy with the cares of the school, of which Edith was

giving her full details going on in the same old way, putting herself and

tier own concerns lastcaring for every one else first.

Has the memory of Horace Landon ever yet been blotted from the mind of

Edith? Perhaps not ; for duly on every Wednes day evening Mr. Sherwood

brings home a letter addressed to Ed ith, which he slily shows to Kate, as she

goes to meet him in the hall, and at the sight of which Edith blushes deeply,

as he lays it down by her plate. All through the lo ng evening she does not

read the letter until sue retires to her chamber at night- There she opens

the cherished missive, the first of which alone may meet the reader's eye, and

was as follows :

" It is far from my purpose, dear Edith, to make you think more highly of

me than I deserve. I would not so wron g your ca ndid judgment but bear

with me, dear, while I try to clear myself from an imputation which, after

all, scarcely belongs to me. I was brou ght up, as you well know, by my

uncle, a man who was distinguished for his overweening love of wealth.

From my boyhood he instilled into me this one principle aloneof.everlasting

gain. Espe cial ly did he forb id me ever to marry, unless I could bring a rich

bride to his hous e; for the idea of my separating myself from him was never

for a moment thought of by either. I saw and admired Ka te Churchill, ami

1 knew that the circums tance of her bei ng a prospe ctive heiress woul d find

favour in my uncle's sight. He approved the match, which he afterwards

forbade when he learned the change in her fortunes. I would not depreciate

my uncle in her eyes, and I allowed her to think I was myself the slave of

avarice. So I parted from that dream, although I frankly own to you there

was a bitterness in my doing so, which only ceased to haunt me when I met

with you.

" A g a i n was the same scene enacted, the same exultation thai I was going

to marry into a wealthy family, and the same harsh refusal to sanction my

union when he heard of your father's misfortune. Edith I cannot teil you

what I suffered then, and yet, as you well kno w, I allowed y ou to think me

mean and mercenary, rather than to lower my uncle in you r estimation.

Last week my uncle died, leavi ng me the wealth for which he had sacrificed his

heart's best gifts, and sacrificed the happiness of my yout h. This wealth h.

valueless to me unless you share it. No w, dearest Edith, am I fully

exonerated ? And if-so, what is t o be my reward for these tedious years of

waiting ? Answer me. "

How* he was answered the reader may surmise. The ir after life promises

to be a happy one. M . A. L.

O U B V A L I A N T , E I F L E M E N .

O k , th e s o n s of s t a u n c h ol d E n g l a n d ,

A r e l o y a l , br a v e , a nd free ,

A n d w o u l d d a n g e r s dare , n o m a t t e r w h e r e ,

T o u p h o l d he r d i g n i t y ;

Bu t th e n o b l e r a n k s w h o c l a i m h e r t h a n k s ,

A n d th e p r a i s e of her a b l e s t p e n ,

A r e t h ose gal lan t on es , h er t r u e - b o r n son s ,

O u r v a l i a n t R i f l e m e n .

C h e e r s for our v a l i a n t R i f l e m e n !


A l l r o u n d t h e coas t ,

L e t t h i s be the t o a s t

" O u r Q u e e n , a nd o ur v a l i a n t R i f l e m e n ! "

S h o u l d an y foe e'er d a r e to s h o w

H i s flag u p o n o u r coas t ,

We' ve hea; S as bra ve u p o n t h e w a v e

A s ever t h ey ca n b o a s t ;

A n d a st ur dy b a n d w i t h i n th e l a n d ,

W h o ' d m a r c h f r o m h i l l a n d g l e n ,

A s t r u e a n d b o l d as t h e ir s ires o f o l d

O u r v a l i a n t R i f l e m e n .


C h e e r s for our v a l i a n t R i f l e m e n I

A l l r o u n d t h e coas t ,

Le t t h i s be the t o a s t

" O u r Q u e e n , a nd o ur v a l i a n t R i f l e m e n ! '

H o w pr ou d m u s t be our g r a c i o u s Q u e e n

O f s u c h a n o b l e b a n d ,

W h o ' d d a r e t h e field, a n d s c o r n to y i e l d

To foe of t h e i r n a t i v e l a n d ;

To the g a l l a n t r a n k s we owe our

t h a n k s ,

A n d th e p raise of our a b l e s t pen ;

T h e n g r e e t w i t h che er s ou r V o l u n t e e r s ,

A n d g a l l a n t R i f l e m e n .



A l l r o u n d th e coas t ,

L e t t h i s be the t o a s t

" O u r Q u e e n , a nd o ur val ian t R i f l e m e n J'

T . L .

L U C I L L E ; OB, THE LOST CHILD.

CHAPT E H X X X I .

Si x months had passed away, and still no tidings of the lost one. Hop ing

against hope makes the heart sick, for not a clue beyo nd what Batiste had

formerly obtained with such unsatisfactory results, was to be met with, when,

by a strange coincidence a gentl eman calle d at the house of the count, and

demanded to speak with hi m or Madame d'Alm aine. Lucil le and Madeline

were together in the parlour when the servant brought in his card.

" Mr . Log an, solici tor," said Lucill e. " I do not know him. But admit

h i m ; his business is general, as he would speak to either D'Almaine or

myself."

As she concluded the gentleman entered. He was a stout, red-faced

personage, and at a glan ce Madeline recog nise d him as one of the passengers

in the diligence. She half rose, but was unable to speak, and sank again into

her chair.

Mr . Log an, with his small eyes fixed admiringly on Lucille, who still

beautiful, though muc h altered since the time when Birdie broug ht the fresh -blown rose to match her bloo ming cheeks, was still too much an object

of admiration not to strike even a common observer, said, as he seated himself

upon the chair to which Lucil le motioned him, "E xcu se me , madam, I have

been directed here by the count's agent conc erning an advertisement."

"B ut the child, sir," said Madel ine, who now found her voice, and spoke

in great a gitation, " tell us where she is. Yo u must kn ow, for I remember you

wel l ; there were three of you in the diligencesay which took the ohild! "

Mr . Logan looked at he r; but Madeline, if he had noticed her then, was

too much changed to be recognised now, and he returned, " I do not recollect

you, madam, though I do the child perfectly. Ma y I ask which is the

mother? "

" I am, sir," said Lucille , "a nd if you know aught about her, I entreat

yo u to reveal it to me at once."

" Wh y, madam, it was by mere chance I beheld the advertisement, that

being a department of the newspaper I seldom bestow a glance on; but hearing

one of my clerks rema rking ho w often the same thing had appeared, I had i t

pointed out to me. Yo u may be sure I was much struck with it, and wi thou t

a moment's delay went to Count d'Al maine' s agent, who gave me your

address."

" Y e s , sir ; but my child," said the agitated mother, "t el l me, is shev

safe?

At once let me know all."

" I think I may venture to say the child is safe, i f the kind-hea rted fellow

is still alive who took her, as he thought, a deserted, forsaken object, to his

arms as if she were his own."

" Heaven bless and reward hi m ! " murmured Luci lle and Madeline together.



244 THE FAMILY HERALD A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [ A u g u s t 1 8 , 1 8 6 0 .

" "Where can w e find him ? " said Mad elin e. " Oh, sir ! w here can we find

this good, kind man, to shower our thanks and blessing s on him ? "

" He re is his car d," replied the lawyer . " I asked it from him at parting;

for, though I did not participate in his feelings with regard to the little girl, I

hono ured him for his benevolence, and intended should I see Paris again to

call on the^good tailor."

" Ho w singular," said Ma deline , scanning the c ard ; " but sixteen miles

from Paris, and our inquiries not to have reached hi m! It would seem im

probable, nay, impossible. But, sir," she added, turning to Mr. Logan, " how

was it that the child was carried o n by the dilig ence , whil e I was left

behind ? "

" We were not aware of it until we had proceeded several stages," he

replied, " whe n t he child , wh o had slept, sprang up from her bed of shawls,

and, glancing upon all by turns, cried out for Madeli ne."

" The dear chi ld! My sweet Bir die ! " was uttered, in scarce audible voices,

by Lucil le and Madeli ne. " A n d was there none," continued the latter,

while Lucille wept unrestrainedly, "kind and humane enough to make

inquiries for me before proceeding further ? "

" To be candid, dear madam," returned Mr. Logan, " we were all of one

opinionthat the child had been heartlessly thrown on the bounty of strangers;

such things are com mon in all countries. W e considered your leaving her

in the vehicle a mere pretext to abandon her ; and I, although a husband,

was not a father, and desired not to excite my wife's irritability by encum

bering myself with another man's offspring. My younger companion confessed

he had neither wife nor home; and the good Jean Perre so willingly taking

charg e o f her, exo nerate d us both from any want of human ity, and, from

what I saw of him, I think you h ave not hing to fear for the child's safety,

wh o with childish accents and streaming eyes cl ung to his neck as if she

had been accustomed to him for y ears ; whi le on his part he declared that

While he had a home the forlorn one should share i t ."

" Oh! nothing on earth can rew ard him for such disinterested kindness,"

cried Lu ci ll e; " Heav en on ly can and will duly appreciate it. Madeline,let us hasten to this good man's hearth; it must be a blessed one, and I lon g

to press his hand, to give him a mother's thanks and blessing. A village

tailor, only a village tail or !" she added. " And he voluntarily, and with such

uncharitable ideas as were expressed b y his fellow passengers, took a child

whose tender years he was assured would long be a permanent burden to him !

• Oh ! he shamed the rich and influential by su ch a deed, and has earned a

reward in heaven if not on earth. To you, sir," she said, turning to the

lawyer, " I offer my best thanks for your information, and Count d 'Almaine 's

agent will see that you have the advertised reward, whic h, believe me, will

be delivered to you with the most heartfelt satisfaction ; but excus e me if I

say it woul d have been but humane if y ou, being the only rich man of the

three, had made this case public; think how many tears it would have

saved; and you, as a lawyer, had your supposition been just in imagining

my child had been left by design to the charity of strangers, I say, sir, as a

lawyer, you woul d but have done your duty in doin g your best to bring the

authors of such a crime to justice."

Mr. Logan's face assumed a deeper hue while listening to the latter part of

this speech, for he was oblige d to acknowle dge the truth also that, had theadvertisement not mentioned the handsome reward he would have, it would

have been ninet y-nin e to a hund red if he had notic ed it at al l; but indifferent

to the "rebuke, as the rewa rd was a gol den o ne, as L uci lle rang the bell, he

bowed himself from the r oom with a wish that the child might be found well.

"What had we better do ?" said Lucille, as the doo r closed on Mr. L oga n.

"Set off immediately for France, I think, for hours will seem days till I see

my child again."

" Writ e immediately to Monsieur Perre ," said Madeline. " It woul d not

be well-ju dged to go before we see the count and Batist e; they will be home

to-night. In the meanw hile, let us pack up a few things in readiness to be

off to-morrow. Dear Bird ie! after a year' s absence , at her tender age she

will scarcely recollect us; but the extreme strangeness of all connected with

this unfortunate affair thickens, with all we hear. First, that she should

have been so near to us, while Batiste and I were severally making such

searching inquiries at Paris; then, that so intelligent a child as Birdie should

not have told her father's name and his pla ce of residence, which , if she

had done, none w ould have presumed to detain her long from her parents.

I hope this lawyer has told us all the truth."

"Dear Madeline," said Lucille, " do not raise a single doubt if you wouldnot crush my best hope s. Oh ! " she added, layi ng her trem blin g fingers on

her throbbing heart, " i f it be not truth, may I not live to prove its fallacy."

" A m e n , " replied Madeline, devoutly. " Wr ite , dear madam, and though

we shall reach them soon after the reception of the letter, it will be better to

warn tnese kind-hearted people of our approach than to take them entirely

by surprise."

Before Lucille 's letter was despatched, D'Almaine and Batiste returned.

It was indeed joy ful tidings to the m; but the count, amid his jo y, regretted

deeply the necessity whic h precluded him goin g with his wife to embrace his

recovered child. " But y ou will hasten back with her, love," he said,

earnestly. " I shall see you to Dover and wait there your return, being so

selfish that I cannot permit you above a single night at Paris."

" N o r will I permit m yself an hour to elapse away from you that is not

tfeconcileable to my mis sion ," she replie d. Oh, Jules! yesterday I was

everladen with so rrow, to-day I have flung it to the win ds ; yesterday I

though t the world made up of clouds, to-day it is all sunshine. Wh en th is ,

how lovely is life I " I

He l ooked at her animated co unte nance ; the smile of other days was onl it,and as he leaned over her wi th fondnes s he prayed with fervo ur that it might

not be blighted. W V T T /

CHAPTER X X X I I . /

Paris was reached, and though late in the day Madeline and Lucille took

th e little stage that was to set them down at the cottage of Rose Perre, and

at each revo luti on of the wheels the agitation and a nxiet y o f both increased.

Neither spoke, but with their hearts reflected in their eyes looked alternately

on each other and the landscape before them. At length the little village was

in sight. The y looked from the win dow, each expecting, thoug h darkness

was veiling objects from view, to see the one their whole thoughts were

bound up in start up before them from the clump s of turf and wild thym e,

with whi ch the village on all sides was fringed. At length the coach stoppe d;

it wras before the c ottag e of Ros e Per re, and a woman stood in the entrance

in deep mourning as if expecting them. It was Rose Perre, and her gloomy

brow and moist eyes told that they had come, not as they had anticipa ted

to the ho me of happiness. A faintness came ove r Luc ille as she said, in a

lo w tone, " My child! ask her for it, Madeline."

" Let us enter the cottage!" said Madeline, in the same tone, " it is night,

she may be in bed."

" A h ! but the w oman is in bla ck," said Lucille. " The house seems

almost tenantless; death has been busy within its walls."

This was uttered in a hollow voice. As she entered, the mother's high

raised hopes vanished. She glanced round, then sank on a chair, for the

glance told her that the woman was sole tenant of the poo r habita tion.

Madeline, little better in spirit, tried to utter words of consolation.

" Dearest Lu cil le, " she said, " do not despair; this is unlike you r to

meet misfortune mid way ." Then turning to Rose, she added, " Hav e you

received a letter ? di d you ex pect us ? "

" Y e s , madam," she returned, sobbing; and my heart is broken at the

mischief I have done. That, lady, is the ori ginal of the bea utiful pictur e

which Birdie called her mamma 1"

" Ye s, yes ! " said Luc ill e ; " but wh at o f Birdi e ? She livessay she lives,

and all else will be forgiven you."

" She live s," said R ose P err e; " yes, she lives, and is well cared for,

but "

Here she was interrupted, - for Lucille slightly screamed, and every trace

of colo ur quitted her cheeks and lips, and she fell back in animate. She hadfainted ; her sorrows had been too intense for a moment's inact ion; but the

tw o words, "she lives!" had caused such a sudden revulsion that it deprived

her for a time of life, proving that jo y is more powerful in its operations,

than the severest grief. It w as some time before she recove red. Wh en

she opened her eyes, Rose Perre was bathing her hands. A moment

she lookecf wildly round, and then excla imed , firmly graspi ng the hand that

held her. " Y o u said she li ve d; at once tell me if yo ur words had truth in

them, deceive not yourself, by deceiving me, for I must know it. That

mourning dress, why£do you wear it ?"

" Alas! madam, I am a childless mother, like yourself, with but this

difference, that you may once more press a moth er's kiss on the lips of you r

child; but mine, my little Blanche, sleeps with her father, the sleep that

neither father nor child will awake from."

Lucille saw in a mom ent the depth of the woman 's grief. She pressed the

hand she had grasped, to her lip.;. " Pard on me ," she said, " absorbed in

my own sorrow, I forgot all else; but you have a mother's heart and cau feel

for min e; compo se yourself before proceeding further, I can wait with firmness

no w I kn ow of my child's welfare."Rose pile d up her turf fire, and drew L uci lle 's chair close to the hearth,

and with sundry articles stopped up the brok en panes in the window to keep

out the autumn wind, which whistled sharp and fitfully through them; for

Lucille shivered as the cold blast brushed over her, lifting un ceremoni ously

the ligh t curls from her forehead, and she shivered more, when she thoug ht

that during the inclemen cy of the last winter her child had been exposed to its

piercing blasts.

Rose Perre's tale was soon told ; and both Lucille and Madeline shed tears

for her, as well as for their ow n bereav ement , and when it was ended, the

former asked if they could be accommodated for the night beneath her roof.

" It will be poor accommodation, madam," replied Rose ; " but the

children's bed still stands there, which is at you r service ; I have not had

heart to take it away, for Birdie begged so piteously that it might remain.

Poor child! she used after Blanche's death to bury her head in the pillow and

sob herself to slee p; and a sore illness she had on that bed, brought on by

sitting on the cold grav e, and when she quitted , leaving her cloa k on it to

keep poor Blanche warm. Ah , madam, you will go to the churchyard, I

hope, if only to see the rosetree and fo rget-me-nots bloomin g so luxuriantly

on the little sward, all planted by the tiny hands of Birdie."Lucille wept copiously at this trifling incide nt o f her chil d's affection and

sensibility ; and as that child had so often done, she buried her head deep in

the poor, small pillow, and sobbed herself to sleep.

Made line stretched herself beside Rose Perre, but her busy mind va inly

sought repose ; her ardent spirit wanted to be up and away on the path she had

determ ined to pursue. She had vowed to find no resting-place till the child,

lost through her uncontrollable illness, was again restored to its parents; and

she determin ed as soon as she had seen Lu cil le in Engl and and joine d

Batiste, together they would comme nce a new search with what she hoped

now a clue to guide them.

Lucille dispatched a short letter to her husband, telling him in as softened

terms as possible the result of his journey, and that she should remain a few

days bey ond the prescribed time from Engl and. Inde ed, the spot she was on

had charms for her, even more deep ly linked with her sympathies than her

chateau , or the h ome of her c hi ld ho od ; for it was here her chi ld had first

begun to think, and y oun g as she was, to feel desolate in the mi dst of life and

bust le; it was here she had mour ned the loss of compa nionsh ip, and oppressed

with sickness, had had none but strangers to bestow the cnaritable mite andscanty aid upon her infant wants.

Lucille walked to the churchyard with Rose, who pointed out the grave

of her husband and child . The grass was thick and green upon it, and

Lucille knelt beside it, and with a silent pr ayer rested her forehead on the

spot she fancied Birdie's had so often tou ched bef ore; then plucking a rose



A u g u s t 18, 18C0.J USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 245

and a handful o f forge t-me- not, she placed them reverent ly in her bosom,

saving in a l ow , choked voice, as if speaking to herself, " They are the last

relics I shall ever see o f my darli ng. They shall not leave me whil e I live,

and in death they shall go with me to the grave."

Madeline was weepi ng silently nearperhaps the same thou ghts werepassing thr ough h er m ind, for she kissed the b lossoms she culled, and hidthem i^ her dress.

When Lucille had recovered sufficiently to speak on other subjects, shesaid to Rose, " A mo num ent must be er ected here to the mem ory of your

husband and child, Mada me Perre. It w ill be a feeble tribute to the'justand good. It is the o nly acknowl edgment I can best ow for the ki ndness

shown to the being he thought forsaken. And you, Madame Perrew hatcan I do to serve y ou ? "

" N o th in g , " returned Rose, with a burst of feeling, "unless, madam,

vo u will take me with you, and let me find a home in your home. Lo nge r

t cannot stay in this place. The cord is broken to shreds that bound me toit, all near rem inds me of what I had, what I have lost, and that nothingremains to me to lose, and when you depart another void will open in my

heart. Madam, if you would do ought for me, let me be your servant."

" O h ! " said Lucille, with a swelling heart, " you have spoken my own

wishes, wishes I feared to speak, thinking you would not leave your country.But , Annet te, an old and valued servant is compell ed to leave me for a time,for the cold damp climate of Engl and has so injured her health, that unlessshe goes to her own sunny valley for a time, there is little hope of her recovery.

Will yo u come with me, then, and be as she has been to me, a humble friend

$nd companion r"

^Joyfully," replied Rose ; " make me what you like, I wil l be grateful if allowed to be near you."

The compac t was settled between them, and M adeli ne and Luc ill e went to

Paris to spend a couple of days with Emile, to whom the latter told her wishes

in regard to the monument to be placed over the grave of Jean Perre, and thelittle gentle girl, who had been to Birdi e her all of child ish comfo rt, whi le*he lingered with her in her short pilgrimage.

Rose in the meantime was to prepare herself for her jou rne y, whi ch she

performed with alacrity, her hopes of comfort being fixed on a new hom e, a

new country, and views to whic h, till within a few days, she had been astranger.

A few days after they landed in England. D'A lmai ne with folded armsawaited them on the pier ; he hastened to r eceive Luc ill e, who , with widelydifferent feelings, met h im, to those she had parted from h im. H e drew her

irin within his own.

" Hope then was fallacious, my wife," he said, in a lo w tone, pressing herarm close to his side.

" It has decei ved us," she replied ; "b ut I am happie r than when rackedwit k doubt. Our child lives, and if appearances can be trusted, is with thosewho will be kind guardians to her, but I fear to us she is dead ."

The count groaned. " It is a sorry pros pect, " he said, after a pause ; " I.iad hoped to have kep t the Batistes near us, but we shall shortly los e th em ;

l)y degrees thus drop our friends from us."" I regret their loss," said Lucille-, "b ut they quit us in our own cause.

Ma y Heaven direct their course ! "

" Am en !" he responded fervently. »

CHAPTER X X X I I I .

The passage of five years often brings great chan ges, but it had bro ugh tbut few comparatively to Lucille; all was in the same mysterious doubt

concerning her child. Madel ine and her husband were still on their vain

filgrimage, and with the ex ceptio n of being in straitened circumstances, and.u.cille's health gradually declining, there was no change with the D'Almaines

worth narrating. The large sums spent in the h ope of recov erin g their childhad much impoverished them. Thei r annuity had been sol d; the plate an d

jewels turned into cash, whic h had also vanished, and the last year her father'spension, all he had to give, had passed into the hands o f Luc ill e.

It was morn ing, and Rose Perre, now a steady matron, and the only

domestic, if she could be called one; for she was highly valued by her

employers, was just r emovi ng the breakfast cl oth. Luci lle was sitting in an

easy chair, her elbow on its arm, and her head resting on her hand. She wasstill beautiful, but much thinner; pale, with an unusual brightness of eye,with a lang uor about her extre mely touchin g, as it impressed the behold erwith an idea of her fragility. D'A lm ai ne entered fr om the ne xt room, and

had gently laid his hand on her cljeek before she percei ved him.

"I n deep thought as ever, dear L ucil le," he said, in his generally lively,careless manner ; " ou r small housekeeping causes more lon g and serioustogitation than any royal household in Europe."

•* A thousand times ," she replied, attempting to smile, " for I am in daily

4'ead of the supplies being stopped."

" Stopped ! " he returned, with a perceptible start. " The dastardly crewwill never do that. Promise them, for most assuredly some day they shall

"be paid."

" I have lon g promis ed. I fear we cannot do so much l ong er, " repliedLucille; "b ut , dearest Jules," she added, coaxingl y, " I wish I hadpewe r to keep you more at home, for, unkno wn to you , because y ou will not

be at the trouble of thinking, a great portion of our small resources are spentin gaieties."

" Oh ! you miscalculate, dear Lu cill e," returned D'Almai ne. " Broughtup in retirement you know so little of life, of money or its usages, that could

I form my mi nd to sit over my own fireside for ever, our expenses would notbe decreased, for my wants woul d be heav ier ; and d o but i magin e you seeme sitting before you, week after w eek and month after month, brood ing ove rirremediable misfortunes . Yo u woul d grow weary of me, and I am sure I

should of myself, and of life, and I was goi ng to say you . Yo u had better

persuade me to turn preacher at once; but, seriously, you think too m uch

on these stupid money matters, leave them to themselves awhile till somethingbetter shows itself ; we have had nothi ng but los ing cards in our hands of late, when next we shuffle them who knows but we may have our share of trumps."

" But, in the interim, what shall we do, Jules ? The note I gave youan hour since was our last."

" Our l a s t ! " He hesitated, then added, " Well, our money will soon

cease to be a burden to us , for every penny of the note is doomed.

There no w, " he continued, kissing her, " you are g oing to expostul ate, thus

let me stop your lecture till our next meeting. Good bye, my dear, do notdespair, for every cloud, however dark, has its silver lining."

Lucille's face, which had sunk on her hands, remained there long after hehad departed. " H o w though tless he i s, " she said, mental ly, "pos sess ed of such noble qualities, kind, generous, and benevolent, yet will" he not listen a

single minute to my pressi ng entreaties. An d if he did ," she added, with asigh, " I know not that it would remedy our emergencies, for he is too proudto ask a favour, and so uninitiat ed in every met hod t o relieve our circumst ances,that if they depen ded on his exertions they would fail. On myself, then, must

depend the trial. Somethin g must be done, but which way to turn or what

to fix upo nl cannot determine."

She opene d her desk, and too k from it a rol l of papers. Th ey were bills,and, sprea ding them before her, ran hastil y over their gross amo unt ; the;;,with a deep-drawn breath at the calculation, with quivering fingers consignedthem ag ain to the desk, and threw herself ba ck in the chair to think over

some plan to relieve their necessities. She thought of her few accompli shments, mus ic, and dr awin g, but- she had confidence in neither-; and, aftermany a review of them, turned heart-sick from the project, in the dreadthat her talents were not equal to the task of a teacher. She was in the.same posture, the same thoughts busily racking her brain, when they were

broke n in upon b y a rather sharp rap on the hall door. She started, alarmed,doubtin g not but it was some clamorous creditor, and approached the room-

door, to warn Rose; she could not see anyone, but the door wTas already

opened, and a voice, the tones of whi ch seemed familiar to her, de manded to,

see her.

Th e gentle man stepped in, and, t o her surprise, an old friend of her father,

the manager of the Opera H ouse , saluted her with the familiarity and kindness of old friendship.

" I am glad to find you alone ," he said, when they were seated, " for hadthe count been at home, I should have been afraid to have named my errand."

" A h ! " she returned, smiling, "a nd what can be the errand to the wife

that the husband's presence would affect so seriously ? "

" It is a favour, madam, I have come to ask ; and really it is so profound aone, that I almost fear to put it to you, lest I should offend."

" Pray proceed, sir," said Lucil le, "f or I promise not to be too implacable

if you commit yourself, being assured it will not be done intentionally."

" Thanks for your encouragement. I will at once to my errand. Iengaged a lady on very high terms, in the autumn of kst year, as a singer";

to-morrow she was to have made her debut; bu t last evening I received

notice that my prima donna had accepted higher terms, and would appear atCovent Garden on Mond ay, in the very character she was to h ave come ou t

in at the Opera-house. Well, madam, I have, you perceive, no time to m akemy wrongs know n to the public . I am their servant, and must prov ide forthem as promised, or suffer obloquy for it. I have, therefor e, on the strength;

of mine and your father's friendship for each other, presumed to come to you

to ask for your assistance."

" Min e ! " exclaimed Lucille , in unfeigned astonishment. " H ow can that

possibly be ? H o w can I assist you in this emergency ? ""By"a ppeari ng before the public an hour, and singi ng three or four songs

in Italian, botjj of which you are perfectly competent for."

" I appear before the public as a singer ? " said Lucille . " Monsie ur, you

do but jest."

" No , on my honour, madam. If you will so far oblige me, I shall be yourdebtor for ever."

" But my voice ? " said Lucille.

" Is admirable," said he. " Your consent is all I require. Yo u know ho w

often I have hung enraptured on' you r voice, and regretted it was doomed to

so confined a sphere."" But sorrow, monsieur, will change the voice as muc h as it will dim the

eye and the complexion, even more than time, and I have tasted many of its

bitters since you last listened to my singing."

" Your beauty has certainly not the freshness, nor your form the plumpness

it had the year of your marriage," said he ; " but the loss of bloom has addedto the interest of your appearance, and your voice, when last I h»ard it, if it had lost in compass, had gained in mellowness to compensate for it."

" But my husband," she said, thoughtfully, without noticing his compli

ment . " I fear to grant your wish without his knowle dge; his repugnance

is so great to a lady appeari ng on the stage, that his consent would never beobtained."

" When do you expect his return ? "

" This evening," she repl ied; " but to-morro w he goe,',to Lord Livesay's,

for a week."

" Then wh y need he kn ow aught about it ? " said the manager. " The billshave long been priated announcing the singer's debut. Why need the name

be changed? It will suit my plans infinitely better thrit it should not and

yo u will appear before the publi c as Signora Ven oni. It will enhance ourtri umph; and you live so secluded here that the deception can never be

detected; and you will not, dear madam, be the firrt who has been introduced to the wo rld under false col our s."

"But, unused to crowds, suppose I shoul d break down on my introd ucti on?"

" Should you, the event will be inevitable," he replied, " and will not affectthe fame of either of us ; and now , madam, may I hope that my bold

request will be acceded to ? "



2 4 6 THE FAMILY HERALD A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [ A u g u s t 1 8 , 1 8 6 0 .

" I am wil ling to oblige you," she replied; "and, as yon insure myincognita, I consent."

" A thousand thanks!" he exclai med; " an d now will you open the pianoand strike a few notes? "

Lucille readily assented, and opening her book at an Italian air, sang itwith such effect that the manag er in ecstacies . declared it w as be yond hisexpectations, and entreating a further favour, that she would attend arehearsal, with her half-rel uctant consent to the measure depart ed.

CHAPTER X X X I V .

No sooner had the manager quitted her pres ence than Lucille took a moreserious view of what she had en gaged to perfor m, and apprehensio n from

different causes, made her regret that she had so readily entered into hisviews. In the first plac e, the idea of her habitual timi dity assailed herwith full force; then, shoul d the count by any chance become aware of it,she kne w his displeasure wou ld be u nboun ded. " But it is too far gone forme to recede," she exclaimed; " I will, therefore, whatever the result, do mybest for my father's f ri en d; " and, as mu ch to divert her mind from dwel lingon the subject, as pract ice she sang over several times the songs point ed outby the manage r, m uch to the surprise of Hose Perre , who, althou gh shelistened with pleasure to the sounds she had so seldom heard before, andnever in the count 's absence, feared t hey foreboded evil to her lady's peaceof mind.

For the iirst time since she had kno wn him Lucil le saw her husband*depart next morning with pleasure, and though her hand lingered in his, andshe half recal led h im as he quitted the house, so irks ome was it to keep asecret from him , she allow ed him to g o with out the least s uspici on of herdesign.

According to appoin tment the manager called for her in the mor nin g toattend her at rehearsal; and telling Rose not to expect her return till late inthe evening, Lucille, with ne w-born feelings, in which hope for the manager'ssake had a great share, proc eeded to comme nce a new career.

Th e rehearsal was a trifle, and support ed by the encou ragi ng words andsmiles of the manage r, it passed with satisfaction, and Lucil le exertedher strong mind to obtain calmness for her undert aking. She thoughtshe had done this till the bell rang to warn her to prepare. She started, forit sounded like a death-knell on her heart, and tremblingly and involuntarilyshe uttered, " So soon. Oh, Heaven! I fear the trial."

" Be calm, dear mada m," said the manager, who began to have apprehensions that at the eleventh hour he should be deserted; "compose yourself.These feelings are natural; it must be a bold heart that faces a first appearancewithout them."

Then, taking her,hand, the manager led her with soothing words onwards.She was at the entrance of the stage before she raised her eyes, when ,dazzled by the glare of lig ht and the world of faces before her, s he cr ied," Sto p! I am unable to proce ed."

" Courage ! " said the manager. " If you appear not, we shall be rui ned."' T h u s assured, she rallied herself, and, pressing his hand, after an effort

which she knew not hers elf she was capable of, said, " I am ready ! "

Th e next "moment she stood before the public a candidate for favour..Deafening plaudits fell on her ears. Ala s ! there was no escape now; and fora brief space she heard or saw nothing, yet felt all the force of her situation.But power soon ca me ; she unclos ed her eyes, and g lance d round. " W h yshould this multitude alarm me so gre atl y?" she thought; " were the numbersbut a hundredth part, my fears wou ld be equa l." And , gracefully advancingas the plaudits subsided, she curtsied, t he mus ic struck a few chords, then

came the symphony; and her voice, at first lo w and soft, fell on the ear andreached the heart, and, when a lover of her art, she forgot herself and allaround, its full rich melody swelled t hrou gh the house, entranci ng even thosewh o were there to criticise and condemn. #

At the end of the verse a dead sil ence reig ned around her, a tho usandtimes more gratifying than the loudest plaudits, for it told the intensity of thelisteners' admi rati on; but when the air ended the simultaneous applause burst

forth with such vehemence that the poor debutante, nearly overwhelmed by it ,for a time could scarcely bear up against the tumult it created in her soul.

Her part, a mere bagatelle, with the exception of the operatic, was enactedchastely, and wit h a degree of spirit, perhaps as pleasing to an audience in

such a part as the finest acting;•

and at the conclus ion of th e piece she wascompelled to submit to be led for ward to recei ve the showers of app robati onand bouquets from every part of the house.

The managers thanks were unbou nded; and his wife, who had attendedher thro ughou t the day, saw her home in h er own carriage, and put a noteinto her hand at parting. Luc ill e, fatigued, laid it on the dress ing-r oomtable witl*)ut not icin g it ; but when she rose in the mor ning it was the firstthing that presented itself, and, o n open ing it, a cheque for one hundr edpounds fell to the floor. Surprised at the large am ount, she thou ght it mustbe a mistake, and, calling Rose Perre, enclo sed the note to the m anager, anddispatched her with all haste to him*

The manager smiled as he read the contents of her letter, and turning toHose, said, " It is all right, my good woman. Take it back with you, or stop;I will go with you to the banker s, and get it changed. It wi ll save anotherjourney;" and writing a few lines, to satisfy her he had only sent her w hathe should hav( g ive n Signora Yenoni, begged she would consider it her due.

Lucille read and re-read the few lines, scarcely believing it possi ble that forsinging a few & Dngs to oblige a friend she was to be reward ed by so large asu m; but as til e manager considered it her due, and as it would prove such a

desirable w ind hll , she hesitated not to accept it under her present straitenedcircumstances; ;\nd again taking'from her desk the bills she had dwelt uponwit h such dread and anxiety the day before, busied herself in dividing themoney amo ng her credi tors. She had scarcely done it when the manager wasagain" with her. Ther e was a sparkling in his eyes, and a smile on his lips,as he pulled from his pocket the Times and the Morning Post.

" Look ," he said, " our trium ph is complete. It is beyond my most sanguineexpectations, spite of the high estimation in which I held your "musicalpowers."

H e then read with great emphasis, and with as much speed as his kno wledge of the English language would permit, the high encomiums lavished onher talents by the writers in the several journals.

Lucille- smiled at his earnestness, and woul d have thanked hi m for hismunificent present, but he stopped her by saying, " A trifle, dear mq^-:m ; itwas not even your due ; but I have come again a petitioner, to ask if you willundertake the twenty-five nights o f the Signo ra Yenoni. Three thousandpounds was the sum she was engaged a t; but, if you do not deem it a sufficient remuneration for your talents, it shall be increased."

" T o me it seems an incredi bly large sum for so trifling a return," repliedLucil le ; "a nd most willin gly, nay, thankfully, woul d I accept it but forMonsieur d'Almaine, who, in our present circumstances, is even prouder than

when surrounded by rank and fortune."

" Y e s , yes, I can enter into his feelings ," said the manag er; "b ut , byyour accepting this offer, he will not be the first Frenchmen whose talents, orthose of his wife, have supported him."

" Sure," returned Luci lle . " I have no qualms of conscience myself on thesubject; but "

"But what, dear madam," interrupted the manager ; " none of your friendsneed know of this engagem ent. The name in the announcement may remain,for there are mo re Venon is in the w orld than on e; and so I believe the one.wh o has ji lted me will find to her cos t, if I am fortunate enough to overruleyour scruples."

Lucille was silent; but she took a brief review of her circumstances, andthe advantages o f the enga gement ; in the first was dependence and straitenedmeans, in the last comparati ve affluence. Her good sense told her she shouldno t hesitate ; but dread o f D'Al maine*s disapprobatio n made her waver, andher pressing necessities at length turned the scale. She accepted the engagement on the terms that her real name should not transpire, and that if itshould come to her husband's kno wle dge she must be guided by his will.

Th e delight ed manager will ingl y consented. She was to sing twice a week for three months, and he undertook to arrange the rest for her. A carriagewas hired, another servant in the pl ace of Rose Perre, who was to attend

her at tire theatre, and numerous other advantageous changes were plannedand exec uted ; an advance of salary, whic h was particularly desirable, wasproffered and accepted; and if Lucille could have had D'Almaine's approvalof her plans, she would have been happier than she had been for years.

CHAPTER X X X V .

Lucille's engagem ent was indeed a comple te triumph, and the managerreaped rich profits. Nig htl y the house was filled to overflowing, while therival Yenon i sang to em pty benches ; and the manager, w ho had lur ed herfrom her engagement, sighed with empty purse over the failure of his scheme,and, wit h others of his craft, tampered with Lucill e for a higher remunerationto leave her engagement.

While the jour nals teemed wi th encomiums on her voice, her beauty, her

elegance, and crowds watched as she passed through the corridors to catch aglance of her closely-veiled figure, low murmured accents of admirationassailed her on all si des ; and many a man, whose lofty birth and fortunecaused hundreds to bo w at his s lightest nod, wou ld have deemed himself honoured by handin g the great singer to the- carriage waiting to convey herhome.

Home ! It is a thril ling word , a wor d the rich, the poor, the strong, andthe feeble, nurse in their hearts as a place of hope and love, a word the wearynour ish &s a have n of rest.

Home, what did it seem to Lucil le as she entered her small, dark parlour,so diml y light ed, contrasted b y the scene of glit ter, of show, and homage shehad quitted ? She drew her cloak tighte r round her as she threw herself exhausted on the sofa.

" So cold and dreary, " she murm ured. " Non e to meet me after my night'strial (for trial it is, though the task seems easy). My child, why am I robbedof yo u ? My husband, why does not your presence and welcome greetmy return ? A word from you woul d cheer me. For , though you mi fhtaccuse me of disgracing your name, your heart is too noble to withhold yourforgiveness where you kno w the sacrifice has been all my own. Jules,wh y do yo u absent yourself so often ? Ten long days you have been away.Alas! what is home without those we love to share it with us ! "

She looked gloomily round. " It is a heartless wor ld," she added, "y et itspleasures draw the best and noblest into its vort ex. " She pressed her hand toher bosom; a restless spirit had made its entrance there, and home for a timehad lost its charms. Ha d i t been a palace, her sensations would have beenthe same, for her heart lon ged for commu nion , the communi on of those whoseinterests were her own.

She still lay on the couch, the thoughts of years flitting like whirlwindsthro ugh her brai n, when a knoc k, the well-k nown knock of her hus band,sounded at the outer door. In a mo men t she was on her feet, the tears inher eyes were chased f rom the m, the chill of despondency was gon% andthou gh her hand slight ly quivered, in his ardent pressure warmth was restoredto it ; and the hom e so lately sad and lone was decked with charms, that love

and peace can only shed o ver it.

" Y o u do not upbraid me, Lucil le, for m y long absenc e," said D'Al main e,after the first greeti ng, " tho ugh I r ichl y deserve your censure for keeping solong from you."

t " What lias detained you ? " she asked. " Yo u are pale and out of spirits.Have you received letters ? My father ? Emi le ? Say, arc (hey well ? A cloud

is on your brow. Speak."" Both are well," he replied . "B ut my uncle, the old admiral, wh o has so

Ilong and kindly interfered wit h the king for the restoration of my property,is ill, and, from what I understand, on his last bed of suffering."



A u g u s t 1 3 , 1 8 6 0 . j USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 247

Lucille, though she knew the death of the good admiral would be a severeloss to them both, did her best to soothe him by observing that he might yetrecover, and carry the point with his royal master.

D'Almaine was of too san guine a temperament to dwell lon g on the dark side of a picture ; and in talking o n the cause of his unusually lo ng absenceand other casual matters, regained much of his habitual gay humour.

1 " W h y , what is thi s? " h e said, looking at the well-stocked plate-basket

Rose was just remo ving from the side board. " W h y here is a goodly

addition. I understoo d when I left town that our resources were exhausted."

" The cards have been well shuffled," she replied , laug hing , " and as youpredicted the best share of trumps has fallen to us."

"H us h! this is folly," he exclaimed. " W h a t means it, Lucil le? Yo uspeak in riddles, whe n straightforward words are more applica ble. It isunlike you to jest on points of importance."

He spoke with g reat imp atience o f manner, and looked sternly at her. She

bore his earnest gaze, but replied in a tone slightly tremulous, " Ju le s! spare

me for the present. I have much to tell you, but not to-nig htto -morr ow, I

or any other timeno matter when, our fortunes are me nde d; this muchI will say, and though y ou may condemn me for my folly, all connected withit is so strictly hon oura ble that you will hardly under the circumstancesblame me. Oh ! do not look so haashly at me or I shall in fear remain sil ent ;

for dark looks and harsh words are so strange to me that I shall sink underthem."

Dra win g near to him, she timid ly let her head fall-on his shoulder. H eraised it, and looked into the depths of the clear blue eyes that shrank no tbeneath his flashing glance . In a mome nt the flash was gone, the browunbent, and a deep crimson crossed it that a tho ugh t unjust to one so pure,should have dared to find entrance in his bosom for a mome nt. He pressedher hands and said hurried ly, " I ask no questions. Tel l me what a ndwhen you list, only pardon me for doubting your truth for a moment."

" This is in your own generous spirit," she said. " € will not no w be ginto practise reserve with yo u ; let me tell yo u all before wre sleep; it willrelieve me for y ou to share my secret; for it has weighed down my heart likelead for the last ten days," and she pressed her hands on her bosom, as if witha determination to master the reluctance that rose almost to check herutterance.

" No , no ! " he said, " let all be silence to-n igh t and my rest peaceful; forif you tell me that our necessities have been relieved throu gh a gift from the

De Paleron estates, I shall be inclin ed to spurn you , as unw orth y to bear thename of D'Alma ine, or the honourable though more humble one of DeYernet." And he fixed his eyes with se arching earnestness on her whilespeaking.

" It pro ceeds not from that source, " she repl ied; " rest secure in theassurance; for, like yourself, I am too proud to better our fortunes thro ughthe source whic h ruined them. But it is la te; I feel exhauste d, andinadequate to the task of conversing longer to-night on this or any othersubject."

Taki ng up her candle she left him. Hi s eyes followed her till the doorclosed on her, when he sank into a deep reverie anythin g b ut pleasur able,and when he awoke from it fire and candle were both out.

As D'Almaine took up the Times lyi ng on the breakfast-ta ble on thefollowing morning, he exclaimed, " Hav e yo u heard of this famous singer,Lucille ? It is years, not in the memo ry of any livin g man, I understan d,since one has been so popu lar in Eng lan d. The y seem each time she appearsto find afresh charm in her; have you read the inexha ustible praises besto wed

on her ? "

" Yes," replied L ucil le, with some confusion , " I ha ve read a little, andheard mu ch ; but* the encomium s are too elaborate t o credit implici tly. Isuppose she is what is termed a star, and the manag er, at t he expens e of thepublic, is making the most of her."

"Tha t remark is unlike yo u, " said D'Alm aine , " fo r you are so curiouslyapt to find out merit where it is difficult to discover it, that I more than

wonder you should pass over this gifted singer so coldly."

" Have you'heard her ?" she asked, timidly.

" N o , " he replied. " W h a t say you to accompanyin g me to-night to the

opera? I can command Lovesay's box for the occasion, I know ; and I l ongonce more to see you in y ou r proper sphere, mix ing with the graceful and

noble of the l and. "

A,tho ught rapid as the wind flitted through her brain. She would go with

him, and let h im discov er, what she felt so reluctant to breathe a hint of to

him. Turning with a voice slightly tinctu red by the hesitation, she felt atpractising anything like deception, she replied, " Th e manager is an oldfriend of my father's; they fought together the battles of France. His

bo x is at our service, I know ; for he has frequently offered it to me."

" But why test the manager's goo d-nature at a time like the present, when

Lovesay's will be unoccup ied ?" asked D'Almaine.

" But it is too conspicu ous," said Lucille, " and I should be exposed to the

gaze of so many, wh ile the ma nag er's b ox is private, an d when yo u desire it,quite shrouded from the public . Dea r Jules, let it be the manag er's b ox , and1 will willingly go with you to hear this celebrated Venoni."

" I suppose 1 must cons ent, " he returned, impatiently ; then added, good-

humou redly , " Neve r did a wom an possessed of your charms take such painsto conceal them. For once gratify me, and let them blaze in their full

splendour to-night, to make me envied."She sh ook her head reso lutel y; b ut a sigh escaped her that she dared not

grant the desire prompted by true affection.

{To be continued.)

SUMMER MUSIC.

G a i l y t h r o u g h t h e w o o d l a n d ,

S of t ly in the v a l e ,

F l o a t s t h e s u m m e r m u s i c

O n the b a l m y g a l e :

I n s e c t s h u m t h e i r s t o r y

To the s c e n t e d b reeze ,

R a i n d r o p s g e n t l y p a t t e r

O n the th i r s ty trees .

M o r t a l s , l e t n o t s a d n e s s

R o u n d y o u r sp i r i t s c l in g;

M a t e w i t h s u m m e r mu si c !

S w e e t l y , s w e e t l y s i n g !

L i s t t h e stra in s t h a t l a n g u i s h

In the e v e n i n g air,

Beau t i f u l sof t mu s ic

L i v e t h e v e r y w h e r e !

T h r o u g h th e d e w y m o o n l i g h t

Fair i e s gen t ly s tea l ,

Worcester.

A n d on q u i v e r i n g b l u e b e l l s

R i n g t h e i r mi dn ig ht p e a l ;

B i r d s in d r e a m y l o v e - l a n d

Si t w i t h f o l d e d w i n g ,

Bre at h in g s u m m e r mu s ic :

S of t ly , sof t ly s i n g !

S e e t h e r i s i n g g l o r y

O'er the e a r t h a p p e a r !

N a t u r e ' s f u l l -v o i c e d c h o r u s

S w e l l s u p o n t h e e a r :

S o o n e a c h m y s t i c s h a d o w

Ge nt ly fade s a w a y ;

A l l c r e a t i o n w ak in g-

H a i l s t h e n e w - b o r n d a y .

C o m e ye , c o me w i t h g l a d n e s s ,

T o u c h th e t u n e f u l str in g ,

Br in g y our s u m m e r mus ic ,

G a i l y , g a i l y s i n g !

E . F. M .

COUSINLY LOVE.

Fine sensibilities are like woodb ines , delightful luxurie s of beauty, to twine

round a solid, upright stem of understanding; but very poor things if, unsus-

tained by strength, they are left to creep along the ground.

CHAPTER X V I I .

A few days after the h orticu ltura l fete the Lo nd on season drew near its

close, and everyb ody as usual hurried out of town. Caroline Northcote hadwith little difficulty persuaded M rs. Nor ton to postpone a projected trip tothe continent, and accom pany her to Nort hcote H all, .to preside over herestablishmen t there, and had pressed her to invite as many of her friends asshe pleased, and Sir Edward and Lady Northcote were, as a matter of course,

included among the numb er.

Much as she would have wished to decline the invitation, Yiola did notdare to urge her husband to do so. She knew he looked forward withpleasure to the arrangem ent; but she saw the danger they were both inthe

cloud that was gathering round them, threatening to destroy all love and

confidence between husband and wifeyet she felt she was powerless to arrest

its progre ss. She heard, howe ver, muc h to her satisfaction, that CharlesAngerstem was included amongst the guests, and she thought that perhapshiu influence ove r her h usband mig ht avai l to keep hi m in the righ t path.

She was aware and fully appreciated the honour and innate generosity of her

cousin, who , perhaps, was conscious of his love to her, although she deemedit but that of an affectionate broth er.

Charles Angerstein accepted Mr s. Nort on's invitation, as he thoug ht that

being on the spot he could watch over Yiola, watch over her with a brother's

love, and p reven t, as far as in him lay, any danger s whi ch mig ht threaten

her. He too perce ived, muc h to his grief, or rather thought he understood,the connection between Sir Edw ard and his cousin Caroli ne; and while heregretted that they were about to visit Northcote Hall, he thought that hemigh t b y his watchfulness exercise such influence over Sir Edwar d as mightprevent any further unhappiness. He knew that, by his acquaintance withthe history of Jane Sedley , he did possess influence over his fri end; andalthough his honour and generosity prevented his holding it as a threat overSir Edward's head, yet he determined, in any extreme danger, to remonstratewith him, and if that were no avail, then, as the only means to save Yiola, tothreaten to disclose it to Miss N orthcote .

Caroline, on her part, looked forward to the party at Northcote Hall withunboun ded jo y. She had, throug h the whole of the Lon don season, beenusing all her arts to regain Edward's lovean d all for revenge. Reve nge towhich she had now devoted her lifeto gain whic h she would peril herreputationher all! Never, for one instant, wo uld she swerve in it. Shehad chosen her path, and she determ ined to adhere to it, and ha d banish edaltogether her former love for her cousin, and in its place adopted hateand

no w was maturing her plans to satisfy tha£ hate.

Not only did Caroline not feel that her late preservation by her cousinentitled h im to any gratitud e, but o nly rejoi ced in it as a proof that her planswere so far successful. " Would he ha ve saved her life if he had not loved

he r? " was her thought, and she answered he would not. She perceived that

every day increased his love and brought her revenge nearer, and she gloriedin the thought, look ing forward to the time when he might disclose it to her,and when, having estranged him from his wifeher successful rivalha vingruined his peace for ever, she mig ht spurn him, might recal to his memoryhis former perfidy aud exult over him.

Not only must she be revenged upon Edwardhe was not guilty alone, or,if he was, he had an inducement, a temptation to gui lt; he was tempted andhe fell, therefore he must bear his punishmen t, but n ot alon e. Th e cause of that temptationthe origin of that fallshe, too, although innocent, mustrender an account. On Yiola, therefore, the innocent Viola, the very soul of virtue and love, who even refused Edward's proffered hand until she wasassured it was with his c ousin' s consent, on her mus t C aroline' s wrath fall,she must render a fearful expi ation for her own innoce nt love and Edward'sguilt.

Oh, pause, Caroline Nor thc ote ! Confoun d not the innocent with the gui lty !

I f you r o wn viol ated affections must be aveng ed, let the punishm ent fall onthe gu ilty al one. He has deserved it, deserved it ric hly no t by his perfidy

to you alone, but by his deceit to others ; before which his crime against you,great th oug h it be, pales as a lesser before a greater l ight . Let him therefore

alone make the expiation, if expiation must be made, but be not theauthor of that exp iatio n! Rest quiet, and the punishment will fall on hishead ! Yo u wiil be amply revenged, amply beyond your most sanguine hopes,witho ut incurr ing the fearful am ount o f guil t and sorro w you are no w heaping

upon your own hea d! Anoth er is doing your work, another avenger is on thetrackone who would smile in mockery at the mention of your wrongs in thesame breath as her own, and jus tly! Yo u he has deceived, cruelly, basely

deceivedher he has dec eived and ruin ed! crushed her affections in the bud,



THE FAMILY HER ALD A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [ A u g u s t 1 8 , 1 8 6 0 .

and brea king the most solemn promises, has left her bereft of everythin g

which makes life sweetan outcast i »t he wide world !

Therefore, Caroline Northcot e, pause in your revenge ! Injure not the help

less Yiola, render not the f ew happy days which migh t remain for her

miserable by your means. She has not wronged you, or if she has, by no fault

of hers; rather do your best to render her happy; love her, idolise ner, adore

her, look upon her as your preserver; for has she not preserved you from

becoming Edward Northcote's wife ; has she not saved you from the disgrace

which must hereafter attach itself to that name ? Pause therefor e and refl ect!

But the human race is blind. Man and wom an are alike blind to their

own good, to their own advantage, or rather they only look upon each

object with one view, and then resolving it to be good or bad, as their

inclination leads, seek or eschew it zealously.

* * * * * *Edward Northcote stood once more under the roof which had sheltered him

in infancy, where he had passed his boyhood's days, those happy days with his

cousin, when everything appeared bright and not a cloud in the horizon of

the future to damp his boyis h spiritsthose days which' can never come again

which at every stage o f human life we would barter our all to recall once

more, but in vain.

When we think of hopes disappointed, ambition checked, the plans and

schemes for after-life which then appeared so feasible, overthr own. Wh atwould we not give to live through those days again, when if we had a sorrow,

the next few hours' j oy would invariably dispel it, and make us happier than

before, if it were possible to do this. W ha t resoluti ons wou ld we not make

to eschew evil, and steadfastly pursue the plans whic h had b een laid dow nfor us by those wiser than ourselves. Alas ! we hope and wish in vain ! it

cannot come to pass; and i f it did, in the weakness and frailty of human

nature we should live through the same life as before, and wit h the samecarelessness for the future. Still we shoul d pursue the same sins and follies

as we have gone thr oug h; still with the joyousness of youth choose the broadand easy path in life in preference to the nar row and difficult. Better , far

better as it is ; w e migh t only incur a double guilt, and double remorse and

condemnation.Di d not the r ecollect ion of that kind old man rise up to reproacji Edward

Northcote for his guilt ? That man who had been a father to him, who had

filled worthily a parent's place ? Did it not chide him for his perfidy to hisdaught er, and ask him how he dared set feot in those halls again, which had

sheltered him in his infancy ?how he dared revisit that spot where he had

loved and been beloved in return, and afterwards spurned the object of that

love ? Perhaps it did ; though Edward had looked forward with so much

pleasure to his visit to Nort hcote Hal l, ye t he seemed not so happy as hehad been. Tho ugh, whe n he visited those places, whic h had been his favourite

haunts before, those places which he had hallowed with his boyish love

those places where he used to wander forth of an evening with his

cousin, and exchange those mutual vows of constancy, of everlasting affec

tion, which he had so cruelly broken , whil e the old man, who was a parent

to both of them, gazed on them wit h pleasure and affection, and looked

forward to t he time when they would be the delight of his old age. He didfeel more happ y; but then he had the same com panion as before, the samewho in girlish love used to be inseparable from him, still leant upon his arm,

still smiled when he smiled, still seemed bound up in his every word and

gestureseemed! but how changed was the reality ! One felt an everlastingregret that what was once his ow n was lost to him f or ever, and whi le he

loved even more intensely than in former days, still mourned the past. Theother hated while she seemed to love, and while she seemed to have recalled

all her former affection for her compani on, in reality loathed him, and wasplotting his ruin.

Wh en in com pany with many a gay party they visited and made excursionsto the many beautiful scenes in the neigh bourh ood, and the guests made the

woods around re-echo with their gay jests and laughter, Edward felt it to be aprofanation of his love, and longed to spring upon them and drive them away

from the spot, as he felt that the very ground was hallow ed by the memor y

of his visits t® it wit h his cousin ; and when , instead, he was obliged to seem

to join in their mirth, he felt a pang, an anguish gnawing his very soul.Di d he not strive against his guilty love ?Did he not struggle against it,

and call reason to his aid to strengthen him for the contest ? He felt powerless to do so. Di d he not recall to his memor y Yiola, poor Yiola, whoworshipped him, and whom he had sworn to love and protect who m he had

wedded, loving di d her charms fail to have any influence over him so soon ?She was not forgotten, but detestedhated as the one obstacle between him

and happiness; the causealthough the innocent and unconscious causeof all his unhappiness. He could not perceive what he could have seen in

her to make him forget his cousin. H e could not imagine how she had so

bewitched him, and he cursed her for his own blindness.

An d what did Yiola do all this time ? She, poor thing, perceived herhusband's changed affections, and bitterly, Heav en knows ho w bitterl y,

lamented it. She taxed her memory her actionsto see if it could be

thro ugh any fault of hers ; but no, she could not recal anything to make herthink so ; and she wou ld have p ined in silence had it not have been for the

good, faithful Charles Angerstein. He never left her si de; and when inconfidence she wou ld tell him all her sufferings, all Edwa rd's negl ect, all her

hopes and fears, and then wou ld lay her head upon his shoulder and weep,

Charles, although he felt his ow n heart ready to burst at the sight of the

woman he loved so dearly in such distress, would yet master his own emotion,and, as an affectionate brother, soothe her griefstell her that it must end

that it must come rightthat her husband woul d changethat he could not,dare not slight the love of such a woman as Yio la ; and when he had

succeeded in soothing Viola's sorrow, Charles woul d go into his own room,

and there in solitude groan bitterly.Th e curse upon mankind causing them to err, and to act for their ow n

unhappiness, is surely very bitter to bear, when two such hearts as Viola's

and Charles Angerstein's, who seemed by nature to have been born for eachother' s happiness , were separated. Surely some spirit more evil than the rest

must have taken a delig ht in th rowi ng a blindness over Viola, causing her to

choose Edwar d Northcot e instead of Charles Angersteinthe evil instead of

T H E G 0

°D

- CHAPTER X V I I I .

Bright shone the sun one morning on Northcote Hall; and gay andanimated were the party seated rou nd the breakfast-table. The majo rit y of

the guests, wh o anticipa ted wit h pleasure an explo ring expedition whi ch was

projected to some ruins in the neighbourhood, knew little of the grief which

was hidden in the breasts of some of that gay party.

At length the preliminaries were arranged, and they started; and by his

own skilful manag emen t Sir E dwa rd w-as chosen to drive his cousin alon e;and as he took his place beside her his brow was flushed with triumph at thethoughts how joyous that tete-a-tete woul d be. Caroline looked serenely

beautiful; and no one who looked on that fair, calm brow, could have guessedthe hell which raged within her bosom.

" What a lovely mo rn in g/ ' said Sir Edward, after a silence, in which bothhad been busy with their own thoughts. " Wh at a lovely mor ning ; it seems

as if Heaven were determined to give us at least one happy day. "-

" Are you so happy, then ? " asked Caro line, in a low voice.

" Happy ! Yes ; who could fail to be happy with you by their side,"replied Sir Edward, smi ling ; but his brow grew clouded as he sighed " but

not so happy as I m ight have been. "

Caroline's eyes beamed with tri umph as she repeated, " A s you might have

been ? Wh at , are you not happy now ?"

" Caroline, you know Avell enough what I mean," said Sir Edward . " Yo u

must know how bitterly I have repented that one act of folly, that one crime,

which has banis hed all hope s of happiness for ever, and still you are cruel

enough to ask me if I am not happy ?"

" Eno ugh of this,*' she replied. " The past is gone, and never can berecalle d; so it avails not repenting it. Di d you notice who was in the carriage

with your wife ? "

" M y wife," said Sir Edward, carelessly. " Oh, n o ; I did not think of it. "

" The n as a p rudent husb and, " she replied, layi ng emphasis on the wor dprudent , " I wou ld advise yo u to t hink o f it in future, if y ou wish to avoid

scandal." •

" Scan dal! Wh at do you refer to ? " asked Sir Edward in amazement." I refer to nothi ng," said C aroline. " I kn ow nothing ; T only make my

ow n observations, and I may be mistaken."

" You mean something," said Sir Edward, " something more than you say.Y o u have some suspicions."

" Suspicions? No." returned Caroli ne. " Only if I were a man, and thehusband of such a beautiful woman as Lady Northcot e, I should have some

suspicions."" About whom ? " asked Sir Edwa rd. " W h o was with my wife ? "

" I only say that I should prefer, if I were you, that Charles Angersteinsaw a littl e less of his beautiful co usi n," said Caroli ne.

"Ch arl es An ger st ein !" repeated Sir Edwa rd in amazement. " W h y Ihave always considered him in some degree as Viola's brother. He is her

cousin, yo u are aware ? "

" Very likely," returned Caroline, sarcastically. "Co us in s are generally

affectionate. How eve r, you may do as you please; I only advised you as your

friend. Neithe r you nor Lady Northc ote have much to do with me certainly ;but I wished to save you some annoyance if I could."

Cruel w ords , Caroli ne Northco te"; and s own on a fruitful soil, Edwardpondered over them dee ply ; but how could he, knowi ng his own guilt, dareto accuse his wife, even-if she were guilty, which in his own*heart he knew tobe false.

Arrived at the ruins, the whole party dispersed in different ways to examinethe beauties of the place, Sir Edwar d still remaining with his cousin ; and he

noticed that Viola was wandering away, leaning on the arm of CharlesAngerstein. Perhaps poor Viola would have given a good deal to have be en

able to change places with the beauteous Miss Nort hcote ; buf she dared notdo more than cast a wistful glance at her husband as she walked away.

Edwa rd and his cousin walked for some t ime in silence through the ruins,

every spot of which recalled a thousand memories to both of them. Here they

used to play as child ren ; here they reme mber ed som e pleasant p ic-n ic ; herethey had exchanged vows some few nights before Edward's departure to join

the arm y; each place had its own reminisce nces; but while in Edward they

only served to renew his love, in Caroline they heaped fuel on the fire of hersecret hate.

Th e time passed on, how eve r; and t hey talked cheerfully and lovingly

about the scenes that had gone by, until Edward almost fancied that his

marriage was a dream; that he was still young, and still engaged to his

cousin. The thought was happines s; but that happiness was rudely dispelled

when, on turning the corner of an old wall pertaining to the ruins, Carolinesuddenly placed her hand on Sir Edward' s arm, and directed his attention t o

a group before them.

" If you wish any corroborati on of what I said this morning," she whis

pered, " l o o k there."

Viola and Charles Angerstein were seated on a bank near to the walL

Charles had his arm round her waist; and, while Viola with her head on hisshoulder was weeping, he was evidently in a low tone trying to console her.

Sir Edwa rd would have sprung forward, but his cousin imperiously drewhim back.

" S i l e n c e ! " she whispered, mock ingl y; "i t is a pretty picture, is it not ?and you woul d spoil it ; but," she added, " i f yo u really wish to know what

the loving pair are talking about, you will hear if we walk aloug the inside of the walk. But I, for my part, have no curiosity."

" Come," said Sir Edward, in a lo w, grating tone, and he led her to the

spot she had mentioned.



A u g u s t 1 8 , I 8 6 0 . ] USEFWL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 249

"Yio la ! my own dearest Yiola! " Charles was sayin g; " I wou ld lay downmy life for your sake."

" Did you hear that ? " l aughed Car oline . " An affectionate cousin, is henot ? Listen for her reply."

" Oh, Charles ! if you only kne w what I suffer; ho w muc h I depend uponyou ? " said Yiola, between her sobs ; " h o w every hope I have is in y ou ."

" Is that enou gh? " said Carolin e, drawing Sir Edw ard away, a suspicioncrossing her mind that if he heard more it might foil her plans.

" It is ," replied Sir Edward, sternly; " and I have taken my resolution."

Caroline was right. Yiola's next few words would have proved herinnocence.

" A n d what is your resolution, Edw ar d? " asked Caroline, after a pause.

" What are you determined to do ? "" T o watch for further proof," ho replied; "that obtained, a separation

may fol low." . *

Th e drive back was a silent one on the part of the cousins . Carolin e wasthinki ng triumphantly over the success of her plans, and Sir Edwa rd was too

full of his own thoughts to talk.

Conscious in his own mind of his wife's inno cence , and tremb ling even ashe did at the thought o f brandin g her and his friend with unmerit ed infamy,Sir Edward still cher ished the thought that if he could by any means provehis wife false, Caroline migh t yet be his. An d that thought gave him nerveand cour age to contemplate tranquilly the new crime that was on his mind,to scheme and plot for the remov al of the bar to his happiness, whi ch could

only be removed by that or death, and by the time they arrived hom e he hadiixed his determination that right or wrong, if he could only get further

proof, Caroline should be his.

CHAPTER X I X .

In a small room in a cottage in the neighbourhood of Northc ote Hall sat a

woman, whose face, as she mused before the wretc hed fire, that smoulderedon the hearth, exhibite d a curious mixture of impati ence, misery, and t riumph .

A solitary candle, with an untr immed wick, standing on the table, shed a

melancholy light round the room, displaying the poverty of its occupant,

while her child, a b oy of some two years old, played about by her feet,

beguili ng his time by occ asional ly casting wistful glances at his mother, andendeavouring to attract her attention to his infant sports. On her coun tenance time and misery had evidentl y placed their mark ; but it was easy tosee by the bold outlines of the face that at no very remote period she hadbeen beautiful. The traces still remained, but now only served to render hervisage more repulsive by throwing into a stronger light the marks of misery,which were indelibly fixed on her face.

She was evidently anxious ly expectin g some one, and frequently wou ld riseand-go to the door and gaze out along the dark road, disregarding the pitilessblasts of cold wind and rain which burst into the miserable apartment whenthe door was opened, and made the solitary candle flare and gutter while itsported round the room. Then, disappointed, she would return and resumeher ol d place by the fire, resting her head on her ha nds, mutt ering at the

delay of her expect ed visitor. Occasi onally, too , when ,the bo y succeeded inattracting her attention by his play, she woul d snatch h im up and gaze upo nhis countenance for some minutes , and, then placing him gently down again,would still keep her eyes fixed on him while her face ass umed a triumphant

expression, which contrasted strangely with her careworn countenance* That

woman was Jane Sedley. That boy was Sir Edwar d Northcote' s son.

At last footsteps were heard rapidly approaching the cottage, and Jane

rising, as the visitor knocked impatiently at the door, opened it and admitt edthe new comer.

". Ug h ! it is a pitiless nigh t," said the man, as he threw off his cloa k and

advanced to the fire ; " enoug h to kill anyb ody. I suppose you have not gotanything to warm a man, have you ? "

Jane did not reply ; but going to a small cupboard, took out a bottle, andpouring some of its contents into a cup, offered it to the stranger.

" A h , that's better," he said, as he tossed it off; "that warms one ; and anight like this a little warmth inside is not amiss,"

Jane Sedley made no ans wer; she had resumed her old seat, and relapsedinto the same musing attitude as before.

" Do you think she will come to night ? " asked the man ?

" Yes , I am sure of it," was the reply.

"W h at is her motive for wishing to prove your ma rr ia ge ?" said the

stranger. " Yours, of course I kn ow ; but why can she wish to ruin he r

cousin ? "

" I kn®w not, and I care not," replied Jane. " Al l I know7 is, that sheseems as eager, aye, even more eager than I am, and that is enough."

" W h y , Jane, how you are changed!" continued the stranger. " Y o uused to be as merry a girl as any iu the neig hbour hood, and no w y our ownfather wo uld not know you, if he were alive, poor man."

" D o not speak to m e of my father," cried Jane, fiercely. " D o notmention him to me, I have enough to think of without that. Yo u wonder atmy being changed, do you ? Thre e years ago I was as y ou say the gayestgirl in the village witho ut one single care to shadow my happines s. But for

this man who deceived me, I mig ht have been still hap py ; but for his deceit,I mig ht have cherished my father's old age, till I laid him in a peacefulgrave, instead of having the know ledg e racking m y heart that it has been myfaultthat it was my waywardness that brought him to a miserable, unhappyend. Mar k me, and see how well we women are protec ted by the laws.

This man comes and gains my girlish love, woos and wins me, and marriesme, as you yourself kn ow ; and then," she pursued vehement ly, " by bribin ga thing like you, he is enabled to cast me off, to leave me, his wife, to ruin

and disgrace, and to marry another. An d it is not until I can procure themeans of outbribing you that I can obtain a tardy justice. Think not I regretwha t has passed. I might perhaps have lived happy as his wife, but I shouldnever have known the j oy and exul tation I shall feel whe n pr oved his wife

before the worl d. I shall be enabled to triumph over him, and consign himto that ruin and disgrace which through his means have so long been my lot.Y o u now know what has caused this change in me," she added scornfully.

The rage and anguish which raged in Jane Sedley's breast as she uttered

this speech, it is in vain to describ e. She seemed to think that she saw beforeher the form of her betrayer, and that she was denounci ng him to infamy ;and she gazed upon her compani on, wh o quailed before her as if she had thepower of changing hi m into stone.

After a lengthened pause, during which Jane Sedley again relapsed into

silence, and gaze d sternly into the fire, her com pani on spoke.

" She is a long time coming, Jane," he said timidly, as if fearing to provokeanother outbr eak; . "so met hin g must have prevented her keeping her

promise."" She will come, do not be alarmed," was the reply. " I do not know

what she has to reve nge; but I feel it is a kindred spirit working with me,and if so, she is not likely to delay coming."

As Jane Sedley spoke, a kno ck was hear d at the door ; and a female formenveloped in a large cloak, entered; and Caroline Northco te, for it was she,advanced into the room. As she did so^ Jane Sedley rose and confronted her.An d the two women remained for some seconds gazing at each other.

Far removed above Jane Sedley as Caroline Northcote was in dress, in mien,and beauty, still there was a resemb lance betwe en the two . Eac h had suffered,though in a different degree; and the similarity of their intentions, the reciprocation of their thoug hts, caused a certain resemb lance, remo te i t is true,

but nevertheless quite apparent between the two.

" I have come as I promised, at le ngth, " said Caroline ; " an d now let mehear from your own lips the particulars of your s tory."

" They are brief," replied Jane Sedley , scornf ully, " and if you had arr iveda few minutes ago you might have heard me recapitulati ng them to this manhere. If you wish to hear them, how ever, listen. I was married to Sir

Edward Northcote nearly three years ago; and this boy ," pointing to theehild, " is his son."

" But what proofs have you that your tale is true ? " asked Car oline,

calmly." T h i s good gentleman here,' was the reply, " w h o was present at the

marri age, who afterwards saw the leaf cut out of the book, and who only

wants a little over bidd ing to betray his forme r master, and attach himself toour interests."

" Our interests! " repeated Carol ine; " you mistake. I do not wish to be

implicated in the slightest degree in this matter, or, at any rate, I do not wishmy share to be known. Can you corroborate this woman's statement ? " shecontinued, turning to the man who had risen at her entrance, and was nowstanding gazing upon his two singular companions.

" I can ," he answered, after a short pause ; "b ut I mus t have for my infor mation enough to let me live in another country, as my own share in this

business may make this too hot for me."

" I have offered him a hundred pounds, which I received lately from myhusband, to enable me to leave the cou ntr y," said Jane, " but he says it is

not sufficient to compensate him f or the loss of his annuity from SirEdward."

"H er e is two hundred mor e," said Caroline, givi ng him a packet, "an d Iwill guarantee the same amount when you shall have earned it. An d no wboth of y ou, mark me, do not let my name pass your Hps unless yo u wish tohave all your plans foiled." An d Caroline, gathering her cloak round her,

left the cottage.

Di d no feeling of thankfulness arise in Caroline Northcot e's bosom whenshe though t o f the escape she had had of the disgrace of being Edw ard Nor thcote's wife ? Wa s there no gratitude for her escape from the danger of infamyshe had been in ? No ne . She only felt that she had been d oubly deceived by

Edward Northcote ; that even when he was uttering his vows and protestationsto her before he left home, before he saw Yiola Clavering, that he knew he wasalready married to another. An d she rejoiced when she thought that hervengeance wou ld be mor e deadly, more complete, more easily won than shehad expected. And yet Caroline Nort hcote was not happy in her revenge.She could not be happy with such thoughts raging in her bosom. As she slowly

gather ed the web o f destruct ion and infam y roun d her cousin, so her inwar danguish o f tho ught increased, and yet she swerved not from her purpose.

CHAPTER X X .

"Ed wa rd ," said Charles Angerstein, coming into Sir Edward's room as hewas dressing " I wish to have a short conver satio n with yo u, are you atleisure ? "

Sir Edward was just going to ride over to a neighbouring town to buy somefew things for his cousin's toilet that she s tood in need of, and he asked coldly,

" What is it you want ? "

" I have come to speak to you about Yiola ," replied Charles, calmly.

" Y o u interest yourself strangely about L ady Nort hcot e," was the sarcastic

retort.

" I do, for she is my cou sin ," said Charles, sternl y; " and she has always

been accustomed, even before she knew you , to consider me as her broth er."

" W e l l , and what has Lad y Nort hcot e told you in h^r s isterly affection ? "

" She has told me what I knew before, what I had long perceived withsorrow, that your affections were day by day getting more estranged fromher."

" An d if the y are, I am at a loss to understand w hat right you have, at

present at least, to interfere with my domesti c affairs," repl ied Sir Edwa rd,naughtily.

" I am Lady Northcote's nearest relative," replied Charles; " consequentlyI have a righ t to feel interested in her. But yo u shall not drive me from mypurpose by your violence. What I wished to say was this : I have perceiv edwh y your affections are changed to Yiola. Edw ard , as a friend I say this,you must leave this pla ce; y&u see too much of your cousin "




" W h a t do you refer to ? " cried Sir Edward, fiercely, ye t colouring at the

same time. " I will no t hear "

"B ut you must and shall hear me," said Charles, firmly, interrupting him,and laving his hand upon Sir Edward's arm ; "you must and shall hear me,if not for your own, yet for Viola's sake. Edward, if you would not he the most

abject, the most lost of human beings, recall your .former love for Viola. Do

not be forsworn a second time. A fresh temptation has assailed you; you cannotmeet it with mortal strength alone, that would bend as a reed beneath you;but with the inward spirit, with the strong resolution and courage of

integrity, meet, defy, and destroy it, or it will destroy you. T o what availwould it be now for yo u to win your cousin's affections ? Even if yo u did,

she could never be yours. Why, then, will you persist in this conduct, which

must inevitably cause both to yourself and Viola a future life of misery. Haveall thoughts, all love for her fled from your bosom ? If it is so, I tell you,Edward Northcote, that, althoug h you have been my friend, I will make youbitterly rue the day that yo u ever saw her. But I think, nay I am sure,that if you will reason with yourself but for an instant, that if you will bu t

summon up your courage, and put the temptation on one side, all willbe well. Think how poor Viola loves you. Think how you once loved

her. llecal to your memory how you made me the means by which you wonher, and your generosity alone would rebel at the thought of having mademe even the unconscious instrument of .your wronging her. I am certainthat if you will only leave this place, if you will only return to York, yo u

will soon again forget your cousin, or remember her only as your cousin. Do

not think the worse of me for having said what I have ; it is done only for

the friendship I bear you, and the love I have for Viola ; but reflect on whatI have said, and I have no doubt that you will see that what I propose is the

safest, the only course you can p ursue."

For a moment Sir Edwar d North cote hesitated. Charles Angerstein 'swords sank into his breast, and his good genius prompted him to accede to

his wishes, and to fly from temptation. A moment after his evil spirit reg ainedits ascendancy, and, although he hesitated for a second before he determinedupon the bold, ba d course he had chosen, ye t when the tempter whispered

" Caroline " in his ear, he resisted no longer.

" I can well believe," he said, sarcastically, " that it was your love for

Viola which prompted you to say what you have said. I have such good

proofs of it that I can perfectly understand y our spee ch."

" What do you mean ? " asked Charles in astonishment.

" I mean that I can well understand y our pleading La dy Northcote 'scause," replied Sir Edward, in the same tone; " although I must confess I

am at a loss why my affection to my wife is so anxiously desired. I shouldhave thought she could easily have dispensed with that, and," he added, aftera pause, " as easily supplied its place."

" I again ask you what you mean," said Charles, steadily eyeing his com

panion. " I again ask you what you mean, " he repeated; " d o not speak inriddles; but if ycui have the courage of a man, and are not the most infa

mous and degraded being that exists, speak out, and tell me."

" I mean," said Sir Edward, mustering his courage and speaking firmly,though he felt the blood rush in torrents to his face. " I mean that I haveheard of, and seen things, which have given me good cause of suspicion of an

intimacy between you and Lady Northcote, which I cannot approve of."

" Do you meando you know what y ou are saying," said Charles, starting

back in astonishment ?

" I do , " returned Sir Edward, resolutely; "and, therefore, I intend to sendLady Northcote back to York to her aunt's in order to prevent any scandal,and," he added, gaining courage by the astonishment Charles displayed, " i f

I see any further cause I shall know how to obtain a separation."

"Ed war d Northcote, listen to me," said Charles, recovering himself, and

approaching him, " I have some few months since know n you to have been a

villain; the unfortunate Jane Sedley taught me that, but I never dreamt that

you could arrive at such a pitch of matchless villany and effrontery as to

make the charge against your innocent wife you have just made. I callHeaven to witness that both Viola and myself are perfectly free from the

guilt you have alleged against us, and tell you, Edward Northcote, you who

were once my friend, that yo u yourself know as well as I do , that whatyo u have just uttered is an atrocious falsehood."

During Charles's speech, Sir Edward's cheeks had alternately flushed and

paled; bu t when he finished, with a cry of rage he sprang up and graspedhi m by the throat. Th e struggle, however, was brief. Charles Angerstein ,by far the most powerful of the two, soon mastered and held hi m down.

Charles's blood was up, and for a moment the thought occurred to him that

he would be as justified in taking Sir Edward's life as he lay writhing withimpotent rage beneath him, as he would be in crushing a noxious insect.Th e temptation was strong upon him, but he mastered it with difficulty,and taking his knee off Sir Edward's chest, suffered him to rise.

" You brought it on yourself," said Charles; " do no t blame me for actingin self- defence; moreover, yo u shall no t tempt me to justify myself by

fighting a duel . I hold it as murdei\ so now listen to me ; yo u see I am

calm, and I tell you that if you do not do Viola justice by at once'quitting this

place; or if you ever dare again to utter that atrocious falsehood against her,

again, mark me, I will dog you through the world, and brand you whereveryo u may be as a liar, and a forsworn husbandforsworn to three women. Do

not raise your hand as if you would strike me. I am the strongest, and if

you again provoke me, I know not whether I shall have the mastery overmyself to prevent my killing you. You need no t think to tempt me to a

duel; for I will not f ight; and villain as he is I could not raise my handagainst the life of Viola's husb and! Reflect, therefore, upon what I havesaid; " and with these words Charles Angerstein left the room.

Sir Edward remained for some moments with his face flushed and his dressdisordered, glaring at the place where Charles had stood. But, recoveringhis composure, as he thought over their conversation, he muttered to

himself, "Nevertheless, the first part of it is over, and notwithstanding his

threats I shall succeed. He must be a coward, or he would revenge the blow

I gave him."

In vain might Charles Angerstein attempt to turn that mind from evil untogood. Edward Northcote, naturally vicious, had likewise been too longunder the dominion of his own passions for any hopes to have remained of his

repentance.CHAPTER X X I .

After his conversation with Charles Angerstein, Sir Edward no t feelinginclined for the ride he had intended, wandered out by himself to walk and

meditate upon what had passed. Th e past engrossed his thoughts at first; but

they soon turned upon the future. Th e past he could not bear to think upon,the retrospect was to o bitter, so he cursed his ow n past folly, and speculated

upon what was to come. Could Caroline ever be his ? was his thought; if so,ho w ? He walked on rapidly, forming plan upon plan, and as quicklythrowing them aside as not feasible. That Caroline loved him he felt sure ;

she must love him, she could no t see his intense love, and his bitter repentancefor his former perfidy to her without loving him; and throwing himself upona bank he continued to muse, building castles in the air, all of which weretenanted by his cousinhow, thinking if she loved hi m as he loved her, could

she not be persuaded to fly the country with hi m ?he thou ght she would,and that being the only plan which offered itself to his distracted brain, he

determined to try whether it were feasible.

Long did Sir Edward ruminate over his plans, until he was suddenlyaroused by a touch on the shoulder; he had heard no one approach, and he

started up hastily and confronted the new comer. As he did so he changedcolour rapidly. ' Never had castles in the air been so ruthlessly brokendown.

" W h a t do you want he re ?" said Sir Edw ard . " Y o u promise d me to

leave the country ? "

" I did," replied Jane Sedley, for she it was, " and I have broken that

promise."

" An d why ha ve y ou done so ? " returned Sir Edward. " I f you think of

extorting more money from me yo u are mistaken."

" I f I did wish it," she said calmly, "armed as I no w am, you dare not

refuse it ; but I do not."

" What do you mean ? " he cried. " What brings you here ? "

" I wished™? see yo u once more before I leave the cou ntry," said Jane, " t o

ask you whether yo u repent having wronged m e ; whether here, near the

spot where you swore never to deceive me, you regret your perfidy, and

whether, before I go, yo u will say that at that time you did not intend to

deceive. Give me that consolation at least, and mark you, it will be far betterfor you, and far worse for me if you do say this. You will be the gainer and

I shall be the loser in a worldly point of view; but I am willing to give

yo u this one chance for repentance. Surely it is not much to tell the womanwhose peace of mind yon have destroyed for ever, that you regret the wrongyo u have done her. Say this, and I am willing to wrong even my childyourchildand forgive you."

" Y o u are mad, my good woman ," said Sir Edward, laughing carelessly." Do you suppose I care one tittle for your forgiveness ? I f I could obtain it

by raising my hand, I would not take the trouble to lift it off the ground."

" Then listen to me, and mark me well," said Jane, when he had finished

this heartless speech. " You have mocked meI return your mockery witha curse. Y ou thought you had deceived me, but in your folly you have

deceived yourself. F o o l ! I shall triumph ove r you, and afterwards spurnyou. You wish me to transmit my namemine, your wife's, which you

have basely attempted to blackento your child. I tell you that that childshall enjoy your name and riches while you are grovelling in misery. Thatchildthe child of the betrayed wifeshall succeed to your proud name.Accursed by every honest man, I again return your mockery with a

curse. Y ou have had riches and honours; yo u shall soon cease to enjoy

them. Yo u shall pass the rest of your worthless existence childless, wifeless,and without hope; and on your dying bed, remembering my prophecy, youshall curse the hour in which yo u were borncurse yourself, and die in

despair. This is not the imprecation of a friendless, deserted woman; it is

an anathema which I, no w in my hour of triumph, utter against you whoseday has passed. ' Yo u rejected my forgiveness, whic h I, willing to spare you

what must now inevitably fall on you, after a hard struggle with my feelings,offered you . Bitterly shall yo u rue it ! " And with one glance of scorn and

indignation, Jane Sedley strode away.

"Curse the virago!" muttered Sir Edward, as he slowly returned to

Northcote Hall. " I wonder what she can have go t hold of. He would no t

betray me, and she could no t prove her marriage any other way. But still I

must be careful. Caroline once mine, all the world may know who was my

first wife for all I care."

A doom was upon the betrayer. He had blindly rejected his only chance of

escape. Deceived no w on all sides, notwithstanding his plans and schemes

for the future, he could no t avoid his destined fateand a doom was upon

H L M

' CHAPTER X X I I .

Accustomed to an atmosphere of love, Viola could not endure the changein her husband's affections; and unheeded, neglected by all save the constant,unchanging Charles Angerstein, she was gradually fading away . Charles had

not dared to tell her o f her husband's last insult; he was afraid lest the gentle

frame, already borne down, should be crushed by this last indignity; and sohe had borne the weight of it himself in silence.

One morning Viola took her accustomed seat in a small arbour among the

shrubberies ; and although she held her work in her hand, in reality broodedover the change in her fortunes, the fall from happiness into despair. As she

sat thus, she heard voices in the shrubbery near her; and not wishing to

overhear any conversation which was not intended for her, prepared to go ,when she recognised her husband's voice. He was talking to his cousin.

Viola no w no longer felt capable of flight. She felt as if an invisible power



A u g u s t 18 , 18(50 .] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT, 251

compelled her to remain and hear what passed. She wou ld wil lin gly havetied, but was unable.

u

Oh , Caro line ," she heard her hus band say, and keen inde ed was heragony"Oh, Caroline, try mepr ove m e! Mont hs, weeks, years, nevercould again banish you from my though ts. Grant me this one opportunityof provi ng my faith and my consta ncy. I have sinned against you heavil y,but bitterly have I repented it. Th e night s and days of anguis h I havepassed through since I awoke from my dream, and felt that I loved you as Inever loved another ! I wavered but once let that not be a bar to my everlasting happiness. Never since my dream was over has any image come

between myself and you. Change of scene, chang e of socie tya ll havetailed. Bitterly have I repented my foolish marriage, my slavery to a woman

I never could have loved. Surely now you may entrust yourself and yourhappiness to my care. I will redeem the past by my future love. Oh trust

yourself to me ! That you do love me I am c ertai nI can see it in yourcountenance. Nothin g can prevent our flig ht; and together in anothercountry we may live happily, and forget the past."

What triumph this for the incensed riv al; what agon y for the helpless wife!

They moved on, and Viola heard not Caroline's answer. H ow she hadlived throug h w hat she had heard she knew no t; she almost wished it had

killed her. Stunned with grief and anguish, she sat down, and the ag ony of years was concentrated into a few bitter moments, until a flood of tears, whichconvulsed her frame, came to her relief. Lo ng she thou ght and bitterl y shewept before a ray of hope entered her breast, and then she determined to seeher husband ; to confess that she had heard all ; not to reproach him, but toentreat him to fly from tempta tio n; to humble the little pri de she had in herand assure him of her affection, and to end eavour to rek indle i n h im thelove he once bore her. She could wait for years for it, oh, how patiently ! if he only gave her hope. Anythi ng was preferable to despair. Vain ho pe !Poor Viola!

* * * . * # *"Edward," said Viola, as he entered her room the same evening, "when

do you intend to return to London ? "" I do not know," he replied, coldly. " I am not tired of North cote ye t."" Edward , if I ask yo u as a favourthe first I shall have asked since our

marriagewill you return to London with me immediately ? "" Wh at do you mean ? " he asked harshly. " W h y do you want to go ? "" Edward, 1 have seen all and kno w all. Yes , bitter as the confession is

for me your wife to utter. I k now your affection is estranged from me. Iknow, though I can hardly bring my tongue to utter it, I know where youraffection is now placed, Edward ," she continued, implor ingly, seeing him turn

away. " I do not seek to reproa ch you . I readil y forgive you ; it may beit is not your fault only ; but, my husband, leave herefly from t emptat ion,return to L ondo n with me, your wifeanywhere, so that we are away fromhere. After a time your affections may turn again to me. Oh, Edwar d, oh,my husband, let my prayers, let my entreaties "

" Hav e you nearly finished, ma dam ? " said S ir Ed war d coldly, interrupting

her, " is this a charade we are acting, if so, I think I could safely name the

author to be your cousin Mr. Charles Angerstein.""Ed war d, why do you mention 'him? He is your true friend, and hasalways acted as such. Ed wa rd ," she con tinued, falling on her knees, " I sa wand heard all that passed this morning. Ho w my heart did not break I knownot; but I was supported through the trial. I)o not spurn me," fhe con

tinued, seeing Edwa rd make an impatient gestur e. " I f I kn ow all, I a m read yto pardon all. Edwar d, since our marriage my love has never swerved fromyou;' during some time past I have noticed that yours grew gradually colderand colder. The trial has been bitter, but the thought that by a life of unchan ging affection to you I might regain you r love, has nerved me for it.Do not dash down my hopes if you would not see me die at your fee t; do notdestroy the last link that binds me to life, to you . I can bear to live thro ughyears of your neglect, if you leave me but ho peho pe that I may regain yourlove, and then how a mply s hall I be compensa ted for the past. Edward, if there remains in your breast but one single grain of affection for her you once

loved, for your wifefor that you did love me at our marriage I knowif

there exists one spark of regret for the miser y you have caused me, do notreject my prayers. See, see me here at your f eet ! your wife, loving youthrou gh ever ything, throu gh loss of affection, thro ugh neglect , still l ovi ng

you, still retaining your i mage only as you were during those happy days atYorkas you were when we were married. Oh, surely, surely you cannotrefuseif not for love of me, yet for regard for the sacred tie bet ween usto fly from tem ptation, to fly with me, your wife, from the temptation youiilcur here. I believe, I know , once away from this hated place, your affec

tion will return. Oh, say but the words * I will/ and all shall be forgotten."

" I s this farrago of nonsense nearly finished, ma dam ? " said Sir Edwa rd, ina low , grating tone, which s eemed to pierce thr ough poor Viola's breast." You say you watched me this morning. Since you choose to act the spy,you must meet the spy's reward. Since you have heard what passed, yo u nowknow that I do love my cousin love her more than ever I loved you. Youhave provoked this confession yourself, and I hope yo u are satisfied. As toreturning to Lond on you are at liberty to go ; I remain here."

Viola still remained kneeling during this heartless s peech. A lo w sobwhich burst from her lips alo ne testifying ho w acutely she felt his cruelty.When he had finished, with a despairing clutch at that hope which was nowrapidly flying from her bosom, she extended her hands towards him, andagain implored him.

"E dw ar d," she said, though her voice was half-suffocated by sobs." Edward, if you can no longer love, pity mepity me, your unhappy wife.

For the last few months, few, but oh! how long they have seemed to me in myanguish, I have been exposed day after day to n ew shame, fresh hum ilia tionthrust in my way at every turn. I have seen that affection I prized beyondanything on earth, day after day give n to another. Thi s shame, this humiliation you, my husband, have caused m e, have steeped me in with you r own

hands, and subj ected me to it at eve ry oppor tuni ty, and yet I hav e borne it allborne it without a reproachuntil now, when 1 feel that my last chance of happiness, of lifefor without you, so true is my love, I cannot existis fadingaway, and like a poor drowning wTrctch cling to the one feeble stra whop e,can you, you who once professed to love me, who once did love me, bearto see me kneeling here, and not grant me my request ? I do not ask you togive me that love again. I know that is hopeless, for the present at leas t;but I ask you, nay, I im plore you, to leave this place, and not cause me thefurther humil iatio n and angui sh of seeing day after day -the cause of thewreck of all my happiness."

Viola pronounc ed these word s w ith such deep anguish, with an accent of such intense despair, that her husband, callous as he was, unable to bear the

sight of her he had once loved in such deep distress, turned away. Not thathe wavered in his wicked ness ; but although he might n ow even hate her, hecould no t force his lips to utter the cruel words which hung upon his

tongue. He remained silent for some few minutes biting his lip irresolutely.At last he nerved himself for his cruel task.

" You have learned your lesson well, madam, in thus recapitulating ourmarried life," said he ; " and no doubt your tutor has been at some pains toteach it you. But I can only repeat what I said before. You are at libertyto go if you please. I remain here. "

He did not dare even then to utter the accusation wh ich he knew to befalse. Face to face with his wife, he quailed before her, and did not dare tosay it.

" I have done," said Viola, risin g, and deadly pale. " Your cruel wordsmay effect what you wish . I shall not perhaps be long in the way of yourhappiness. But, since this is your final answer, hear mine. Yo u havedestroyed the happiness of my lifein all probabilit y my life itselfbut that

is past. Since you remai n her e," she added, raising her head, and speak ing•firmly, " I go to-morrow . My aunt is in London. I return to her a

widowed wife, to remain for the rest of my days. Fr om thence, no entreaties,no prayers, shall ever induce me to withdr aw. Fo r your cruelty I forgive

you; for yourself, I will never see you more. Farewel lfor e ve r! " andwith a firm step Viola left the room.

(To be concluded in our next.)

LE T NO T T H Y H E A R T FO E E V E R M O U R N .

(A Reply to JESSY in No. 899) .

L e t n ot t h y he ar t for e v e r m o u r n ,

O 'e r o n e b r i g h t h o p e a s u n d e r t o r n ,

N o r t h i n k no ho pe for t h e e is lef t ,

B e c a u s e t h o u art of one beref t .

T h o u g h on e f a l s e h e a r t h a s p r o v e d u n t r u e ,

Call no t the w h o l e w o r l d fa i th l e ss too ;

N o r y et in so l i t u d e con ceal

T h e pa ng s t h y a c h i n g h e a r t d o t h f ee l .

Str i ve n o t t h y sor row to forget ,

N o r y i e l d t h y s e l f t o v a i n r e g r e t ;

F o r ' tis a t r u t h w e al l m u s t k n o w ,

T h a t su f f er in g i s o u r lo t b e lo w .

A n d w e r e it no t in w i s d o m sen t ,

H o w of t en w o u l d ou r l ife be s p e n t

M i d s t al l th e s w e e t s of j o y a nd lov e,

C a r e le s s o f t h a t b r i g h t w o r l d a b o v e .

S a y n o t t h o u w i s h e s t n o t relief,

'T i s s in f u l t h u s to y i e l d to g r i e f ;

B u t s e e k w h e r e t h o u m a y s t a l w a y s find

A s o l a c e to th y tro ubl ed m i n d .

Ho p e le s s n o lo n g e r , b r in g t h y c a r e

To H i m w h o a l w a y s h e a r s t h e p r a y e r

O f t h o s e in s o r r o w , r i c h o r p o o r ,

A n d on l y w o u n d s to b le ss sti l l m o r e .

ELISE DE V.

M Y W I F E ' S P I A N O .

The deed is accomplished! My wife has got a piano, and now farewell thetranquil mindfarewell content and the evening papers, and the b ig cig arsthat make ambition virtue, oh, farewel l! " And , oh ye mortal engines whoserude throats the immort al Jove's dread clamours counterfeit! " But stop, Ican't bid them farewell, for one of them has ju st arrive d. It ca me on a cart.Six men carried it into the parlour , and it grunted awful ly. It wei ghs a ton,shines like a mirror, and has curved Cupids climbi ng up its limbs. And suchlungswhew! M y wife has com men ced to practise, and the first tim e she

touched the machine, I thought we were in the midst of a thunder-storm,and the lightning had struck the crockery cupboard. The cat, with tail erect,took a straight line for a particular friend upon the back fence, demolishing asix-shilli ng pane of glass. The baby awoke, and the little fellow tried hisbest to beat the instrument, but he couldn 't do it. It beat him. .

A teacher has been intro duced int o the house. H e says he is the last of Napoleon's grand army. He wears a huge moustache, looks at me fiercely,smells of garlic, and goes by the name of Count Run-away-never-come-back-agai n-by . He play ed an " extract de opera " the other ni ght. H e ran hisfingers through his hair twice, then grinned, then cocked his eyes up at theceiling, like a monkey hunting flies, and then came down one of his fingers,and I heard a delightful sound, similar to that produced by a cockroach

dancing upon the tenor string of a fiddle. Down cam e anoth er finger, and Iwas reminded of the wind whistling through a knot-hole in a hen coop. H etouched his thumb," and I thought that I was in an orchard lis tening to thedistant bray ing of a donk ey. No w he ran his fingers a long the keys , and Ithought of a boy rattling a stick alon g our iron palis ading. Al l of a suddenhe stopped, and I thoug ht something had happened. Then came down bothfists, and, oh, horror! such a noise was never heard before. I thought ahurric ane had struck the house, and the walls were givi ng in. I imagined Iwas in the cellar, and a ton of co at was falling ab out my head. I thoug ht themachine had burst, when the infernal noise stopped and I heard my wife

ejaculate, " Exquisite ! " " Wh at the deuce is the matter ? " I asked. Theanswer was, " Why, dear, that's La Somnam bula! " (^irse Somnambula ! "thou ght I , as the coun t roll ed up his sheet of paper wh ich he calls mus ic; butfor the life of me I can't imagine it looks like anything else than a fence witha lot of young niggers climbing over it.

W O M A N ' S INFLUENCE.In misfortune, it tempers the e nergi es; in pros

perity, it adds a grace to them.




TO C O R R E S P O N D E N T S .

DARWF/HD, whil e com pl ime nt ing us for our leade r on the

Pr in ce of W a l e s ' s vis i t t o C an ad a, t ak es excep t ion t o

ou r es t imat e of t h e In d ia n p op u lat io n of A mer ica . W e

b a s e d our calcula t ion on tho se of M a l t e B r i m , H u m

boldt , and the census t ak en b y the Uni te d States'

Gove rn me n t In 1850, an d w e t h i n k r at h er over t h an

under -rat ed t he n u mb e r of the red peo ple. W e s tated

it to bo about eigh t mill ions . N o w it is not ori ous tha t

in 1814 there were fourte en mill ion s of the abori gine s in

N ort h A merica , an d a l l re l iab le au t h or i t ie s af f irm t h at

at pres ent there arc t tarcely t wo mill ion s. Th e sa me

devas tat io n of r ed life has been at w o r k wi th gre ater

force i n S o u t h A m e r i c a . I n w h a t e v e r d i r e c t i o nEu ro p ean s p u sh t h emse lves i n t h e w es t ern w or ld t h e

anc ien t in habi tan ts peris h. W e all k n o w wh at our

b ord erer s in En g lan d , S cot la n d , an d Ire l an d , w ere in

the ol den t i me. It was thei r trad e, their natur e to be

f eroc iou s , an d t h e ir avow ed p r in c ip l e w as p lu n d er

an d ext irp at io n . Th e sa me cru e l creed h as b ee n

main t a in e d in t h e w es t ern w o r ld ever s in ce i t w as

t ak en p os ses s ion of b y t h e w h i t e ma n , b u t w i t h

grea ter intens ity ; for it is a physi olo gica l fact that t he

C el t ic an d Teu t o n ic races in s t in c t ive ly h a t e a l l o t h ers ,

an d w i l l n ot p ol i t i ca l ly or soc ia l ly b len d w i t h on e

an ot h er , a l t h ou g h t h e lat t er i s rap id l y sw al low i n g u p

the f orme r. Th e red m a n ha s no t the s light est i dea

of p rog res s ; a l l h i s h op es an d w ish es are b ou n d e d b y

t h e p resen t . Be i n g a mer e an ima l , h e h as imb ib ed a l l

the vices of the whi te ma n, and not one of his vi rtues .

H e d r i n k s w i t h avid i t y l iq u or s on ly f it f or t h e t h ro at

of a sa lam an d er , an d t h e resu l t h as b ee n a w h oles a le

d es t ru ct i on of t h e In d i an p op u la t ion . F ie ry l iq u i d

ab om in at ion s h ave d on e more f or t h e d es t ru ct ion of

t h i s myst e r iou s p eop le t h a n a ll t h e b u l le t s sh o w er ed

u p o n t h em b y Eu r op ea n s . In a f ew years t h ey w i l l

b e n o m o r e , an d in N ort h A meri ca at l eas t l eave b eh i n d

t h e m n o t a ves t ige of t h e ir ex i s t en ce , save t h ose

w h i ch i t i s t h e d u t y of h i s t ory t o p reserve . Th e

su b j ec t i s on e f or sad med i t at ion ; b u t p h i los op h y can

u n rave l great e r mys t er ies . Th e la w of p op u la t ion is

as well def ined as tha t of lan d. Th e soil on eith er

s id e q f t h e E u p h r at e s on ce t ee med w it h a lu x u r i an t

veg etat ion ; n o w it is a sa ndy wil dern ess , wo rn out ,

u t t er ly exh a u s t ed . S o i t i s w i t h ma n k i n d . On e race

sp r in gs u p , b looms' , an d l i ve s v i g o r o u s l y , p r o b a b l y f or

cen t u r ies , an d t h en grad u al ly d e cays , d ies ou t , an d a

n ew on e t read s p ro u d l y on " it s grave , u n con s c iou s of

i t s ow n in evi t ab le d es t in y . Th e red ma n , t h ere f ore ,

i s i rrevo cab ly d o om ed ; h i s las t ag on y w i l l b e on t h e

sho res of the Pacifi c. Ho we v e r m u c h w e m a y sh ud de r

at su ch a p rosp ect f or a p ort ion of ou r f e l low - crea t u res ,

w e can n ot arres t t h e m ar ch of in ex orab le c irc u m

s t an ces .

SUNNY SEVENTEEN ask s w h et h er ear ly or lat e marr iage s

gene rall y tur n ou t the happ iest . Ou r re ply m u s t be

gen eral . A s t h e o ld ad age says , " c ircu mst an c es a l t er

cases ." V e r y ear ly marr iag es , h ow ever , as a ru le , are t o

b e d ep recat e d . W h e n the wed de d pair are " o'er y o un g

t o m a r r y , " t h ey h ave n ot su ch ad eq u a t e k n o w le d ge of each other's char acter as to lay a secu re found at i on for

h ap p i n es s in t h e f u t u re . Th e y are l ik e a b race of

oper a-da ncer s f luttering befo re the foot li ghts of

ecs t acy ; b u t w h e n t h e gre en cu rt a in of rea l i t y f a l l s

the fripp ery is cast into a closet , and the y stan d before

each e t h er , s carce ly com p re h en d in g w h et h er t h e y are

act u al ly ma n an d w i f e . Th is b ew i ld e rme n t lead s t o

e n t a n g l e m e n t a n d e m b a r r a s s m e n t , a n d t o o f r e q u e n t l y

mu t u al d i s t ru s t . I f on e or b ot h h ap p en t o b e of a

cap r ic iou s t u rn of mi n d , or b e af f l i c t ed w i t h an

irregu lar t emp er , t h ere i s great d an g er of t h er e

c o m i n g b e t w e e n t h e m t h a t a l i e n a t i o n w h i c h , a l t h o u g h

at f irst s ile nt and passi ve, is l iable on the s li ghte st

p rovoc at ion t o b u rs t f or t h i n t o a t orr en t of an ger , or

at the least on the lady' s s ide a copi ous esc ape of

p e t u lan ce . W e t h ere f ore ad v ised l y say , t oo ear ly

mar ria ges are no t adv isa ble. A w o m a n sho ul d nev er

be co me a wife unt i l she is at least twe nt y yea rs of age.

M e d i c a l m e n of h igh au t h or i t y say t w en t y- f ive ; b u t w e

t h i n k t h at i s go i n g t oo far . I t i s cer t a in , h ow ever ,

tha t gir ls w h o m a r r y at s ixt een or s even t een lose a l l

thei r beaut y befo re th ey are thi rty . Th e cro ws' feet

beg in to cl uste r in pai nful ly disc erni ble l ines . A s to

wh en a m a n sho uld m a r r y , w e u n h e s i t a t i n g l y s u g g e s t

t h at f rom t w en t y- t w o or t h ree t o t h ir t y i s t h e p rop er

t i me : an d w i t h resp ect t o la t e marr i ages , w e can on l y

ob se rve t h at as t h e y are excep t i on s t h e y d o n ot ca l l

fo r an y p art icu lar rem ark . Th e y are ch ie f ly ob j ec t ion

ab le on t h e grou n d t h at t h e ch an ce s are t h at t h e

p aren t s w i l l d i e b e f ore t h e i r of f sp r in g cou l d b e saf e ly

t ru s t ed b y t h em se lv es in t h e w id e , w id e w or l d .

MARY'S f at h er i s a l ead i n g t rad e sma n in a cou n t ry t ow n ,

a n d a clerk has da red to fall in lov e wit h her. Th e

f at h er 's p r id e revol t s at t h e mat ch , an d M a r y a s k s

w h et h er a c lerk i s in f er ior t o a t rad e sman ' s d au gh t er .

C ert a in ly n ot . Le t u s t ak e MARY'S father at the clerk 's

a g e , an d the n wh at wa s he ? W a s he an y bet ter tha n

a c le rk ? I f a c lerk i s w e l l ed u cat ed , mora l , an d

gen t lema n ly , h e m a y ver y w e l l asp ire t o t h e h an d of

a t rad es man 's d au gh t er , or of an y lad y. Lo ve con q u ers

al l t h in gs love can p os s i b ly con q u er an ob d u r at e

father, and achi eve a fortun e. W e in t o wn are get t in g

over man y of t h ose f ool i sh p re j u d ices ab ou t cas t e an d

p os i t io n w h ich u n f or t u n at e ly w id en t h e a lread y w i d e

b rea ch b et w een C h r is t ian s r ich an d C h r is t ian s p oo r .

M A R Y sho uld st il l obe y her father, if she can ; if not , le t

h er n ot d i sob ey h im w it h ou t w arn in g , n or f o l low t h e

dict ates of her heart secret ly. B o all ope nly , an d you

wil l do all wel l .

SARTAN.Ro ma nc e of War ; Adventures of an Aide-de-

Camp ; Kirkaldy's Memoirs ; Walter Fenton ; Bollncell;

Hepburn's Memoirs; Jane Sdon; Philip Rollo; Mary

of Lorraine; an d ar t ic le s in t h e Dublin University, a n d

i n Tail's Magazine.

WILLIAM T E L L . A C o r r e s p o n d e n t , w r i t i n g u n d e r t h i s

n ame , s t igmat is e s loyal t y " as a s i l ly id olat rou s w o rsh ip

of an in d iv id u al , w i t h o u t an y exp ect at i on of a re t u rn ,"

an d t h en lau n ch e s ou t in t o an ab u se of t h e Qu een an d

t h e En gl i sh con s t i t u t io n in a w a y t h at d i sg races t h e

n a m e he ado pts . H e th en poi nts to the v igo ur of

t h e F r e n c h g o v e r n m e n t i n o r g a n i s i n g a n e x p e d i t i o n t o

Syria , an d f inally ad ds tha t the Eng li sh are infat uate d

in t h e ir s t u p id l oyal t y , a n d t h at w e w an t an ot h er

C r o m w e l l . H a d ou r C o rres p on d e n t read h al f t h at

wh ic h he ou gh t to hav e read , he w ou ld hav e k n o w n

t h at u n d e r ou r con s t i t u t ion C ro mw e l l w o u l d n e ver

h ave ar i s en w i t h su ch a mon ar ch as t h e p re sen t . I t

w as aga in s t an i l l egal an d t yran n i cal ac t t h at t h at

gre at m a n arose. A s for Fr en ch swi f tnes s , ther e are

t h ose w h o say t h at Fre n ch in t er f eren ce p rod u ce d t h e

revol t o f t h e D ru s es ; t h e ab les t j ou r n al t h at w e h av e

h in t s i t . I t w ou ld b e s t ran g e t h e n i f t h e y w er e n ot

qui ck w it h t heir i mm e n s e a nd id le a r m y to s end out a

f ew t h ou san d me n . W e h ave n ot h in g t o u rge agai n s t

t h e S w i s s rep u b l ic , n or again s t an y ot h e r rep u b l ic .

Id eal l y a rep u b l i c i s u n d o u b t e d ly t h e b es t go ver n me n t ;

p ract ica l ly , l earn ed S w is s a n d A me ric an s w i l l t e l l you

no thi ng equals , m u c h l e ss excee d s , a con s t i t u t i on al o n e

l ik e ou r ow n . Las t l y , t h e Qu ee n i s n e i t h e r in san e , n or

i m b e c i l e , id l e , a n d k n o w - n o t h i n g ; o n t h e c o n t r a r y ,

f ew lad ies are h al f so acc omp l i sh e d as sh e i s ; p rof ic ien t

i n l a n g u a g e s , m u s i c , d r a w i n g , p a i n t i n g , e t c h i n g ;

learn e d in arch i t ec t u re , p ol i t i c s , an d var iou s s c ie n ces .

Tho se w h o bes t k n o w her wil l tell also of a tho us an d

n ame les s ac t s of ch ar i t y , an d t h a t sh e real ly i s

" re l i g iou s an d grac io u s ," w h ich p h rase in t h e Pray er

B o o k d rove ou r C orr esp o n d en t t o a d is s en t i n g ch ap e l .

W e are p os i t iv e ly ash ame d t o b e f orced t h u s t o d e f en d

the Que en. W e do so bec aus e our fault - f inder m a y ha ve

cor rupt ed o ther s ; an d ou r h int s m a y save our C o r r e

sp o n d en t f rom a lu n at ic as y lu m.

SCRIBO send s us a ve ry long a nd abl e let ter aga inst the

w o r k i n g s o f t h e D i v o r c e C o u r t in cases su ch as Eva n s

v. C arr in gt on , rep ort ed in t h e Times of Ju l y 1 4 , 1 8 6 0 ,

w h er e in t h e w i f e h as h er marr ia ge s e t t leme n t af t er

wa rd s canc elle d, an d the m o n e y pai d as a pr e mi um

fo r her mis con duc t . W e th in k with SCRIBO tha t the

D i v o r c e A c t is a nat i ona l m isf ort une . It of fers facili

t i e s for s in , and a pr e mi um for t he diss olu t io n of the

mar ria ge vow . Th e mo s t indelic ate cases are b y it

con sta nt l y repo rted , f or it is hope less t » k ee p t h e m

f r o m t h e p ap ers ; a n d law yer s , w h o p rof es s a j ar gon

w h i ch on ly covers t h e ir ign ora n ce , an d w h o , as H o m e

T o o k e says , n ever can u n d e rs t a n d t h e ir n at ive t on g u e ,

m u c h l e ss j u s t i c e a n d r i g h t, a r e c o n s t a n t l y e m p l o y e d

in cu t t i n g asu n d er t h e t i e s w h i ch G o d h as p ro n ou n ce d

indi ssol uble . N o wo nd er m e n an d w o m e n m a r r y i n

h as t e an d care les s ly , an d w i t h o u t p rop er love or even

res pec t, wh e n th ey find t ha t a l i t t l e e x p e n s e , a l i t t l e

col lu s ion , a l i t t l e tri cke ry a nd a gre at s in can se t t h e m

f ree t o p u n ish so me on e e l s e , an d t o m a r r y o t h e r

v i c t i m s . B e y o n d t h i s exp res sio n of s y mp a t h y wi th

SCRIBO we ca nno t aid him. Ou r pag es are no t those

w h i ch sh ou ld b e p o l lu t e d b y e s says on t h e d oin g s of

a D i v o r c e C o u r t .

TH E ROSE OF ALLENDALE is be in g pu ni sh ed fo r he rcoq uetr y. She sat at a w i n d o w an d en oou rag ed a

yo u n g ge n t l ema n t o ad d res s h er , an d ac t u al ly in t ro

du ce d h i m to he r mot he r. H e w o n her hea rt , and she

b e l i eved h e w as d eep ly smit t en , b u t sh e even t u a l ly

d iscov ered t h at h e w as d esp e rat e l y en amo u re d of

ano ther . Of cou rse she n o w affects to de spis e h i m ;

b u t fro m the sty le of her let ter w e can rea dily bel iev e

t h at sh e su f f ers mor e t h a n sh e w i l l ack n ow le d ge . Th e

indi scre t ion ou gh t to be a l ife l esso n to her ; and w e

t ak e t h e op p o rt u n i t y t o rema rk t h at i t i s h igh ly in

d ecor ou s f or you n g lad ies t o s i t a t op en w in d o w s , f or

yo un g m e n wil l o nl y bel iev e tha t it is for the sa ke of

in vi t in g at t en t io n an d ad mir at ion . A t ra d es man m a y

ex hib it his s ilk s an d sat ins i n his w i n d o w ; bu t w e

h av e ye t t o l earn t h at t h e la w of mod es t y p erm it s

3r

o u n g gir l s t o p resen t t h emse lve s at sq u ar e h oles t o

t h e imp ert i n en t s t are of t h e vu lga r , an d t h e a s t on ish

m e n t a nd d is gu st of all w h o ho ld w o m e n in pr of ou nd

r e s p e c t .

MARION wa nt s to be rel igi ous ; bu t wh e n she co me s

f r o m ch ap e l sh e i s t o rme n t e d b y g l oo my t h o u gh t s .

W e are n ot su rp r i s ed , for b r ims t on e- p reac h in g d iv in es

dri ve mo re peopl e m a d , or into a state of indif fer ence,

t h a n t h e y lead in t o ca lm a n d s in cere p i e t y . A s on e-

id ea'd p eop le ge n eral l y lose t h e b alan ce of t h e ir reason ,

so t h e f u r iou s p u lp i t - t h u m p ers , b y con t in u al ly d w el

lings on the dar k-si de of our dest i ny, dea den in the

sou l a l l s en se of t ru e re l ig ion . A p rop er a p p rec iat i on

of t h e N e w Tes t am en t d oes n ot p lu n ge u s in t o S t ygi an

d ark n es s or men t al s t u p or . I t te l l s us to be tr ue to

our sel ve s; an d w e c an o nly b e so b y be in g true to

ever y on e e l s e , an d t ak i n g t o ou r b oso ms t h at q u ie t

con sc i ou sn es s t h at w e w ere n ot s en t in t o th i s w orl d t o

w ear a cow l , or craw l t h ro u gh soc ie t y l ik e a thief , w h o ,

as Shaks pea re says, " fears each bush an off icer." W e

sh ou l d ad vise ou r f a ir f r ien d t o at t e n d t h e min is t ra

t ion s of som e d evo u t ye t h op ef u l an d ch eer f u l

p r e a c h i n g p a s t o r .

RODOLPH, a for eig ner , cam e to t h i s cou n t ry t o learn t h e

En g l i s h lan gu age , an d , as w as on l y t o b e exp ect e d , f e l l

in love w i t h on e of ou r f a ir yo u n g co u n t ry w om en , an d

a regu lar cou rt sh i p en su ed . Th e lad y, h ow ev er , a f t er

p rob a b ly w alk i n g in h er gard en an d look in g at t h e

ru e an d t h en at t h e t h y me, h as d is car d ed h im. C an

h e mai n t a i n a n ac t ion f or t h e b rok e n p ro mis e an d h is

w o u n d ed su scep t ib i l i t y ? H e cer t a in ly can ; b u t t h ere

is t h i s again s t h im, t h at En gl i sh j u r ies are ap t t o lau gh

at su ch cases. I n t h i s cou n t ry u n m arr ied w o m e n h ave

m o r e f reed o m t h an t h ose of an y ot h er n at ion o n t h e

face of the ea rth ; an d it is gra t ify ing t o be assu red

t h at t h ey s e ld om ab u se i t . S o me d o, b u t t h ey are on ly

t h e w ea k - m in d ed ; an d w e sh ou ld b e ver y sorry t o s ee

a f ore ign ge n t l ema n c arryi n g aw a y as a b r id e a rat h er

eq u ivoc al sp ec ime n of an En gl i sh g ir l .

C. B. D. N e v e r deceiv e chil dren , either in rew ard or

p u n i s h m e n t . T e m p e r m e r c y a n d s e v e r i t y w i t h j u d g

m e n t ; nev er resor t to p un is hm en t of any sort unle ss

on t h e mos t s er icu s an d u rgen t case , an d d o n ot d e le

ga te an y one else to strike children . Le t corporea l

p u n is h me n t b egi n ear ly , an d i t w i l l n ot b e lon g n eed ed .

A chil d m a y be cor rec ted by a gent l e s la p ; a grow n

b o y wo ul d be bruta lis ed b y a blo w. Th e old birch rod

fo r ch i ld ren i s t h e mos t u n ob j ec t ion ab le in s t r u me n t ;

i t h u rt s t h em , b u t n ever h ar ms t h em ; t h e S cot ch

ta wse is of wo od wi th a hole in it , and is b rut al

a n d d an ge rou s . Th e u t m os t k in d n es s sh ou ld b e u sed

in a p aren t ' s me t h o d of corre c t in g ; rem emb er ,

p are n t s are on ly s evere t o b e k in d .

F . O . W . A girl at eig htee n can of course lov e s incerely, ,

mo st ard ent l y, an d f irml y. She is a w o m a n to all

in t en t s an d p u rp o ses ; an d t h e t en d en cy of t h e age , to>

c u r b vice in you n g me n , i s t ow ar d s ear ly marr ia ges .

W e can n o t red u ce t o w r i t in g a n y cr i t er ia b y w h ich an y

on e can t e s t or tell true love, bu t a love r mus i be very-

stu pid i f he c anno t . Th e tepi d bat h is the- mos t pr e

ferable, an d after tha t a ro ugh towe l shoi^ d be used to

m a k e the ski n in a gl ow. Th e hair can not be ma de

coars e b y cold wate r. If your pare nts are in th e

cou n t r y , w r i t e an d as k t h e ir ad vice ab o u t j o in i n g 'a

rif le corps. Le t yo ur father aid yo u, an d app ly to the

mo s t mod er at e , t h e s ecr e t ary of w h ich w i l l g ive you

e v e r y i n f o r m a t i o n .

SINCERITY ca nno t blus h, and she is afraid he r mi n d is,

no t as sensi t ive a s it oug ht to be. The re is a wide ,

dif ference of opini on on the su bje ct of blus hing . S o m e

co nte nd it is a s ign of wea kne ss of charac ter, others,

tha t i t m u s t be ma in ly at tri bute d to the thinne ss o f

t h e sk in . W e in c l in e t o n e i t h er op in ion . Th e

h ard en ed gu i l t y rare ly b lu sh . I t i s on ly t h ose o f

d e l icat e organ isat ion s an d p u re emot i on s w h o real ly

i n d u l g e i n t h i s exh ib i t ion of f ee l in g . Ho w ev er s t ro n g,

m i n d e d p eop l e can n ot b lu s h on t r iv ia l occas ion s , an d

w e su sp e ct ou r C orre sp on d e n t b e lon g s t o t h at va lu ab le

c o m m u n i t y . T h e b l u s h o n t h e c h e e k o f m a i d e n h o o d

is as beau tif ul as th e first flush on the b ro w of ro sy

m o r n .

A . C . R . m u s t cho os e for hersel f. W e th in k tha t f irst

cou s in s , f ear in g t h e p rob ab l y d ire f u l c on seq u e n ce

t o t h e ir p roge n y, w ou ld b e w ise in b rea k in g of t

t h e i r m a t c h . M a r r y the m a n yo u love by all

mea n s , even i f h e b e t h e p oorer man . D o n ot s e l l

you rse l f f or t e mp o rar y p lace or ran k or r ich es , f or

nei ther of these c onst itute s ha ppin ess ;. ther e are as

m a n y tro ubl es on the othe r s i de of riches, as on .the

p ove rt y s id e . For imp rov in g t h e sk in s ee g lyce r in e

jel ly, No . 7 8 3 . T a k e also n ou r ish i n g f ood , mas t i cat e

s low ly , cocoa f or b reak f as t , an d f at mea t at d in n er ;

t h ese w i t h mod e rat e exerc is e .

L Y D I A . A s t h i s i s En g la n d , an d n o t S p ain , or on e of

t h ose misera b le S ou t h A me ri ca n rep u b l ic s w mere su ch

d isgu s t in g f reed om of man n er s prevai l s , w e t h in k e very

yo un g lad y oug ht to k n o w ho w to con duc t herself in a

p lace of w ors h ip . Pu p p y is m b e lon g s exc lu s i ve ly t o n o

c l i me or cou n t ry , t h e can n ib al i s t Fce j e e I s lan d s n ot

e v e n e x c e p t e d ; b u t i n t h i s lan d of re l ig ion an d e d u cat io n w e th in k no yo un g la dy ough t to ask a ny one h o w

t o b eh a ve w h e n in su l t ed b y t h at u n m an l y s t ar in g

wh ic h is a pecu lia rity c o m m o n to the "snob s" of society».

Y o u r mot h er w i l l b e you r b es t in s t ru ct res s .

A FRIENDLESS W I D O W . I f wi th in th e first m o n t h o f

w id ow h o od , a p p ly t o t h e S oc ie t y f or t h e R e l ie f o f

D i s t r e s s e d W i d o w s , N o . 3 2 , S ack vi l l e S t ree t , P iccad i l ly ;

else to the W i d o w s ' Frie n d an d Ben evol en t S oc ie t y , 2 1 »

O l d Fis h S t ree t H i l l , D oct or s ' C o m m o n s .

E . B. C D i r e c t t he let ter to the pe rs on for w h o m i t is

int ende d, to be lef t at the Pos t Off ice ; wh en ce if no t

c la imed w it h in f ou rt een d ay s i t w i l l b e re t u rn ed t o t h e

G e n e r a l P o s t Office, b e op en ed an d sen t b a ck t o t h e

w r i t e r .

F . JONES. Th e ba nn s m u s t be publ ish ed in bo th

p ar ish es , an d t h e cer emo n y mu s t b e p er f orme d in on e

of t h e t w o ch u rch es in w h ich t h e b an n s h ave b e en

pub li she d. Th e fees va ry in dif ferent localit ies .

SEBASTIAN.Correspondence wi th either you ng or old

mu s t b e g ove rn ed b y c i rcu m st a n ces ; t h ere i s n o

i m p r o p r i e t y in e i t h er case i f c ircu m st an ces w a rran t i t .

OTHER COMMUNICATIONS RECEIVED. L . C J . G .

E . G . C . J . I . - IOTA. R . S. C E M M A . W . J . A .

S . W . J . F . 3 1 . W . P . B . Q ^ ( w r i t i n g i s a me

chani cal part of educ at i on ; he is ft self -educ ated m an ,

an d can emp lo y an ama n u en s is t o d o t h e w r i t in g) .

PAULINE ( m e n t i o n y o u r a n n o y a n c e t o s o m e m a l e

f r ien d , or see k the aid of a poli cem an to get rid of it ) .

W . H . S. ( W a t t e n ; and the c hild ren ha ve the n a me

of the father, an d bel ong to the hous e of W a t t e n ) .

B . - B . ( w e d o n ot recol lec t t h e in q u ir y; rep eat i t ) .

FANNY V. (32, Sackvil le Street , Piccadilly ) .EMILY R .

(a skil ful s urg eon can do s o ; an d the s i ght m ay bo

bene f ite d b y the ope rat ion) .MEMORY (stu dy Grey 's

Memoria Technica, a capit al boo k on the subjec t , o r

F e i n a g l e ' s Artificial Memory ; hav e one of the squa res

m a d e t o op en ) .EM M A ( w e are in u n d at ed w i t h s imi lar

effusio ns, o n th e sa me subj ect ) . J. Y . J . (wh at was it

a b o u t ?) .EMMA M . ( of an y mu s i c - s e l ler ; p re t t y good ) .

HABAKKUK (ap ply at Som ers et Hou se , and address

y o u r comm u n ic at io n t o t h e S ecre t ar y of t h e In lan d

R ev en u e D e p art men t ) .G - W . B . ( i t is on ly p u b l i sh ed

in the Family Herald).W. H . ( no ) . W . P . B . (to o

pueri le for our pages) . M . J . ( you r rema rk s h ave b een

foresta lled ; too larg e and too angula r) .FANNY G.(t ha nk s ; w e rec eiv e mor e th an w e ca n find r oo m for).

ELTSE L A F . (ei the r; see No . 7 4 6 ; p re t t y g o o d ) .

JULIA S. J . and ANTHONY S. (re ad ou r arti cles on th e

Tee th in Nos. 279 and 281 ; see also No. 890 ; post fr ee,

6d.) .READER (see No . 52 0 ; it prob abl y arises fro m

indigest ion).ROSALIND (see No . 746).JULIA WERNER

(see N o . 398).FLORENCE EMILY (see No s. 816 and

8 5 6 ) . M o s s ROSE BUD (see N os . 689 an d 690 ).



Augu.113, I860,} USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT 253

FAMILY H E R A L D .

ARGUMENTS.

There is no nation in the world where the right of free discussion is so

ealously guarded and so co nstantly practised as amon g the Engl ish peop le.

From the senate house to the rustic inn parlour, where village sages meet to talk

over and settle the affairs of the nation , in the pala ce and the cot tage , in tow n

and country, by old and you ng, man and woma n, the pri vilege of asserting and

maintaining private an d individual opinion, has been more universally claimed

and constantly exercised than any other o f the boasted " rights of ma n" and

*' rights of wo man ," from the days of Magn a Charta till this same Anfio

Domini 1860. More over, we English are very proud, and justly proud too,

of the happy and glorious consequences of this freedom of thoug ht and

speech; and rather apt to believeperhaps with some reasonthat the

national character is one peculiarly adapted to enjoy with advantag e and use

with wisdom this beloved charter of the ton gue. An d so far as politics and

national government go, there can be little doubt that the Anglo-Saxon races

know how to temper bot h freedom of speech with obedie nce to laws, o utward

grumbling with inward docility, better than any of our continental neighbo urs,

pot even excepting the nearest approach in kin and in character, the Germans.

But when we come to private individuals and to every-day argument, the case

is widely different; and instead of the rea lly deserv ed praise for a fitness an d

capability for discussion, whic h is given to us nationally, it m ay rather be

said that to meet with those who can argue well and beco min gly is the

exception, not the rule. So far from argume nt bein g, as it should be, an

instrument for eliciting truth, for improving and maturing opinions, and for

giving to conversation the animated " no ," without whi ch stimulus it may run

the risk of flaggin g, it is too often the signal for quarrels, nois e, intemperateand unreasoning assertion, bigo ted deafness to the opi nions of others, and

someti mes, alas, the fruitful source o f fam ily and so cial disagre ements and

disunion. Many near relatives, many dear friends, have been parted by hasty

and unintentionally insulting expressions used in argument; many a breach

has been occasioned or widened by wo rds misunderstood, or used wit hout

thought in the heat of discussion. There are indeed few more dangerouss

shoals in our social course than those of these same discussions; few occa-

isiens on which, generally speaking, persons appear to less ad vantage than in

argument.

Surely, then, considering the advantage, the interest, we may say the

necessity of free discussion and interchange of opinion, and the evils and

dangers which its abuse so frequently brings, it is worth considering whether

there is not a possibility of training the mind and controlling the feelings, so

as to obtain the one and to avoid the other . Le t us, in the first pla ce, see

Where the danger^ pr incipally lie, and the consequent means by w hich they may

he a voide d. Th e first cause of the deficiencies of whi ch we speak is a want

of due and calm consideration of the subjects on which the argument in

question happens to turn, and a mastery of the real merits of the case. Noma n loses his self-possession and temp er so soon as the o ne who has taken up

his opinion s hastily or without a clear idea of the reasons on which they are

founded, and by whic h they can be properly defended and supported. Th e

nne&sy consciousness that he cannot disprove the arguments of his adversary

by reason, naturally leads to violence and irritation of speech and feelinf; and

much as an orator or preacher is apt to mistake gesticulation and loudness

for powerful exhortation, such a person substitutes dogm atic assertion and

vituperation for logic.

The first great desideratum fo r arguing well is undoubte dly a mastery of the

subject under consideration, and the possession of the reasons by which the side

taken up can be supported, whether it turns out to be the right or the wrong

one. No doubt, a mathematical or logic al training is necessary for the perfec

tion of this talent, since, without such schooling of the mental powers, there

will always be found a tendency to wander from the subject, to pursue it to

false conclusions and br ing in extraneous matter; bu t still there ma y be a suffi

cient amount o f knowled ge aud reason to enable those, who have not had this

advantage, to avoid the irritation and absurdities consequent on ignorance, or

superficial views of points under discussion. Wh er e this is impossible, silence,or, at kast, modest inquiry is certainly the most wise and dignified course.

There is little need to say that impartiality, so far as it is possible to view a

subject without bias of some sort, is another great essential in argument.

Wh en Chere is a strong predisp osition o n one side so as to distort t he mental

"vision, argument scarcely deserves the name; for there will be little chance of

a fair consideration, §r indeed of any consideration at all, of opposite views.

It is perhaps scarcely possible for the most candid mind to look with perfect

equality on different sides of any question of interest; previously formed

political or religious views, natural temperament, education, social habits and

associations, must inevitably come into play, and insensibly influence the

feelings and understanding. But it is not only possible, but absolutely ind is

pensable to give weight to reasons for and against; to believe that the evidence

is not entirely on one side, and to repress as far as may be the feeling s and

impulses which will ever strive to influence and over come the j udg men t. It

is here where logical training is of such essential service by the po wer it giv es

of ignoring all but hard, real facts, and tracing the real connect ion of the links

whic h form the chain of reaso ning . It en ables a man to detect a fallacy in the

process of reasoning ; to look at subjects as they are, instead of throug h thefilm of prejudice or predilections, and having formed his own opinions to bring

them home to his opponent, with the irrefutable proof of a mathematical

demonstration. In default of this there .should be an honest endeavour to

divest the mind of unfairness and previou s leani ng to one side inde pend ently

of reason and proof.

This brings us to another great desideratum, namely, candour and fairness

to an adversary. Exc ept in very especial and excep tional cases there should

always be the suppositi on in an argument, that i{ is possible, first, that an adver

sary may be right, or at least have good reasons for thinking himself so ; and

next, that he is honest in his conviction s, howe ver mistaken h e may be. It

toe often happens in argument that persons either sneer at an oppo nent, or

bring very unfair and unjustifiable charg es against him, as if they enjoyed the

privilege of infallibility, or that it was impossible that any one else could be

as honest ly confi dent, or as reasonably satisfied in his con vict ions as themselves*

Were the reverse of this more generally felt, there wo uld be far less of the

rude dogmatis m, the c overt or open sneer, the violence of temper too often

shown in argument. W e do not mean to a dvocate that lukewarmness of

temper or indecision whi ch never comes nearer the truth than the unsatisfactory

observation that, "m uc h may be said on both sides," nor that speculative

and dangerous turn of mind w hic h sees so many difficulties on every hand,

that it is literally impossible to take any decided or consistent side.

Ever y one who is endow ed with the powers of reflection and reasoning

should use them with all the ability he possesses, and w ith the honesty of

purpose which should belong to al l; and having done that, should rest calmly

and de cidedly on his opinio ns, till some really new and powerful reason or

view of the subject presents itself, whe n it is no disgrace to confess to mis

taken,judgmen t, and adopt other views. But when there is tolerable care and

reflection used at first, such cases will be comparatively rare. But while thus

holding steadily one side, and entertaining a firm conviction that it is the

right, there may be also a persuasion that to minds of a different calibre, or

plac ed in diffe rent circu mstan ces, a subj ect may appear in different aspects,

and like the gold and silver shie ld, be viewe d from opposite sides, and full

credit and liberty given for opposite convictio ns. Rom an Catholics and

Protestants, Wh ig s and Tories, Church men and Dissenters, to say nothin g of

the thousand and one minor varieties and subdivisions of disputants, can thus

preserve their integrity to their opinions and charity to their neighbours

alike, without compromising their fidelity and t ruth; they can look on

opponents, and even discuss their differences with calmness, charity, andtemper, and in*some cases even learn, if not to change, at least to moderate

the strength and bigo try of previous opinion s ; and it wo uld not then be such

a m elanch oly fact that on such vital subjects as politics and religion, that

discussion which alone can elicit truth, is fatal to societ y, friendship, and

social peace,

Our previous remarks have implied the necessity of preserving calmuess

and equanimity of temper during even exciting argument; and, in fact, the

rules laid down will be found of great service in accomplishing that difficult

task. Those indeed who can look at and speak of subjec ts in the abstract,

apart from personal feeling and prejudice, will be in little danger of irritability

and violence ; wh ile the habit of calmly considering opinions before adopting

them, and givi ng others credit for the same reasonableness and candour on

their side, will ensure courtesy and good feeling, even in animated discussion

of excitin g topics . It is generally m ore to personal feeling than to strongly

held opinions that the loss of temper may be trace d; and if once self can be

forgott en in the discussion of more interesting topics, whatever eagerness and

warmth may be shown wil l s eldom lead to interruption of good feeling.

But when once the expression of self-satisfaction and contem pt for an opponent betrays itself, there is an end of all peace and kind ness; it provokes

angry retort, whi ch again is not s lowly responded to, and a quarrel, perhaps

a permanent one, ensues. There is, moreover , a class of persons who manage

by their very calmness and imperturba ble obstinacy to prov oke in others the

passion and irritation from which they appear themselves to be free. This

should be carefully avoided if an adversary is worth ar guing w ith ; it should

be done with due respect, and reasons g iven, fully and frankly, for the

opinions he ld ; if not, let the argument cease, or rather, never be begun, for

nothing is more irritating than that species of contempt which such a manner

as we have spoken of betrays. It is no bad plan, howev er, when compell ed

to argue wit h an illog ical or unreasonable opp onent, to take up his own

premises and assertions and carry them out to their legitimate conclusions, a

proceeding which will, more probably than any other, show the real absurdity

and tendency of his arguments, and comp el him to surrender at discretion,

witho ut the pro vocat ion of temper w hic h a different mode of meeting him

would induce.

It will perhaps be seen from the foregoing remarks why the oft-repeated

assertion that woman's arguments and woman's logic are so defect ive andinconclusive, is likely to b e true. Wo me n are m ore impulsive than men,

more un der the influence of feeling, less accustomed to look at things as they

are, stripped of the illusions whic h imagina tion or predilections throw round

the m; and, above all, they have not the mental training to which men are

usually in some degree subjected. Whe the r they are capable, from their

mental constitution, to receive such training, whether there is sufficient hard

ness, so to speak, and strength in their intellect to bear such schooling, is a

doubtful poin t; and yet more is it a question how far their attractions and

usefulness woul d be increased by it. Still there can be no occasion for them

to cultivate and almost seek to display the utter want of reasonableness, the

insensibility to com mon sense and legitimate argument, whic h they too often

seem to consider at once their right and a feminine attraction. " A woman'£

reason" is proverbial; a woman's incapacity or unwillingness to hear and

understand reason and sense is almost equally acknowled ged, too often to the

annoyance of husbands, fathers, brothers, and the disturbance of domestic peace.

Now, we maintain that this neither need nor shou ld ex ist. W e do not

want t o make w omen logicians if we cou ld ; nor to see them ready to maintain

every little fancy or harmless predilection by good soun d reason . W e willallow them a little harmless caprice, and a little priv ileg e in indifferent

matters of "liking and thinking as they do, because they do ." But in all

serious affairs, on topi cs of any impo rtanc e, and, abo ve all, whenever other*

are concerned, we would earnestly impress on them that, if they would really

fulfil their mission as companions, comforters, and counsellors to those dearest

to them, and as trainers of the earliest years of the next generation, they

must try to think* to sneak, to act with reason, and on good foundation.



254 THE FAMILY HERALD A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF_4

[August 18, 1860.

Above all, let them at once yield, if they c annot or wil l not sufficiently

master a subject to discuss it with good sense and gentleness, and not risk

the loss of peace, and, it may be, of affection, which to o often ensues on th e

provoking obsti nacy, whic h maintains, an op inio n with out bein g able to say

" why," and refuses to listen to superior reasoning, calmer and more impartial

views, and sounder logic.

T H E E MI G R A N T 'S FA R E W E L L .

Far ewel l , farewell , m y n a t i v e l a n d I

I l e a v e t h e e n o w fo r a y e ;

M y chee k is bla nch ed, m y eye is di m,

M y l o c k s a r e t h i n a n d g r e y .

I n boy hoo d's hou rs I've gath er 'd f lowersI n m a n y a s ha dy del l,

B u t n o w t h o s e yea rs are pa ss 'd a w a y

M y n a t i v e l a n d , f a r e w e l l !

I n inf ancy I' ve wan der 'd free

B y m a n y a m ou nt ai n str eam ,

A n d wat ch' d th e wat er f lashing ba ck

Th e dazz l in g f iery be am .

I ' v e c l a m b e r ' d u p th e m o u n ta i n ' s s i d e

T o c u l l th e b r i g h t b l u e -b e l l ;

I l i t t l e th o u g h t , m y n a t i v e l a n d ,

T o b id t h e e t h e n fa r e w e l l .

B u t I a m c ha ng ed , m y n a t i v e l a n d

M y s t e p o n e e firm an d free ,

I s t o t t e r i n g n o w , a n d s l o w , a n d g o n e ' s

M y y o u t h f u l b u o y a n c y .

S o o n w i l l m y s p i r i t ta ke its flight

F r o m ou t i ts feeb le s h e l l

I could have wish'd to die in t h e e ,

M y n a t i v e l a n d f a r e w e l l !

I c o u l d h a v e w i sh ' d fo r S c o t l a n d ' s b r e e z e

T o w h i s t l e o'er m y gr av e ;

I c o u l d h a v e w i sh ' d fo r S c o t l a n d ' s t r e e s

O'er m e t h e i r a r m s to w a v e .

I coul d have wish' d o 'er m e to bl oo m

T h e n o d d i n g , b r i g h t b l u e - b e l l ;

B u t 1 m u s t l e a v e t h e e th u s , m y o w n ,

M y n a t i v e l a n d f a r e w e l l !

Fa r e w e l l , m y b e a u te o u s , n a t i v e l a n d ,

Th o u l ' t n e v e r b e fo r g o t ;

T h o u g h w and eri ng on a fore ign str and ,

I w i l l fo r g e t t h e e n o t .

Th e r e a r e c h a r m i n g c l i m e s across the s ea

Th e y h o p e fu l l y m e t e l l ;

Th e y ' l l n e v e r e q u a l t h ee , m y own ,

M y n a t i v e lan dfa rewe ll I W . B. M ' K .

F A M I L Y M A T T E R S .

The grandest of hero ic deeds are those which are perfo rmed within four

walls and in domestic privacy.One is m uch less sensible of cold on a bright day than on a cloudy one :

thus the sunshine of cheerfulness and hope will lighte n every trou ble.

I f you call a man ungrateful, y ou cannot impute to him anything more

detestable. One ungrateful man does an injury to all who stand in need of

aid. The animal with long ears seldom leaves his trough without kick ing it.

M A L E - G O S S I P S. A female gossip is bad enou gh i n all conscience; but a

male-gossip is, by all odds, the more detestable of the tw o; spendi ng his time

in co llect ing from clubs, passing acquain tance, and places of publ ic resort, all

the parentheses of small talk, to scatter broadcast wherever there is a held to

so w mischief. The male -gossip is always a cowar d; while he pursues this

sneaking occupation, and weaves these bits and ends of " th ey -s ay -s oV into

his conversa tion, interlarded with crocodile deprecation of all forms of sin (all

of which were white besides this pe t vice of his), he never omits leaving a

loophole, thro ugh which he can make safe and crawl ing egress in case of

difficulty. The toe of a boot is the best thing with which ''to point the moral

and adorn the tale" of this venomous a nim a kFANNY -FERN.

SHOW AND SUBSTANCE .We suppose it is useless to tell those who havelittle money to spend, and have worke d day and nig ht to get that little, to

think twice before they make an outlay of their hard earnings. But we can't

refrain from saying, " W ha t a pity ! " w hen we see the childr en of parents in

very moderate circumstances, trick ed out in flimsy finery, when good, sub

stantial clothing might have been procured for half the money, in which they

would have looked much prettier and muc h more respectabl e. W e often say,

" Wh at a pit y! " when we see a workin g-g irl flaunting a showy , dress bonnet

that ill assorts with her gown or shawl. W e often say, " Wh at a pi ty ! "

when we see a clerk dressed more extrav agantl y than his employer, or

putting into the hire of a dashing carriage ail the earn ings of a week, or

sporting the equipage on the promise of doing so without any expectation of

performing that promise. The rainy day of disaster that is sure to follow all

this sunshine of folly, they will not see, though disgrace, and sickness, and a

workhouse bed, and a nameless grave loom up in the future for many of them.

" W e can be young but once," is capable of more than on e interpretation, as

they seem to forge t. No ne but the fool looks to reap the harvest in sowing

time ; and none but the fool expec ts when harvest time conies to reap wheat

where only tares have been sown.

T o REM O VE M ARK S OF R A I N FROM A M ANT L E . T ak e a damp cloth, and

damp the place mark ed with the rain ; then take a hot iron, and iron the

mantle all over on the wrong side, and the marks will be removed.

PEELING POTATOES .All the starch in potatoes is confined very near the

surface ; the heart contains but little nutriment. Ignorance of this fact may

form a plausible excuse for those who cut off thick parings in prepar ing

potatoes for boil ing or mashi ng; but none to those who know better.

Circulate the injunction, " pare thin the potato skin."

H I N T S O N D R E S S . B Y MRS. ADAMS.

Amongst the var iety of jack ets, cl oaks, and mantles that are n ow worn,

ladies are at a loss to choose the prettiest and most beco ming . There is one

I can recomme nd, quite a favourite M-ith Fre nch ladies, and I c ertainly admire

their taste; for the cloak, or rather jacket-cloak, can be made to suit the age

of the wearer witho ut interfering with its sty le ; whilst, among st its ot her

advantages, this pattern looks equally well in book-muslin or seal-skin, whichis what so few patterns wil l .do . What I should reco mmend to be employe d

in this pattern is black glace silk, or a thin cloth of any colour to suit the

taste of the wearer.

I will now describe two or three ways of making this cloa k. If in silk, it

can be made quite plain with no tr imm ing ; and at the same time, if it suits

the taste or age, a black cape is very becoming, made either of silk or of black

lace. Som e are made with a frill, ten inches deep at the botto m, or a deep

ro w of la ce ; larg e sleeves are wor n with the cloak, some open, or some with

large b ishop-slee ves. Th e bishop-sleeve is worn large enough to show a \

white under-sleeve, and is the least common. If the cloa k is made in cloth,

for sea-side or travelling, I should recommend a hood and bishop-sleeves. To

those who dislike the hood, the small cape is new, and looks well. The cloak

should hang rather loose over the dress, and within two or three inches of its

leng th. Fo r travelling o r morning wea r four pocke ts can be added, two inside,

and two out, and those inside should be deep enou gh to carry a small water

proof cape, in case of rain. I have put this pattern cloak to v ery plain use,

binXthere is not a handsome r worn in the most stylish dress. The materials

it looks well i n are: lace, black or white ; whit e muslin of every description,

and in either lace or muslin it is charm ing for a b ri de ; silk, Cashmere, and

merino ; and cloth of almost any colour, or velvet . Ladies are not perhaps

aware, that if they wish to have one in silk and one in cloth, great differencecan be made in the look of the cloak, by the sleeves, and hood or cape. The

pattern can be had post free for 18 postag e stamps, of Mrs . A. Adam s,

1, Langham Street, W .

S C I E N T I F I C A N D U S E F U L .

A varnish made with one pound of sulphur, boiled for half an ho ur in an

iron vessel, is a perfect prote ction from damp to b rick walls. It should be

applied with a brush, while warm".

Th e attempts to recove r the Atla ntic Cable are no w finally abandoned. Mr.

Varley, the c ompa ny's electrician, reports that althou gh on many occasions

they could raise the bight, and get th e cab le on board for seven miles, they

invariab ly found it broken again a few miles off ; he abandon ed the hopeless

attempt with deep regret.

N E W GOL D DIGGINGS.Great excitement at Santa Fe, New Mexico, in

consequence of the discove ry of gold at the co pper mines, is reported.

A discovery of gold has also taken place at Halifax, Nova Scotia. The

quality o f the metal is, howeve r, more satisfactory than the quantity, and the

rush to the new "gold-fields" has led to a considerable disappointment.

To POLISH SHELLS.Rough sea shells can be polished smoothly by first

rubbing them down with a file, then with emery paper, and finishing off with

rottenstone of tripoli . Some shells, when polished, have a very beautiful

app eara nce ; but tho se whi ch possess the most variegated hues and glossy

surface are found so in their natural state.See also No s. 277 and 38 4; and

for a cement for fixing shells, see No. 102.

FILTER FOR CORROSIVE LIQUIDS.Boettger of Frankfor t employ s for the

filtration of corrosive liquids a glass funnel, the neck of which is loosely

plugged with gun -cot ton. This substance, prope rly prepared, has the proper

fibrous, porous texture for an efficient filter, and being a product of the ac tion

of the most corros ive agents, v iz., mixed sulphuric and nitric acid s, is scarcely

attacked even in the slightest degree of mediu m temperatures by any single

agent or s olvent so far as know n, except acetic ether. It may be employed

for filtering stro ng nitric acid, fuming oil of vitriol, permanganate of potash,

strong cau stic potash ley and aqua-regia. Eve n chrom ic acid may be separated

from its moth er liquors by this filter. Its use in drying crystals which have

deposited from co rrosive liquids is obvious. The g un-cotton employed by

Boettger is probably that obtained by the action on cotton of the strongest

sulphuric and nitric acids, as that prepared by weaker acids, or by sulphuric

acid and saltpetre, is soluble in a variety o f agents.

W H A L E LEATHER.Squeezing oil out of stone coal was a thing to be

thought of as a miracle that might some day convert the heathen; but to get

shoe leather from the skin of a whale is so reasonable a probabilit y, that one

is amazed it shoul d not have been lon g ago attempted. A Frenchm an has

obtained a patent for whale leather, and remarka bly pliant stuff it is. The

skin is so thick that, after removing the inner portion, which is spongy, the

remainder is split to make it of the usual shoe thickness. It is' remarkably

tough, but as soft as buckskin, and it repels water well. The Yankee boot is

most miserable; the leather is spoiled by bad tanning and worse working-up.

This makes an unfair relation between supply and consumption, which it will

need all the whales of ocean to equalise. The discovery comes at a time when

land leather is grow ing alarmin gly scarce; and we behold in it a beautiful

provision of Provide nce, only excelled by the discovery of coal oil at a juncture

still more critical in the history o f human progress.

B O X-W O O D . T h i s wood is abou t as heavy and. durable as ebon y, and cuts

better than any other description of wood. So close and even is its surface

that, by means of sharp gravers, it can be cut with the greatest delicacy in

all direction s on the cross grain of the wood. A dwarf description of box

is used for the flower borders of gardens. There is howeve r a larger species,

which grows at times to 15' feet in height, which though common enough in

suburban gardens, is seen to best advantage in the extensive plantation

on Boxhill, in Surrey. The diameter of the trunk at the widest part

is not more than 6 inches . The great demand for wood of this size, and

the large value of it, have caused the finest of this description of trees

to be cut do wn at Bo x Hil l, and other parts of this country. The wood

is further valuabl e for the maki ng of the handles of some kinds o f tools,

delicate parts of surgical instruments, children' s toys, such as pe g-t ops ; and

by a steam process, this close-grained wood can for a time be made soft as

wax, on which by means of pressure medallions and other ornamentation can

be stamped by engraved dies. Snuff-boxe s and parts of cabinets have been bea utifully decorated in this maimer. The introduction of wood-engraving by the

Bewicks soon led to a considerable .demand for box-wood suitable for the

practice of that art, and it was worth the wh ile of speculative merchants to

import box-wood from Turkey and s ome other districts in the East. From

them a larger description o f wood was obtained than any that had then been

grown in Eng land ; yet the large box-wood of a useful description, from even

foreign parts, seldom exceeded 12 inches in diameter.Builder,



A u gu s t 18 , I 8 6 0 . ] USEFUL INFOEMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 255

S T A T I S T I C S .

In extent, British Ameri ca measures 2,88 0,000 square miles, larger by

660,000 square miles than the area of the United States.

The slaves owned by the Southern States of the America n Union number

4,000,000, and their value in money reaches the figure of 3,000 ,000, 000

dollars.

The city of Yeddo, the capital of Japan, is said to be, without exception,

the largest city in the wor ld. It contai ns 1,501, 000 dwell ings , and the

unparalleled number of 5,000, 000 inhabitants. ^

Th e quantity of wine exported from Franc e to England , dur ing the first six

months of 1860, was 61,000 hectolit res. Last year it was only 21,0 00.Spirits, howeve r, have fallen off from 78 to 48 thousand hectolitr es.

DISPROPORTION OF THE SEXES IN VICTORIA .The .dfsparity of the sexes in

the colony of Victoria appears to be greater than in any other part of

Australia. The last census of the population of the colony showed 88,355

unmarried men, of 20 years and upwards, to but 1 2,545 unmarried women of

correspondi ng ages. Th e proportion of unmarried men on the goldfields was

still greater, the bachelors being to the spinsters in the proportion of upwards

of 20 to 1.

GOLD FROM AUSTRALIA .The value of the total quantity of gold raised

up t o the end of 1859, was, in New South Wales, £7, 253 ,61 6; in Victori a,

£93,810, 212; in South Australia, £1 60 ,0 00 ; in Tasmania, £8 ,0 00 ; in Ne w

Zealand, £140,0 00 ; total, £101, 371,8 28. Ne w South Wal es has yielded

1,884,056 ounces; Victoria, 21,000,000 ounces; and New Zealand, 35.,000

ounces; the exact quantities yielded by South Austra lia and Tasmania , not

having been officially reported.

T H E ENGLISH, IRISH, SCOTCH, AN D COLONIAL BISHOPRICS, WITH THEIR

SEVERAL INCOMES .In the following list it will be seen that the aggregate

income of 83 bishoprics is £258,600, or more than a quarter of a million, the

averages being £3, 236 to each bishopr ic. The Bisho pric of Jerusalem isnot included in this lis t; and the income s of the Scottish bish oprics , andof that of Hur on, in Canada, are only approxi mativ e.

A b e r d e e n

A d e l a i d e

A n t i g u a

Ar m a g h ( A b p . )

A r g y l l and the Is les

B a n g o r ,

B a r b a d o e s . .

Bat h an d Wel l s

B o m b a y

B r e c h i n

B r i s b a n e

C alcu t t a

( N e w

£ 1 0 0 Exe t er ( b es id e a N e w f o u n d l a n d . . £ 1 , 2 0 0

80 0 C a n o n r y ) £ 2 , 7 0 0 N e w Z e a l a n d 60 0

2 ,0 0 0 F r e d e r i c t o n 1 , 0 0 0 N o r w i c h . . 4 , 5 0 0

1 4 ,4 9 4 G i b r a l ta r 1 , 2 0 0 No v a Sco tia . . 70 0

10 0 G l a s g o w 10 0 O s s o r y . . 3 , 8 5 0

4 , 0 0 0 Glou ces t er & Br is t o l 5 , 0 0 0 O x f o r d . . 5 , 0 0 0

2 ,5 0 0 G r a h a m ' s T o w n 8 00 Pert h ( A u s t ral ia ) 450*

5 , 0 0 0 G u i a n a 2 . 0 0 U P e t e r b o r o u g h . . 4 , 5 0 0

2 , 5 0 0 Her efo rd . . • • 4 , 2 0 0 Qu eb ec . . 1,990

10 0 H u r o n . , . . 61 9 l i i p o n . . 4,5u 0

1 ,000 Jam aic a . . . . 1 , 4 0 0 R och es t e r . . . . 5 , 0 0 0

5 , 0 0 0 Kill aloe . . . . 4 ,0 4 1 Rup ert 's L a n d 70 0

1 5 ,0 0 0 K i l m o r e . . . . 6 , 2 5 3 [Salisbury . . 5 . 0 0 0

. . ' 9 0 080 0 K i n g s t o n 2 , 0 0 0 S ierra Leon e

. . 5 . 0 0 0

. . ' 9 0 0

4 , 5 0 0 L a b u a n . . . . 50 0 Sod or a nd M a n . . 2 , 0 0 0

4 , 5 0 0 Lich f ie ld 4 , 5 0 0 St . A n d r e w ' s 10 0

4 , 2 0 0 L i m e r i c k 4 , 9 7 3 St . A s a p h . .

St . D avid ' s . .

. . 4 , 2 0 0

Lin col n , . 5 , 0 0 0

St . A s a p h . .

St . D avid ' s . . . . 4 , 5 0 066 0 Ll a n d a f f . . 4 , 2 0 0

1 0 , 0 0 0

S y d n e y

Tasma n ia . ,

. . 1,500

2 , 0 0 0 Lo ndo n . . . .

4 , 2 0 0

1 0 , 0 0 0

S y d n e y

Tasma n ia . , . . 1,250

6 00 M a d r a s . . . . 2 , 5 0 0 T o r o n t o 1 , 2 5 0

2 , 0 0 0 Manc hes ter . . . . 4 , 0 0 0 T u a m . . . . . . 4 , 6 0 0

5,000 M a u r i t i u s 85 0 V ict or ia 1 , 0 0 0

7. 3 0 06,000 M e a t h 4 , 0 6 8 W e l l i n g t o n

1 , 0 0 0

7. 3 0 0

4 ,0 0 0 M e l b o u r n e . . 83 3 Win ch es t e r . , . . 1 0 , 5 0 0

7,786 M o n t r e a l ( A b p . ) . . 80 0 W o r c e s t e r . . . . 5 , 0 0 0

8,000 M o r a y and Ros s . . 10 0 Y o r k ( A b p . ) . . . . 1 0 , 0 0 0

10 0 N a t a l s o o

5,500 N e w c a s t l e 83 3

C a p e Tow n .

Carlis le

C h es t er

Chichester .

C h r is t ch u rchZ e a l a n d ) .

C o l o m b o

C o l u m b i a

C o r k

Cashel

D e n y

D o w n an d Co n n o r . .

D u b l i n ( A b p . )

D u r h a m

E d i n b u r g h

E l y

Compared with the above , 83 of He r Majest y's p rincip al officers of State,

including the Prime Minister, the Lor d Chancellor , and the Viceroy of

Ireland, receive £21 3,5 03 per annum, b eing an average of £2 ,5 72 each.

V A R I E T I E S .

A piece of ground kno wn as Dixo n's Lai rs, at Is lington, has been decided

as the new site for the Smithfield Cattle Show.

The Editor of the Medical Times is hard upon the moustaches of the

students. He assures a correspondent that "moustaches have their uses; and

among the most important, they are considered to point out the idlest, the

vainest, and most self-co nceited, if not, p robab ly, the most di ssolute in the

class. They are beacons to warn others ."

A medal, executed by Mr . Joseph W y o n , to commemorat e the opening of

the Victoria Brid ge, in Canada, by the Prin ce of Wal es, is simple but elegant

in design. On one sid e is a bust of the Princ e of Wal es, and on the other

the Prince of Wal es' s plume, surrounded by maple branches, and on the edge

the words, " Visited Canada, and inaugurated the Bridge, I8 60. " The medal

has been executed by order of the Gr and Trun k Rai lwa y Company , and there

have been live struck in gold, fifty in silver, and 500 in bronze.

T HE N E W ARCTIC EXPEDITION .The expedition, under command of

Captain I. I. Hayes , a comrade of. Dr. Kane's , sailed in the little schooner

Spring Hill, from Boston , U.S ., on the afternoon of the 7th of July. Th e

crew and officers consisted of seventeen men. The special purpose of Captai n

Hayes is to certify the existence of an open Polar sea, of which he thinks he

had some distant glimpses during his former explor ations. The expediti on is

supplied for an absence of three years, but its object is expected to be fulfilled

in two.

HARVEST PROSPECTS ON THE CONTINENT.The latest accounts received

by the Minister of Agricu lture aad Comme rce, as to the appearance of the

growing crops in France , favour tthe hope of a good average year. There

•s one remarkable tact to be observed, which is, that every crop is good

of its kin dco rn, hay, grapes, and al l descri ptions o f fruit. The accounts

from the seaports on the Balt ic are not favourab le. The reports from Italy

generally are good, with the exception of those from Naples. The accounts

from Spain are favourable, except those from Catalonia.

# LIGHTNING AN D HOOP S K I R T S . A Correspondent informs the Boston

Journal .that in the town of Pi'ttsfield, Vt., east of and near the Green

Mountains, a singing school was in progress in a schoo lhou se. A thunder

storm broke immed iately o ver the house. A discharge of electrici ty came

down the chimn ey, and passed thr ough the hand of a young man who was

sitting near the chimney, with iris arms stretched out tow ards it on the back

of a seat. The ladies' hoops were all struck by the fluid, stripped of all their

windi ngs, clasps br oken, the hoops bent int o all sorts of shapes, dresses

scorched, and some set on fire ; yet, wonderful to relate, no one was killed,and none injured but the you ng man. Thi s suggests the ne w and impo rtant

idea of ladies' dropping their hoops on the near approach of a violent

thunderstorm.

IGNACLA RISO, THE SICILIAN JOAN OF A R C . A young patriot, named

Francisco Riso, was killed on April 4, during a popular demonstration whic h

took place before Garibaldi's arrival. On April 20 his father, Giovanni Riso,

sixty years ol d, was shot by the B our bon soldiers wi thou t so much as the

form of a trial. On the very day that Garibaldi entered Palermo a young

and beautiful nun, Igna cia Riso, "the sister and daughter of the two Risos

above named, left the convent, and amidst a shower of balls and grapeshot, a

cross in one hand and a p oig nar d in the other, placed herself at the head of

Garibaldi's column, crying, " Down with the Bou rbo ns! Death to the

tyrant! Veng eanc e ! " She kept her place as lon g as the fighting lasted, and

her courageous attitude electrified the voluntee rs. Eve r since that day the

name of Igna cia R iso has been held sacred. Wh en she passes in the street

the soldiers bow low , and bless her with the most prof ound respect. Gariba ldi

himself pays her great attention, and loves her as if she were his ow n

daughter.

PUBLIC P A R K S . A ne w Act, which has just received the Royal assent, and

is now in force, provi des for local improv ement s beneficial to the health and

comfort of the people. T he ratepayers of any parish maintaining its own poor,

the population of which, according to the last account, exceeds five hundred

persons, may^mr chas e or lease lands, and accept gifts and grants of land, for

the purpose of forming any public walk, exercise- or play-gr ound, and levy

rates fo r maintaining the same, and for the rem oval of any nuisances or

obstructions to the free use or enjoyment thereof, and for improving any open

walk or footpath, or placing convenient seats or shelters from rain, and for

other purposes of a similar nature. The Act may be adopted in boroughs.

After the adoptio n of the Act a meeting of the ratepayers is to take place to

make a separate rate, and such rate is to be agreed to by a majority of at least

two-thirds, in value, of the ratepayers assembled. Prev ious to any such rate

being i mposed , a sum in .amou nt not less than at least one-half of the

estimated cost of such proposed improvements shall have been raised, given,

or collected by private subscription or donation. The rate is not to exceed

6d. in the pound.

T H E R I D D L E R .

Desi gn'd b y fate to guar d the c rown , alof t in air I re ign,

Ab o v e t h e mon ar ch 's h au gh t y f row n , or s t at esman ' s p lot t in g b r ain ,

I n host ile fields, wh e n d an ge r' s nea r, I' m fo un d ami ds t a l a r ms ;

I n crow d s w h er e p eacef u l b eau x ap p ear , I in s t an t f ly t o arms . S E N E X .

CHARADE.

I dre am' d tha t I stoo d on a clif fs ro cky b row ,

A n d hosts wit h t heir leader s w ere mars hall 'd b e l o w ;

T h e lou d d r u m had beat , a nd the shri ll tru mpe t-h or n

H a d waft ed its note s on the breez e of the m or n.

N o w the thun der s of batt l e roll over the p lain,

A n d the eai'th is enc umb er' d wit h heaps of the s lain ;

A n d ere sunset t he squad ron s so pr ou d in their mi gh t

A r e slee ping in death, or are scatter'd in f l i ght .

Wh e n c e t h i s c a r n a g e ? o h s a y ; i n my first I w as t h ere ;

B y m e we re the y slain, o r th ey fled in des pair .

F o r wher eve r 1 go, r age a nd bl ood m a r k m y pat h,

A n d I' m foll ow' d b y curse s, b y tear s, and. b y dea th.

M y dre am n o w has cha nge d. L o the fugit ive chief

Flie s al one thr oug h th e d esert , his eye d i m m ' d wit h gr i e f ;

T h e hear ts tha t wer e his ar e n o w co ld as a st one ,

A n d h e flies f rom h is f oen ien , u n gu ar d ed , a lon e .

T h e y tra ck thee, O chief tai n ! Has te, haste from their s igh t I

Has t e h as t e ! an d m y second shal l cov er th y flight.

' T w a s m y first d ash 'd t h y h op esn ow m y second shall be

A place of retreat , and tho u st i l l may' s t b e f ree .

N o w rest thee, m y chief t ain now re st wit hou t fear,

N o foe c an appr oac h t he e my whole w at ch e s n ear ;

I w il l W a t c h o'er t h y s lu mber s, a nd gua rd every path ,

A n d m y faith to m y chief tai n will seal wit h m y death . Rur us.

REBUS.A sea port in De von shi re ; a coun try of Asi a ; a t ow n of Fran ce ; a chai n ol

mou n t ain s in A s ia ; an d a r iver in S p ain .Th e initials an d t h e finals read f orw ard s

f o r m the na me s of t w o grea t poets . • NIGHTSTAH.

ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS.

1. Sup pos e t hat a m o u l d ca ndle, s ix to t he po und , bu rns four hour s, a nd tha t a

c o m m o n di p, s i x t e e n to t he pou nd, burns- t wo hour s and three- quarte rs , h o w m a n y

dips woul d you burn tog ethe r to m a k e bo th pou nds last the s am e t im e, the mou ld s

bein g bu rnt s ingly ; and wha t dif ference wo ul d there be in t he a mo u n t of l ight , sup

pos ing a m o u l d to gi ve thr ee ti me s tha t of a dip ? MILLS.

2. A per son disc ount i ng a bill at 4 | per cent per an nu m, acco rding t o the c o m m o n

or false me th od , finds tha t he has 5J, per cent , per a n n u m for his mon ey . Requ ire d,

the t i me the bill mu st hav e been disc ounte d before it be ca me due ? FLAVELL.

3. A t a sta tio n, 1 3 ,2 0 0 feet abov e sea- level, the a ngle of depres sion of the vis ible

hori zon ( the sea a nd s k y l ine) wa s obs erve d, and fo und to be t hat wh ic h ha s for

nat . cosine -99930814, D et er min e h en ce , w i t h ou t t h e a id of t ab les , t h e d iamet er of

the eart h, su ppo si ng it a perf ect sph ere ? TIMSWELL.



THE FA.MiLY HERALI). f A u g u s t 18, 1 8 6 0 .

R A N D O M R E A D I N G S .

Why are lawyers old women ?Because they are fee-males.

When a lover dotes on his darling, a refusal acts as an anti-dote.

Even a pig upon the spit may console himselfthings are sure tp; take a

turn.

The only kind of mistake we are in favour of is when an old bachelor gets

married.

A hermit prefers always to be " left alone;" but, as for us, we would rather

be " left a fortune."

It has been found by oculists that when a person has only one eye it isinvariably the left one. »

" Up to snuff" is now rendered "elevated to an equal capacity with the

titillating particles of the tobacco plant."

A Miss Gilmore was courted by a man whose name was Haddueks^ who

told her that he only wanted one gill more to make him a perfect fish.

* " Don't be in too great a hurry, girls, to fall in love with the young men.

It often happens that your hearts are no sooner theirs, than theirs are no

longer yours."

A country girl recently asked a to wn acquaintance to go with her to purchase

some articles, and to act as spokeswoman. They entered a shop, and the

girl asked: " Have you any hose ? " " I don't want hoes," said the country

town maiden; " I want stockings."

A Newcastle blacksmith recently made out a bill against one of his cus

tomers for steeling two mattocks; but the son of Vulcan, who had been

more used to wielding a sledge hammer than studying Dr. Kenrick, wrote

out the item in the following manner:" To stealing 2 mad ducks, two

shillings."

" Just a light supper, my dear; a light supper/' said a gentleman to his

wife, when he brought company home. Said gentleman was astonished when

he found the light supper to be composed of half a dozen candles lighted, and

casting their radiance over an otherwise supperless table. " Bather too light,

my dear," quoth the husband.

A man who had purchased a pair of new shoes, finding the road to be rather

a rough one, decided on putting the shoes under his arm, and walking home

barefooted. After a while he stubbed his great toe, taking the nail off as clean

as a whistle. " How lu cky!" he exclaimed, " what a tremendous kick that

would have been for the shoes !"

a

My friend," said a hotel keeper to an over-voracious boarder, " you eat

so much, I shall charge you an extra half crown.""An extra half crown!"

replied his boarder, with his countenance the very picture of pain. " For

goodness sake, don't do that! I'm almost dead now, eating three half

crown's worth: and if you put on an extra half crown I shall certainly burst

I shall!"

Abernethy once said to a rich but dirty patient, who consulted him aboutan eruption, " Let your servant bring to you three or four pails of water and

put it into a washtub; take off your clothes, get into it, and rub yourself

well with soap and a rough towel, and you'll recover." " This advice seems

very much like telling me to wash myself," said the patient. " Well," said

Abernethy, " it may be open to such a construction."

The Sunderland Bifle Corps marched to Byhope the other evening, accom

panied, as is always the case on similar occasions, by numbers of young ladies.

One of the gallant corps attempted to, and, in fact, succeeded in putting his

arm round the taper waist of one of the young ladies, but was instantly called

to order by Corporal D ; " Private S ," he said, " Government didn't

provide you with arms for that purpose." The young lady being left to

herself " marched easy."

A good joke is told of Horace Greeley, on the occasion of his political

visit last summer. The story goes that " the philosopher" was met at

• Worster House in a promiscuous company, by a high-wrought Locofoco from

Fairfield, who thought to raise a laugh at his expense. Loco shook the

hand of the philosopher, who didn't know him. "Don't you remember,"

suggested Loco, " that you and I drank brandy and water on the pla ins?"

" Ohohyes," responded the philosopher, " I rememberyou drank the

brandy, and I drank the water."

The Rev. F. Coyle, in a lecture on memory, instanced stage-drivers, whose

memory of the orders and directions given them is remarkable. He once

rode outside with the owner and driver of a stage, when the driver could not

have had fewer than fifty parcels and messages to deliver by the way. But

he was at a losshe knew he had forgotten to deliver one parcel, but he

could not possibly remember what it was. At length the stage arrived at his

own door, when the children came rushing out to welcome him. " But where

(asked the youngsters) did you leave mother?""May I be wholly diddled

if I haven't forgot Sa l! " That was the missing parcel.

A cockney born and bred was lately invited to visit a friend in the

country. The rural aspect of the place amused and charmed him ; still he

had brought away from the city his full share of suspicion, and the answers

that he received to some of his inquiries really did seem so wonderful, that he

began to suspect he was being " chaffed." • At last they approached a field in

which was a glorious crop of standing grass ready for the scythe. Thecockney gazed at it wonderingly. It didn't look like grass, it wasn't wheat,

it wasn't turnip tops. " Why, whatever do you call this stuff?v

said he to

bis companion. " Thatwhy that is one of the finest hay-fietaV In the

neighbourhood, to he sure!" was the reply. " Ha y ! he, he I come, that's

cutting it a little too thick/ ' said the cockney. " If that's hay, just show me

A FINAL CURE.Lord Braxfield, a Scotch judge, once said to an eloquent

culprit at the. bar, "You're a vara clever chiel, mon ; but I'm thinking ye

wad be nane the waur o' a hangin'."

A PRESIDENT'S BULL. The following bull appears in the American

President's message recently delivered:" W e are at peace with all the world,

and we seek to maintain our cherished relations with the rest of mankind."

LOSING TIME.A toper, being on a visit to a neighbouring squire, when a

very small glass was set before him after dinner, pulled the servant by the

skirts, and thus expostulated with him: " What is this glass for ? Does your

master wish to keep me here all night ? "

PROFESSIONAL ENTHUSIASM.-Matoisi, a French physician, was so fond

of administering medicine, that, seeing all the phials and pill boxes of hispatient completely emptied, and ranged in order on the mantelpiece, he said,

" Ah, sir, it gives me pleasure to attend youyou deserve to be ill."

POINTED AND PERTINENT." Sir, our party has a quick way of using up

rascals," said a recent canvasser at Brighton to an elector wno would not

promise him his vote. "No doubt of it, sir," was the reply; "a party tha':

makes such habitual use of rascals must use many of them up tools can't last

always,'*

LANCASHIRE WIT.Two workmen, passing a nicely cushioned carriage^

which was waiting for one of the great Manchester Cotton lords at his count

ing-house door, one said to the other, " Bill, I'm darnt if I shouldn't loik to

have a drive out in that ere fine coach."" Then thee get in, Jack," was the

reply^ " and they'll very soon drive thee out." *

A -HINT THROWN AWAY.-A few weeks after a late marriage, the doting'

husband had some peculiar thoughts when putting on his last clean shirt, as

he saw no appearance of a " was hing/' He thereupon rose earlier than usual

one morning and kindled the fire. When hanging on the kettle, he made a

noise on purpose to arouse his easy wife. She peeped over the blankets and

exclaimed^ " My dear , what's up the day ? " He deliberately responded,

" A'v put on ma last clean serk, and am gann to wash a one to mysel'."

" Vera weel," said Mrs. Easy, " ye had better wash me ane too ! "Glasgow

Gazette.

A PRACTICAL SPIRITUALIST.A dry did codger, connected with the rail

road interest a' man who listens always and speaks little, and was never

known to argue a hobby with anybody, has lately been all mouth and ear to a

very communicative spirit of the ultra school, l ie listened to and swallowed

all sorts of things from the other world with so much placidity of assent

that the spiritualist at last believed him to be one of the faithful. A few

days since the spiritualist said to his pupil, " The spirit of Brown appeared

to me last night, and ordered me to bdrrow five pounds of you," for a

certain purpose, which was named. "Y es , I know it did," replied he, " and

isn't it strange ? The same spirit called on me half an hour afterward,

and told me not to let you have the money, as it had made a mistake in

giving you the order! " The spiritualist hasn't been to see the old codger

since.

THE QUEEN AND THE COUNTRYWOMAN.One forenoon, last autumn, asQueen Yictoria, some hundreds of miles distant from her Life Guards, was

taking a solitary walk along a public road in the vicinity of Balmoral, she

met a°countrywoman carrying a basket of eggs, with whom she entered into

conversation. In reply to a question put to her, the basket-carrier said she

was going with her eggs to the placea name given to Balmoral by the

Highlanders to distinguish it from every other place in the world. " Do you

get° a good price for your eggs?" inquired her Majesty. "Sometimes,"

replied the woman, " but we aye get the best price when the Queen comes."

On this her Majesty offered to purchase the contents of the basket, and

tendered a golden sovereign in exchange. " I cannot break it, my leddy,"

meaning that she had not change enough. " 0 , never mmd," said the Queen,

"i f you cannot break it you must keep it whole. Take your eggs to the

place, and tell the people there that the Queen has paid for them. The

honest woman st at ed back with uplifted hands, and with j oy and[surprise

pictured in her face, exclaimed, " Is that your .amsei', Mistress Albert? Is

that your ainsel' ? "

SIMPLE DIVISION.A manufacturer, pretty well to do in the world now,

was, some twenty years ago, a poor boy in a merchant's counting- houseOne of the most marked traits of his character was an inordinate love of

money. In the course' .of tjme, he was of age, and thought it was about time

to get married. He V « "t o a

neighbouring town, and was introduced

to the daughter of a web.1

"to-do tradesman. " Fine gir ," said the embryo

manufacturer to his friends, ^ho had been the means of introduction to the

lady. " Very," was the reply • "H o w m u c a

-m i

Sn t M r

: ?b e w o r f c Q ?

he asked. " About ten thousa_,

has he got ? " continued our he.1

S a d . ' " Ahouf t a , V - the reply." <' And how -

i T, L > j i ro " Onlv three. ihree into ten goes

^ e e ^ L T t S v ^ t ^ y e r e d the young » a n . w a s

a chance, and he improved it, too. i n i • , ; , . c < r „« , r f l

unsophisticated daughter of the trade. ^ ^ . K S * ' "

He made love to the beautiful and

- r i ~ .i i - cur as ever went uulicked, his suit

to say, for te was as uncouth a looking ^ * o o n c d o f f a s ah honey-

prospered, and they ware married. The . ™ ^ lively and chatty, and made

moons do, and they were hapny The bria ^ J n a m e £ / n e t h o u , h t

allusions to nor brothers and sisters. Startle , Q c v e n i * t t e a he said, "My

should not be in the catalogue of relations, on t l S o t | „ M t t / e

dear, I thought there were but three of you. - E l e v e n i^to ten, no times

fair one, "but pa's first wile had eight more."a d

;U U L | J T

;U

.T

VJ kickedand none o^r," said the astonished benedict, who h% i ,J

,>1 a 1 c

"

over a chair* and groaned in perfect agony, " I'm sola '

Published by BENJAMIN BLAKE, 4 2 1 , Stffhd, London, \ *°W

^ °m a

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Family Herald 18th August 1860

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Transcript of Family Herald 18th August 1860