Family Herald 28 July 1860

8/7/2019 Family Herald 28 July 1860

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/family-herald-28-july-1860 1/16

FAMILY& Domestic J&agajme of

TH E REPROACHES OE A FRIEND SHOULD BE STRICTLY

JUST,, AND NOT TOO FREQUENT.

HERALD§? ©srtul Information anfc amusement

T HE TRIALS OF LIFE ARE THE TESTS WHICH ASCERTAIN

HOW MUCH GOLD T HE R E IS IN US.

N o . 9 0 0 . — V O L . X V I I I . ] F O R T H E W E E K E N D I N G J U L Y 28 , 1860 . [ P R I C E O N E P E N N Y .

HOW KKSTD I N D E E D OF J E N N Y !

I shan't so soon forget last June,

W h en off by train I started,With rod and line I eut a shine,

Bu t soon fel t broken-hearted !The storm arose and soak'd my clothes,

T h ey seem'd not worth a penny ;Al l day I troll'd, and caught—a c o l d ;

But oh, how kind was Jenny !

'Twas Jenny's cai-e, I do declare,

Di d more than all to cm-o me,

He r gentle smile had help'd the while

To strengthen and assuro me ;

She kindly said she'd make the bed,With sheets and blankets many,

A n d arrowroot she'd bring to b o o t -

H o w kin d indeed of Jen ny !

I j o y could trace in her sweet face

When hearing I was single;

I 'm quite enraged that I 'm engaged

To Miss Jomima Pringle ;

Without my nurse I had been wor se ,

•She was the best of any,

A n d if Miss P. w o u l d set me free,

I soon would wed with J enny !

E. T. W.

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

ALICE COVENTRY.

C H A P T E R I.

There are not many better li vings in the We st of England than that of

Lytton Gorge, and f ew so delight fully situate. The rectory is a snug, com

modious house, rebuilt just long enough to have reaped the benefit of modern

improvements, without having the unseemly gloss of yesterday upon it.

The church, which stands withi n the shado w of its wall s, is a sufficiently

picturesque structure of the mixed Norm an type, with firm-set square tow er

boasting its peal of bells, and its internal wood-work of black oak being of

that massive description which bears an indisputable testimony to a venerable

antiquity. Church, rectory, and parish inclusiv e, are pitched in a lovely

wooded valley, comprising some of the prettiest scenery and richest meadows

in England, and watered in opposite directions by broad and shallow streams,

which run down from the adjacent heights. A wide extent of downlauds ,

dear to the enthusiastic fox- hunte rs of the district, rise on all sides, swe lli ng

here and there into hills lofty enough to serve as landmarks at sea, and againsloping downwards into choice pasturage.

One practised glance at the water-meadows dappled with cows, the slopes

thronged with sheep and cornfields waving to the verge of the horizon , with

occasional glimpses of substantial farmhouses and homesteads crowded^with

grain, is sufficient to show that our Lytton Gorge is an agricultural Utopia,

and that the portly farmers who paid their heavy tithes with such unmiti

gated good humour into the treasury of the Iteverend L ione l Brooke could

afford to do so, and also to la ugh at their host's thrice-told stories at the

annual tithe dinner. This gentleman, the present incumbent of Lytt on

Gorge, is pre-eminently one of those men w ho are popularly described as

the pets of fortune, and she has never done him a more grac ious turn than

when she place d him at thirty years of age in the above living, having in

possession at the same time a pretty, docile wife, and two lovely boys. At

our present date, those two lovely boys are also prosperous incumbents,

having been bred for the Church as a matter of course, policy dictating, and

with consequent experiences almost as auspicious as their father's

The lieverend Lionel Brooke himself during the same interval has buried

his first wife and espoused a second, for whom he was called upon to performthe same melan chol y duties after a few years o f married ' life of a singularly

felicitous kind ; for, fortunate as his original venture in matrimony had been,

he always professed and esteemed himsel f s till more fortunate in the sec ond.

Tw o daughters were the issue of this marriage, the eldest of whom had been

married some six months before the era of our tale to a gentleman of the

neighbo urhood of most satisfactory dispos ition and fortune, and with the

youngest we have immediate concern.

It is a lovely morning in July , and the country in the pr ime of its beauty.

The near-lying woods are denso with folinge, and. stand motionl ess in the still

blue air; the mendows are green with that vivid tint which tells of the recent

scythe, and the golden stacks chr onicle a bounteous season. The corn-fields

are almcst ripe tor the harvest, and seem to glow in the eye of the sun, while

the cattle stand on the utmost chest of the hills, defining "themselves in sharp

outline against the profo und azure of the sky. The re is that sultry languor

n the atmosphere whic h is peculi ar to the perfection of the season, as if

Nature had read ied her cl imax of fruition, and paused with sus pended

breath, there is silence in the groves, for the time of singing-birds is almost

past; perhaps a skylark may spring suddenly up and rend the quiet air withhis delicious notes, and towards sunset yo u may hear the bl ackbir d whist le or

the thrush trill her dying song, but the full chorus is over for another year.

The rectory garden is full of the scen t of roses and clematis, and there are

shady alleys which even on such a.day as this the sun can scarcely pierce.

An d so Eliinor Brooke, tired perhaps of the seclusion of her drawi ng-ro om,

puts down her wo rk, and steps out therein from the open window. A letter

has arrived that morning at the r ectory, with which Elli nor' s min d is very

:i)00:

full; it was addressed to her father ; but he, in t he plenitude of his good

temper at its contents, has surrendered the pri ze to her ; and now havin g

reached a certain point in her walk, where a bench has been placed under an

old walnut-tr ee, and which commands a view of the publ ic thoroughfare

below, she sits down, and taking the letter out of her pocke t, reads it t hrough

again. While thus engaged she hears the clatter of horses' hoofs coming

along the road at no moderate speed, and the sound of the rider's voice, as \i

still further urgi ng its pace. A well-bre d, gentle smile passes over her lips.

" It is Alice ! " she said to herself. " W h o else but Alice Coventry would

ride at that pace on such a morning ? "

Since the chances were that the impetuo us rider will pass her unobserved,

and would not even hear a shout had she incline d so far to do violence to

herself as to try the experiment, she snatched a twi g heavy with nuts from

the tree above her head, and dropped it almost under the horse's hoofs.

It was a thoughtless action; the spirited pony swerved so suddenly that he

would inevitably have thrown a less consummate hor sewoma n. As it was infact Alice Coventry, she kept her seat, without even making an ejaculation,

and reining in her startled steed, lilted a smiling face to the frightened girl.

" Good morni ng, Saint El ii no r; I can't stay n ow to do your behests, for I

have business at the hi gher end of the farm. On my way back I will come

in and talk to you."

" But the heat, Alice, the heat! " pleaded Eliinor.

"There is a fine breeze when one goes at this pace," said Alice ; and

with a playful salute she galloped on.

What a face, what a voice passed away with her ! Some who are fond of

classifying female attractions would call hers a Spanish face, because

it has the traditional points of Spanish beauty, but at least there is no

trace o f the voluptuous langu or of southern blood ; it is radiant with

intellect, sparkling with animation. There is a vibrati on in the tones of

her voice that ring like silver on the ear and touch the heart.

There is no need of any disguise in respect to our heroine; she is the

daughter of one of the wealthy farmers o f the neigh bour hoed.

A few hours afterwards the tw o girls were in animated discussion on the

subject of Ellinor' s commu nicat ion, which was no less a one than the expectedadvent of a curate. Under some circumstances this would have been a very

insignificant event, but in a secluded couutr y parish it was an era; and^

moreover, there were peculiarities in this case which might have made it or*

importan ce in circles of far higher pretension.

Hear the fair El iinor on the topic, sitting with her hands folded over the

letter, and her face unusually animated : — " Imagi ne a youu g man in his

position entering the church and renouncin g the wo rld ! " she says.

" M y dear Eliinor," laughs Alice, "t he two are not absolutely identical

positions!"

" But have I not told you, Alice, that he has already obtained such

distinction that he had every prospect of a high political appointment ? "

"B ut , my dear, you have told me as well that he also enjoys at the present

time a highly satisfactory prospect, namely, that of the family liv ing ; and,

perchance he may prefer an easy life and positive returns to the shoals and

quicksands of statesmancraft. He ig ho ! such would not be my choice."

The young girl rose up as she spoke from the sofa on wh ich she had been

resting with a gesture o f restrained impatience , and taking up her hat and

gathering together the folds of her habit as preliminaries of departure, heldout her hand to her friend.

" You loojc hurt, Eliinor, and I would not give you real cause for pain for

the w or ld ; but, consider, I do not know your hero . He is, perhaps, as good

as yo u say, nay, if you like, I will say he is; only —it must cost him so very

little trouble to be good. I like a fight, a struggl e—somet hing resisted,

somethin g won . I never fancied any on e's way to happiness lay in the line

of their natural inclinations. Your cousin seems to me to have his path

strewed with roses, as some people express it, and his friends stand by

applauding because he treads it wit h a linn step and resolu te air. I would

applaud too if, instead of roses, it was crossed with burni ng ploug h-sh ares ."

It was now Ellinor's turn to laugh. " Alas for mortal weakness, Alice ;

is there no merit short of burnin g plo ughshares ? Poo r, dear Luk e! nothing-

less than a crusader, or Bomish penitent, will commend itself to your warm

heart."

Alice disliked ridicule intensely, and had hardly deli vered her speech before

she was acutely conscious of the extravagance into whic h her enthusiasm had

betrayed her. But she carried off her vexati on in rather a pusillanimous

way." Lu ke !" she repeated; " what a barbarous name ! Wh o in the world gave

i t h im ? "

" H i s godfathers and godmothers at his baptism, so please yo u, " returned

Eliinor, smiling with invincible good-humo ur. " Luke, Luke Baillie, sounds

very well to my accustomed ear, and at all events it is one of the ol dest

names in the county."

" A h ! " said Alice, " I am afraid my veins are to o full of plebeian blood



194 THE FAMILY HERALD — A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [July 28, lSrtO.

to appreciate thai distinction as I ought. Good bye, Eliinor ! I think I

shall walk down again this eveftfng in order to talk the matter over with

the rector."

As it happened, however, she had not gone many paces on her homewa rd

wa y before she overtook the Rev. Lionel Brooke, who immediately turned on

his steps to walk awhile beside her pon y and chat, for Alice Coventry was a

special favourite with him.

" So ! " he said, in his courteous cheer y way, " you are on your way back

from a gossip with Eliinor. Well, and ho w do you like the news ? "

" Wh at news ? " asked Alice, look ing up with an air of innocent surprise.

" Wh y, of my nephew, to be sure ," rejoined the rector, AVIIO was easy to

impose upon . " 1 tell you he is one of the first youn g men of the ag e! Wh en

I was in town the other day on this very business, Lor d R aincliffe assuredme in confidence that it wras only his extreme y outh which prevented him

from bein g appointed charge d'affaires during his ow n recent absence from

Constantinople. Y ou knew he was in the ambassador's suite ? "

Alice bent over her pony to hide the saucy smile which played on her lips.

" N o , not exact ly," she said ; " I knew he was every way a man of dis

tinction. Good heavens ! that he should be about to throw himself away on

the good people of Lytton Gorge! M y dear, dear sir, we coidd not be

better off!"

" Than k you, my dear gir l, thank yo u," said the rector. " I hope I have

always done my duty, and am glad to say I continue to feel myself equal to

its performance. Still, it is desirable that Luke should become acquainted

with the routine business of a country cure. I think we oan teach him that,"and with an affectionate pressure of the hand he bade her good morning.

Alice turned bac k her head to watch h im out of sight with a half-smile

lighting up her beautiful face. She was musing over her rector's short

comings, and wonderin g if he were quite unconscious of them —won derin g if

he ever tried to reco ncile to himself tho humil ity of the Christian with thatworship of worldly rank and influence whi ch was one of his most striking

characteristics. Spea k to him when you woul d, on whatever topic you

pleased, perchance only wishing to exchang e a few common-p laces in a way

side encounter, he woul d infallibly succeed in maki ng some allusion, more or

less direct, to the distinguished personages with wh om he was or professed

himself to be acquainted. This weakness was so inveterate, so entirely

regardless of time and place, that it might be more correctly described as an

instinct, or, at least, this was Alice Coventry's experience of the same.

Wh eth er he carried it with him wh en he went into the grea t world , Qr

wheth er it was only part and parcel of his essential relations with his

parishioners, it was not in her powe r to jud ge, having never seen him out of

the circle of Ly tto n Gorge, neither could she determine whether the air of

intense self-sat isfaction in wh ich to her he alway s seem ed to float as in> an

atmosphere, was also an accident o f his position as village pastor.

After all is said, Alice, let us not be too hard upon him; for nearly thirty

years he has been supreme in that small sphere, working hard in the midst of

it, responsive to every call of parish duty, but imbi bing day by day a deeper

sense of his own authority and importance from an almost uninterrupted

intercourse with his inferiors. It is a trying ordeal for a man, to be

perpetually eng aged in an instinctive comp arison between his own mind andcharacter and that of others, mentally and morally beneath him . There is so

little stimulus to personal progress, such abund ant food for self-gratulation,

that to resist successfully the d amag ing influences would require a most

unflaggin g watchfulness, a most vigorou s and practical piety .

Some such reflection as this softened the expression of Alice's face as she

rode slowly homew ards, but every recollec tion of the new curate clou ded it

again. She was so thoro ughl y imbu ed with the present state of things at

Lytton Gorge that the idea of innovation was hateful. She and Eliino r had

it all their own way in the schools and cottages of the poor : the Rev. Luke

Baillie would bo sure to have his own plans—new plans, objectionable plans,

of course—he would probably bring with him high church notions, aristocratic

curates with a reversionary interest in the family living of £2,00 0 a year

invariably entertain such notions; she would live to see sweet Eliinor at work

on an altar-cloth for the dear old communion-table. Worse ! he would

interrupt her delightful intercourse with her fr iend; she wou ld often find him

loun ging in the re ctory dra wing -roo m when she came down for one of her old

pleasant mo rnin g gossips w ith El iin or ; nay ! he migh t even fall in love

with his cousin and marry her !This was the clima x! Lytton Gorge without Eliinor ! and, of course, the

thing would happen thus. W h o could kn ow Eliino r, dear, saintly Eliino r,

without loving her ? and what possible objection could there be to the oldest

name in the county and £2,000 a year?

The patience of Alice was so entirely overthrown by these considerations,

that she was not prepared to do justice to the choice morsels of chicken which

Mrs. Coventry's maternal solicitude had put aside from their early family

dinner.

" M y dear," said her mothe r affectionately, " you have over-exerted yourself

this morni ng. I must not let you ride in the heat of the da y."

Alice sat down on a cushion at her mother's feet and laid her head in her

lap. Ther e is a tender bon d between the two , closer than the bond of mere

relationship. Mrs . Coventry was a poor curate's daughter, so poor thatshe had never known plenty or -ease of mind, till the rich young farmer took

her home as his quiet downcast bride. Since that time her cares have been

few, and lightened of all their bitterness by the a bidin g and manly fondness of

her excellent husband. Peop le had said, when Rob ert Coventry married her,

that he had made a poor choice for a farmer's wife ; but she has effectually

disproved their prophecies, and sh own them that education and refinement arenot necessary stumbling blocks in th e way of the performance of the most

active and practical duties of life. Ther e is not in all the county side a

more -thrifty or efficient house wife , and I dou bt if those wh o equal her in

this respect could compet e with he r in her intelligent d evotion to her husband's

requirements, or in her tenderness and wisdo m towards her child ren.

Of three children Aliee is the only survi vor, and if she has been a little spoilt

and made a good deal more of than is well for her, it is not m uch to be wondered

at As her father says, "T he re are few lords of the land who can boast

of such a dau gh te r!" And at all events the atmosphere of hearty love,

indulgence, and adm iratio n in. wh ich she has always lived seems to suit her.

She expanded early, not like a hot-house plant, but like one of the vivid

magnificent ferns of the locality. At this time she was in the very perfection

of her youth, w&h beauty and spirit enoug h to dazzle all the yo ung yeomen

of the district, and with enough to make them hesitate to bring their homage

to her feet; with an intellect profound yet sparkling, and above all a heart

which throb bed responsive to all the noblest and best emotions of our higher

nature.

While her father doats up on her for her generosi ty and brigh t practicalintelligence, for her skill as a horsewoman , and her brilliant attractive

grace, her mot her alone does full ju stic e to the chiva lric sense of hon our, the

unselfish ardour, wh ich is the char m of her characte r.

So no w Alice sat quie tly at her mot her' s feet, feeling the contact did her

good, and gazing out with a p rophet ic yearning over the ripe corn-fields and

blue hills misty in the haze of the afternoon sun. Th e familiar sounds of the

adjacen t homeste ad struck softly and dreamily on her ear ; it cam e home to

her mind with sudden force, as such ideas often come, how very happy, and

unclouded her life had hith erto b een, and that a time must a rrive when the

easy flow would be interrupted.

" I have a fore bod ing," she said, look ing up at her mother with a smile,

"that a change is coming, and since we could not be happi er it remain s to be

seen that the Reverend Luk e Baillie will work us ill. But I f orget— I have

not told you yet about that reverend paragon and interloper."

C H A P T E R I I,

It so happened that immediately before the arrival of the Reverend Luke

Baillie on the scene of his probationary labours, Alice Coventry received a

summons to London to attend the sick bed of a relative of her father's, and

circumstances detained her there for the remainder of the current year. I t

was on Christmas Eve that she arr ived at ho me, as eager to return to her

mother and her native village as a prisoner from exile. Luring that interval

she ha d correspond ed punctually with Eliino r, and had heard from her an

unbrokc* history of the new curate's ways and modes of life.

According to Ellinor's partial account Luke Baillie was in possession of the

choicest gifts of heave n ; he was so clever , so talented, she said, and in proof

of her word s she wo uld quote passages from his sermons, or furnish a digest,

of the same, which seemed to her impatient reader the wor st possible way of

filling a letter. She would describe his success amongst the poor, and the

enthusiasm his mod e of dealing with them had excited, and whilst thus

engaged in fulfilling conscientious ly the humblest and most laborious of his

duties, he was writing a book—a controversial work—which was to place his

name in the first rank of polemical divines. Beyond this her mother was

full of Luke Baillie's praises ; he was so thoroughly a gentleman, so delightful

a compan ion, and he wou ld often spend an hour chatting with her to relieve

the so litude o f her dau ghter's abse nce; and as a climax to these feminine

tributes, M r. Coventry himself, in his rare epistles to the absentee, filled half of them with dilations on the same th eme. Mr. Baillie had succeeded in intro

ducing certain agricultural reforms in the district, against which the popular

feeling had hitherto run so high , that that fact a lone testified to no mean

amount of perseverance and personal influence, and Alice received from her

father all the details of the warfar e, and the reiterated assurance that " the

ne w parson was a man of uncomm on practical sagacity, and with no nonsense

about him ." ,

Now Alice Coventry , without bein g more contrary than her age and the

circumstances of the ease excused, felt considerably provo ked by the eminent

position so quickly attained by the stranger. All the inno vations she had

dreaded had taken place, and she said to herself she should scarcely know her

native village under this new order of things. Besides, she had a theoretical

objection to that class of persons who win golden opinions on all sides.

He r o wn acquaintance w ith Mr . Baillie commence d immediately, for he

preached on Christmas Day. Alice had resolutely determined' not to

like h im, but, as often h appen s, he was so entir ely different from her pr e

conceived notions, that it seem ed as if she had been fighting against a shadow.

She had prepared herself to see a tall, handsome young man, with the "idealcurate " aspect, and a s omew hat oste ntatious appearan ce o f refinement and

aristocracy ; was it possible that this little dark man with sallow brow, strong

features, and resonant voice, could be the hero of the gentle Ellinor's rap

turous letters—the potential charge d'affaires of Mr. Brooke's confidential

ambassado r? No w, howeve r, was not the time to wonder, for she found

herself compelled to listen to the sermon just begun .

Alice had always presc ribed it to herself as a religious duty to follow her

rector closely thr oug h his discourses , but it had usually been more or less of

an effort; it was a new thing, and a delightful novelt y, to have her attention

forcibly chained.

Lu ke Bail lie' s text was a very simple and familiar one, just one of those

from whic h thousands of stereotyped sermons are weekly preached, and from

which, in fact, people do not feel themselves justified in expecting any other.

He was speaking upon it, too, very simply, that is, plainer sentences could not

have b een spoken, but he was saying what Alice, at least, had never heard

said there before. It was not a new view of the subject, but a view taken

from a high er elev ation, and by a purer, k eener vision, and indicated to those

beneath in language which had all the dignified simplicity of a theme

profoundly studied and com pletely understood.

The w hole village assembly was listening to him ; b eyon d a few very old

people who came to church as a religious necessity, but whose physical con

dition prevented them from carrying the duty further than the attendance,

every rustic face was upturned towa rds the preauher, and shining with ita

respective ray of intelligence.



July 28, I860. ] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. .195

Alice listened too Avith uprai sed face, and it was a face so brilliantly

expressive of minute comprehension and intellectual delight, that it would

have been next to impossible for even the most abstracted speaker not to have

noticed it. Luke Baillie did not fail to notice it. Keen ly susceptible to the

influence of beauty, and sensitive as a woman to the so lace of sympathy, thatinspired look of Alice touched his soul, and broug ht an unwonted colour to

his cheek.

It was strange that it should be so, and he checked the involuntary thrill

of pleasure as something c rim inal ; for his cousin Eliinor, sitting meekly in

the chancel behind him, is, he is well aware, no unmoved listener. He

cannot see her face, but he is sufficiently familiar with the gentle intel ligen ce

shining in her sweet, downc ast eyes ; and perhaps he knows that every word

that drops from his l ips is r eceived by her as the voice of an angel, andfollowed with the devotion of a saint. At least he knows that no later than

yesterday he has w on from her the acknowledgment of her love, and thathenceforth their lives must be united.

As Alice had foreboded, it had happened. They had lived under the same

roof, and met and parted morning and evening. The young man in his

clerical enthusiasm had talked ardently to her o f his plans and hopes , his

desires and disappointments ; and she had followed his words and acts with

an unhalting interest, and given him in return for his confidence the whole

tender strength of her faithful heart. Al l their mutual friends said that" they were made for each othe r." It was Mr . Bro oke 's secret hope ; it had

become Ellino r's unacknowledged prayer. Luke Baillie himself believed ho

loved her. It was impossible for any man to see the soft sparkle of so sweet

u face answering to his presence, and to feel the timid hesitation with Avhich

she gave or withdrew her hand, and not be moved by it. Besides, he had

pledged himself to a life of strenuous performance of his allotted duties. And

where else could he find so fitting a helpmate for him as in his uncle' s

daughter? Eliinor was the very ideal of a country rector's wife. True,1 what he felt for her was not li ke the stormy passion whi ch had moved him

more than once in his antecedent worl dly career. But he wou ld not have it

thus—no. Would to Heaven he could blot out that past! Far be it from

him to recal even the shado w of exper ience s!

And so he had chosen his wi fe—cast his lot in the m ost mome ntou s of

all mundane affairs ; and E lii nor sits in the chancel with an unutterable joy

swelling at her heart. When the service is over Alice stops in the church

yard to speak to her fri ends ; and after the first enthusiastic greeti ngs the

rector introduces his nephew with beaming complacency. How he longs to

tell Alice of the nearer relationship which imp ends ! Eliin or says shyly,

" Alice could not reconcile herself to the prospect of your coming, Luk e ; but

you must teach her to like you, and forgive all your innovations."

" I have already made my recantation," replied Alice, suffering for a

moment her animated gaze to fall full on the you ng curate's face; and he

could not fail to read there that it was her ardent approval of the sermon just

heard which had sufficed to bear down her former prejudice.

" Y o u must come and spend a long day with us to- mor row ," urged El iinor,

and with this arrangement they parted; and L uke Baillie walked home by

his cousin's side mute and abstracted, and only roused to a consciousness of

the fact when the rector rallied him on his silence.

W e all know that love at first sight is an ex plo ded romanco in this deli

berate and c ommerci al age ; but true it was that the vision of Alice's face, as

he first saw it i n the v ill age church , Avas haunting our Curate with a most

imperious pertinaci ty. He was too good a man, however, too zealously bent

on controlling any feeling contrary to his sense of duty, to give place to t he

impression produ ced ; and half an hour 's solitu de, followed up by the sweet

companionship of Eliinor, sufficed to restore his min d to its normal serenity .

He talked much that day about the rectory-house on the family estate, which

would be their future h ome, and urg ed on his recently affianced wife ho w

unnecessary a trial of his love it was to protract their marriage till the

expiration of the year for which Mr. Bro oke had stipulated.

Ho w happy Eliinor was when she wrent to bed that night! What bright

visions of future happiness, o f hallow ed bliss, floated before her mind ! Ho w |

good had the Almi ght y been to her ! It should be the aim of her life to prove j

her gratitude to Him for the inestimable gift he had conferred.

The next day Alice came, and Eliinor told her of her engagement. Of

course Alice congratulated her; she did not express what she felt at this

promp t fulfilment of her wor st fears ; she said to herself, it wo uld be unkind to j

damp Ell ino r's happiness, and she sat listening to her friend's praises of her j

lover with a most unwonted patience. There had been so much in yesterday's

sermon that she had liked and admir ed that the subject was not unin

teresting to her, and, added to that, Elli nor' s news had certainly damped her ;

spirits.

She revived, however, when her old friend the rector joined them, about an

hour before dinner, and when Luke himself came in he found her enga ged in

animated talk. She was saying h ow much she had suffered in mind and body

during her imprisonment in L ondo n, and describing it with all the graphic

detail of an absolute cap tivit y.

It was very pleasant to Luke Bail lie to listen to Alice quietly ; she was so

beautiful that to watch the mere pla y of her features made it a remunera tive

study ; much more so whe n ideas seemed to spring into her mind elate with j

the vigour and freshness of her own nature, and expressed by her with that j

prompt felicity which is one of the happiest of mental endowments. He

could not resist the tem ptatio n to induce h er, as the first shyness of new j

acquaintanceship wore off, to talk to himself; he felt an irresistible desire to |

know how this ardent and gifted girl felt and thought on this subject and that,and he had all the graceful art of a pra ctised man of society to lead her on j

unconsciously to reveal herself to his curiosity.

Eliinor watched with smiling interest the flow of their conversation; she (

wished her friend and her cousin to like one another, and was pleased to I

observe that Alice had seldom looked better or talked to such advantage. j

In the course of the evening the rector, who was very fond of music, asked ]

Alice to give them one of his favourite ballads. She was now in hi gh

spirits, and, always willing to please him, sat down at once to comply.

" I do not kn ow o f course what you understand and think about musi c,"

she said to Mr . Baillie, who had followed her to the piano, " but at least you

will acquit me of vanity when you have heard me sin g."

Alice, whose educat ion had been very desultory and unfinished, played and

sang no better than a fine natural voice, correc t ear, and in tense feeling for

music enabled her to do. It was, however , very expressive, if very unculti

vated ; and that was what the rector cared for most.

Luk e smiled when she had finished ; but certainly he did not praise her, nor

did the smile indicate any large amount of admiration.

" I had forgotten," said Alice, blushing, " that Eliinor told me you were a

wonderful musician. It was hardly fair of you to let me play ."" He shall play himself n ow ," cried the rector, gleefull y; "f or I protest I

have never heard him since he has been under our roof ! li as he made a vow

against it, Nel ly, as appert ainin g to the gouHess pleasures of this world ? "

Without a word of dissent Luke Baillie sat down to the piano.

Some people may think it unmanly to hear a man per form ; others may

object to it in a cler gyma n; but these are those who look upon music as a mere

accomplishment. They do not know that to some it is a medium of expression

more perfect, because more subtle, than language, the organ of an imperious

faculty more divine, because more universal, than any other. Luk e Baillie

was one of these; and under his hands Ellino r's piano became a strange

instrument, endued wit h a power of utterance Alice had never dreamed

possible before. As she followed, attent and almost breathless, that gifted

improvisation, it seemed as if the very soul of the musici an were confess ing

itself to her ear. The curate's sermon had shown the gifted and tutored

mind, what after a strug gle (with whic h we have nothi ng here to do) that

mind had become ; but the native strength and weakness, the strife and passion

of the man's human heart, all those complex emotions, which language is

neither strong nor delicate enough to convey, found their translation now.

Whe n Luke Baillie, lab ouring himself under strong excitement, for it was

long since he had indulged in this dangerous license, rose up from his seat,

and looked at Alice to note the effect produced, he met in her suspended

breath, flushed cheek, and gleaming eyes, such an acknowledgment of his

power, and of her comprehen sion of it, as it woul d have been wel l he had

neither tested nor proved.

I kno w our hero is weak and to be much cond emne d; at least I know the

reader will think so, Avhile in my own ,he art I pity h im and ca nnot cast the

stone he may deserve so ric hly. Thi s new passion has taken a violent hold of

him, possessed him with all the ungovernabl e powe r he vainly th ough t he

had learnt to go ver n; and he wrestles with it day and night wit h the

exhaus ting effort of a man warr ing agains t a fiend. It is necessary mea n

while to hide the same, to act the hypo cri te as it were , whil e his very soul

loathes the hypocrisy. He will master it in the end, he says to himsel f; he

could not live under the sense of viol ated vows, an accusing conscience, and

sweet Elli nor' s quiet misery, granting the possibility of the other's love.

So he still is faithful in the performance of external d ut y; i ndeed, he

exacts from himself unnumbered acts of supererogation; he is still constantly

by Ellinor's side, and when there talks chiefly of their united future, and so

week follows Aveck, and summer glides into winter.

Luke Baillie's first and most natural impulse had been to fly from his

present temptati on; but he was so circumstanced through his enga gement

with Eliinor, that to absent hims elf at that particular time, witho ut some

ostensible imperative reason, would have caused a great deal of surprise and

remark. At least in this way he excused himself from so doing, scarcely

knowing himself what the effort would have cost him to separate himself from

the chances of Alice Coventry 's society. As it was he never sought it, but on

i the other hand he had little need to seek it.

Often at the close of a clay spent in a valiant warfare against the indulgence

! of his passion, Luke Baillie* wou ld return to find Alice at the rectory dinner-

table, and to drink in fresh draughts of intoxication as he listened to her

i ardent talk, and g azed into the expressive beauty of her face. More fatal

j still wrere those chance meetings by the s ick-bed of some poor parishioner, where

j she, subdued and tender , shone wit h all the saintly grace of Eli ino r, super

added to her own characteristics, and would linger to listen to the prayers

and exhortations which the curate felt hims-elf almost too guilty to offer.

| At such times the consideration that Alice was as well-fi tted as her friend

to fulfil the duties which must inevitably fall to the share of his wife, beyond1 those rarer qualities which distinguished her, added fresh bitterness to his

I regrets.

| Eliinor was lovely, intelligent, and good, and had given him her heart; he

acknowledged her worth ungrudgingly. But Alice Coventry was all this and

more; she would bestow on the man wrhom she might love all that Eliinor

had granted to him, and would add the riches of a gifted and impassioned

nature, the zest and aroma of genius and enthusiasm. Wh at his life might

; have been with Alice as his wife ! Wh at a career he might have trod den! —

I satisfying to the full his ow n heart and requirements as a man, while serving

I his Maste r and his neighbo ur as a Christ ian. Now a cross Avas his allotted

burden.

It may be said that Luke Baillie' s misery was half superfluous, seeing he

had no means of knowing that Alice would have returned his love; and if 1

confess that he deliberated this point with all the feverish eagerness of a man

free to act on the concl usion, I fear wTe shall be pronouncing his complete

condemnation. But let it be remembered that he had not sought Ellino r's

love, but that she in her transparency o f character had betr ayed it, and thather father and mutual friends ha d all but offered her to his accepta nce as a

suitable wife. Had he foreborne to pledge his faith but one day longer , the

day he first saw Alice Coventry, he would have been free, for he had loved her

from that first glance.

Well , well, such recollecti ons were fruitless no w; his duty was plain, he

must conquer his heart. Had not such victories been gained before ? Was



196 THE FAMILY HERALD — A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [J ul y 28, 1860.

not life a period of trial and effort, and was he to show himself the weak and

vanquished comb atant ? No , n o ; he wou ld leave the scene of this hard

tempation ; at a distance he could better fight this battle, and he w rould only

return to marry Eliinor, take her to their quie t hom e, and fulfil those duties

towar ds her, which the vows of a husband w ould make easier, because so

imperative.

lie hud not seen Alice for a week or two preceding this resolve, and then

lie had parted from her under the convi ction that he was not so miserable as

to have entangled her happiness with his own .

Not so miserable ! so at least he said to him self ; but he scarce ly dece ived

his own soul. Th e sound of her voice, the slightest touch of her hand, or

even of her dress, was almost more than he could bear without betrayal of hisfeelings ; and weak , guil ty, disastrous as that love might have been, Heaven

knows with what delirious ccstacy it wou ld have been welcomed!

Yes; he would go away, that step was binding on his honour; and ho

renewed his determination every night, to break it again' in the morning.

Perhaps he might see her that day by acciden t—with design he had l ong

ceased to seek he r; but she would be co min g down to visit Eliin or perhaps.

H e would see her once more before he parted from her for ever, and then

As a safeguard against his own weakness, he had spoken both to Eliin or and

her father on the subject of his departure, alleging his health as his excuse,

and the relaxing air of the valley ; and, in truth, his appearance well sustained

the statement. Of the true state of the ease neither of those most interested

had the least suspicion. Eliin or thoug ht he was ill and harassed; but she

attributed much to over exertion, and the rest to an extreme zeal in the

welfare of his parishioners. She knew no thing of the idiosyncrasies of lovers ;

and if she even missed those nameless endea rments , tho se impa lpab le caresses

which are with some the food and fruit of love, she attributed it to the

elevation of his character, and blamed her own inferior grace. Besides, there

are those who think it a treason to turn about, examine, and analyse the good

gift which has been bestowed.

She did not fail, however, to notice that Luke looked pale and worn, and to

expostulate with him for not carryin g out his intention of goi ng away and

taking a short holiday from his rigorou sly fulfilled dut ies; and in this the

rector joined her.

" I believe, Luk e," said the latter, "that you are pining for your wife.

Well , well, if you come back ruddy and vi gorou s, I will e'en let you take her

us a Christmas gi f t! " An d Luke , perforce, must turn to hide the guilty

crimson of his face over Ellinor's little hand.

This passing dialogue brought the matter to a crisis. Unless he deci ded to

break off his engagem ent with Eliino r, he must go at once. The idea did

occur to him of confessing the whole truth to her, and trusting himself to her

pity and generosity, or rather to her woman's sense of digni ty. But there are

silken cords which bind more stron gly than fetters; and the very gentleness

of Ellinor's nature, the cordial approba tion o f her father in view of their

alliance, seemed to make such a proceeding pusillanimous.

So once more he fixed the day of his departure, and the interval between

was filled with do ubt and hes itation as to the necessity of bid din g Alice

Coventry good-bye. H e distrusted himself entirely for that final interview.She herself had apparently curtailed of late her rect ory intercourse, alleging

to Elliuor as a reason that it was necessary to break by degrees the tie betw reen

them, and for the rest that she had no taste to play the third with two lovers

on the eve of separation.

Chance, however, which so often seems to turn the scale agains t the

vacillating, decided that they were to meet.

It happened one morning that Luke Baillie returned to the rectory from

his parish visitations much earlier than usual, and the first"thing he distin

guished on entering the house was the sound of Ell inor 's p iano, but touched

not by Ellinor's fingers ; it scarcely needed one momen t's breathless pause to

convince hi m that it was not only Alice, bu t that she was trying to recal one

of his improvisations.

Luke drew a deep breath ; it seemed as if temptation had presented itself

under the most alluring aspect. He hesitated one mo me nt; but hesitation is

fatal, at least in the crises of life, and the next he went on into the room.

Alice rose up abruptly as he eutered. Th e first glanc e show ed him she

looked pale and slightly agitated.

" I am ashamed," she said after the first common-place greeting, " to havebeen detected by you, Mr. Baillie. I was trying to amuse mysel f during

Ellinor's absence, but I must not wait for her any longer."

She closed the p iano as she spoke, and t ook up her hat and gloves, as if

intent on departure, then held out her hand to him, and added " I don't know

exactly when you leave us, but of course you will come and bid us good

b y e ? "

Luke took the offered hand, and held it resolutely. The re was an into

nation in her voice, a shade of paleness and softness in her face, that wrought

in hi in a sudden resol ution .

Could it be possible that she loved him ? And if she did, did duty, religio n

itself enjoin that the happiness of two should be sacrificed to o ne ) A wild

joy trembled at his heart, but he spo ke quiet ly, and with an intense effort at

self-command.

" Alice, can you wait to hear something I must tell you before we part ?

Or, is it necessary that I should tell yon that I am going away, to fight the

better against the love I bear you? Alice "

H e could control himself no lon ger; there was a concentrated passion in

the appealthat

thrilled the girl'sheart,

though she forcibly extricated her

hand from his grasp, and tried to arrest the course of his further confession,

but he bore dow n her reluctance. '

" At the risk of your perfect scorn y ou shall h^ear me ," he said. " Heav en

know s I have struggled against my love with all the energies of a man, but

it is stronger than my strength. I cannot live without you, Alice ; you are

my fate, and I must have you . If yo u do not love me 1 will teach you—

compel you j but I will not give you up. Y ou are more to me than honour,

j —than conscience itself. Hav e pity upon me, Alice ! Ho ld out som e hope-

i to me ! Tel l me at least you might have loved me."

H e caught her hand in spite of her resistance, and covered it with frantic

kisses. He ma de as if he would have knelt before her ; but there was some

thing in the erect attitude she maintaine d, and the expressi on of pro ud

patience in her face, with which she seemed to await the ebb of his passion,

that withheld him.

" Yo u are ma d," she said, in that ringing voice which had haunted hi m

night and day ; " you are mad, Mr. Baillie. Thank H eaven , I am not ma d

too. If I do not show the scorn and anger that I oug ht, it is not that I do

not feel Ellinor's wrong, but that I have faith eno ugh in you to believe thatthis is a good man's delirium."

She turned away from him with such sweet dignity, such stately self-

command, that he felt as if he dared not impugn it.

" Oh, Alice ! " he groaned, " what life might have been ! "

" Bather ," she said, " what yo ur life shall be."

There was a moment's pause between them ; then Alice said, " Go, Mr.

Baillie, I see Eliino r crossing the la wn ; g o, I entreat yo u. " She saw he

could scarcely tear himself away; and added, with a sudden impulse, " This

is not the last time we shall meet. Y o u will come to the farm to bid us all

good-bye."

He bowed speechless over her extended hand, and went away. Then her

noble strength gave way, and covering her face with her hands, a bitter,

inexpressible cry, escaped her lips.

" Luke ! Luk e! " she sobbed, " what life might have bee n! "

But Eliinor steps from the garden into the room, and Alice has her part to

play.

" Have you seen Luke ? " asks Eliino r. He r first thought is always of

Luke, and then, full of her o wn troubl es, as the very best of us will be, she

talked on at length of the near approaching parting; and when Alice rose at

length to go , added, as she turned away her blushing lace from the earnest

gaze of her friend, "b ut after our next'me etin g we shall never be separated

again."

That afternoon Alice sat at her m other's side helping her with some im

perati ve needl ewor k. She was very quiet and very pale, but when she raised

her face there was something stern in the fixed expression of her lips, and

almos t fierce in the gleam of her magni ficent eyes.

The day elapsed, the morro w came, the mo rrow on which Alice expected to

see Lu ke Baill ie again ; but the hours passed on till evening, and he did not*

come. This was a sore trial; she had allotted herself a task to perform,

wrou ght herself up to the required tension, and dreaded lest her fortitude

migh t in the end give way. She dreaded, too, lest he should have abandoned

his purpose of departure, lest he should be reckless eno ugh to fulfil his pas

sionate words. At any risk she must see him.

On the mo rnin g of the sec ond day she wrote a brie f note to him, expres sing

a hope that he would allow no consideration to induce him to leave Lytton

without making his adieu at the farm ; and when her messenger was despatched

she once more sat down at her mother's work-table.

l )o you wonder she did not fortify herself in solitude ? Alice knew herow n heart too we ll ; sol itudo is license, and not till her end was gained would

she permit herself the agonised luxury of givin g vent to her feelings. She

sat at the wind ow jwhich comma nded the familiar view of her childhood, but

with the bitter consciousness that she would never again survey the out er

world with the light-hearted rapture of a year ag o ; she had fulfilled her own

prediction.

"Tr ue , true," she answered herself, "but if it is a sadder heart it shall not

be a base one ," and she compressed the quiv ering lips and brushed away the

obtrusive tears.

" Alice," said her mother, " I see Mr . Baillie on the brow of the hil l; he

will be coming this way to bid us good-bye, I suppose. W e shall miss him

very much."

Alice rose up and kissed her moth er. " Mo th er, " she said, firmly, " I wish

to see Mr. Baillie alone. Will yo u arrange that he is shown in here and thatwe are not interrupted ? " and, as Mrs. Coventry looked at her with a glance

of tender pity and reproach, she added, " Give me a little time, moth er; I

will hide no secrets from you."

In whatever mood of mind Luke Baillie entered Alice's presence, it wasimpossible to yield to any self-indulgence in contact with her calm and resolute

composure. She did not wait for the mock ery of ordinary greetings and

inquiries, but entered on the subject at once.

" I hop e," she said, " you will not think me unfeeling in sending for you,

Mr. Bail lie, or presumptuous in what I wish to say; " and here, meeting with

her first difficulty, she paused, for it seemed unwom anly to refer to what her

companion might wish forgo tten.

Luk e himself came to her assistance. " Yo u wish to advise me ," he said,

bitterly, " to show me what I ought to do. Poin t out the narrow path,

Alice; there is nothing to cloud the keenness of your vision."

" Yo u seem to forget, Mr . Baill ie," reqlied Alice, with emotion, " that I

have never reproached you, that I do not condemn you. Heaven knows how

far we are respon sible fo r the passions and hopes we conceive; but we know

ourselves how far we ough t to follow them . Do not let us talk of the past.

I sent for you because—because I love Eliinor so dearly! "

Luk e groaned involuntarily . It was torture to hear the woman he loved

pleading the cause of anothe r; and Alice with keen intuition perceived this.

" I had formed the idea of writing to yo u," she said, "b ut I knew I couldspeak so much better to the purpose, and my whole heart is set on seeing my

friend happy, and yourself justify your real nature, which is good and noble.

But perhaps I waste your time. Yo u are come to bid us good-bye, and when

you return it will be to claim our wedding congratulations."

" Alice, spare me ! " he cried. " It is not for yo u to turn the rack ! "

For a momen t her resoluti on faltered ; and Lu ke, seeing an access of tender

pity in her face, approached her vehemently and tried to take her nand.



197

" Love me, Alice! " he said; " o wn you love me, and duty will change .

I t would be false hono ur, mistaken faith, to sacrifice the lives of two to

one."

"Thank Heaven," cried Alice passionately, " I have no such point of

casuistry to decide ! Your life, like min e, shall be no sacrificial offering. Hav e

patience with me for a few minutes, Mr. Baillie. I believe from the bottom

of my heart that Eliinor, of all women, is the one most calculat ed to make

you happy. Well, well, I waive this poi nt ; but pardon me if I say you do

not know her as I do. W e have gro wn up tog eth er; no sister could have

been dearer t o me, and I cannot conceive of a nature more sweet, pure, and

strong than hers. Her love seems to me a glorious gift, and, given once, she

will take it to the grave with her. I kno w, as she will never perhaps suffer

you to know, how profoundly she loves and respects you. If yo u abandonher, her woman's pride might sustain her under the loss of your love; but I

believe the violence done to her r everence an d faitli in you wou ld be her

death-blow. I could not bear to live and see Ellinor's life blighted."

Alice spoke low, but wit h concentrat ed earnestness. She waited for her

companion to answer her, but he stood listening with his hand before his face

so that she could not even see the effect of her words.

" It is not for me to presume to warn you ," she continu ed, " or to dare to

take a superior tone, because a good man, every way better than myself, has

fallen into a brief infatuation. But it seems to me it would be a perpetual

stumbling block in your way if you were to mistake yo ur duty in rega rd to

Eliinor. Yo u would carry on your conscience the g uilt of brok en faith, and

perhaps a broken heart, On the other hand, what strength you will gather

from a weakness conquered !—How much holier as well as nobler may Ellinor's

husband become!"

Luke Baillie withdrew his hand and gave her an earnest searchin g gl auce,

but Alice endured the scrutiny unscathed.

" Y o u are right," he said quietly, "an d I thank Heaven for saving me by

your hand. I shall go to-morr ow as has been long arranged, and I p ledg emy religious faith, Alice, that I wil l ask you for your wed ding felicitations

with a true heart and loyal purpose. Heave n bless you, Alice! the time will

come when I shall thank Heaven for having withheld from me the great

temptation of your love."

Alice is alone and free to weep ; but her tears flow from no relenting

weakness, no impassioned despair. Wi th her mother's arm around her ami

her head bowed on her bosom, she tells the truth to this tender friend, and it

is simple truth, and no woman's idle boast, when she says, "W h a t I feel would

have killed sweet Eliinor, for my love is different from hers ; but I shall get

over it, mother, soon and entirely, and shall be ab le to dress Luk e' s bride

withou t one traitorous weakness. Besides, my husband must be too strong

for a woman to guide , too firm for a woman to ben d. " N .

T H E D R E A M !

T stood again beside the t ree,The try.sting-place o f old,

Where erst wo met in youthful glee.

An d where our love we told ;

Ti) c changeful breeze, that sinks and swells,

the music of the stream,Came mingle d with the chi me of bells,—

Alas, 'twas but a dream J

'Twas but a dream, 't was but a drea m,

A phant om of the dead ;

But, oh, it broug ht a sun ny gleamOf days for ever Med.

A n d thus ma y pleasant visions steal

Of memories, fond and deep,A n d ring a t ender birthday peal,

Al t hough it be in slee p ! E. F. M.

L U C I L L E ; OR, THE LOST C H I L D .

CHAPTER X I X .

" This is a fine old hous e," said Madeline to her husband, when they were

alone together in the Chateau de X o i ; "a ll within and without bespeaks

splendour ; and every dish and plate at dinner was solid silver. An d

madame, how well and joyous she se ems; I hope she will ever remain so ;

and monsieu r—I never saw so m uch of him as since we have been here,

short as the time is—has a generous , noble nature, though we did give him

credit for some frailties of human nature ; but who is without them ? But

Jacques, I like the idea of what he proposed to yo u; for this is a charming,

thriving place, and the land a thousand times more productive than thatsurrounding Marseilles. Of course you will accept his offer ? "

" O f course," he returned, laughing, " i f Madeline has set her heart upon

it. But joki ng apart, I have seriously conned over monsieur's offer, and

shall most assuredly accept it, if I can lind a tenant for my own farm. W e

have no tics to bind us to the south: your friends lie northward, and mine are

too few and distant for us to bestow a though t on their whereabouts. And the

dear child is here, who has been like our own from its birth. To part wholly

from it would jar the lo vin g feelings of us bo th ; and again, if Lucill e should

need your services, you wil l be near to give them; for life's hopes are fleeting,

the rose that blooms so fresh and fair to-day, to-mor row rude winds may

scatter on the desert plain."

" A h ! now you are preaching a sermon, Jacques," said Made lin e; " y o u

always look so deep into the waters. W h y not skim the surface, as I do ? It

must be better than meeting sor row "midwa y. But to speak of monsieur 's

offer; are you serious about the acceptance of it ? "

" Quite serious, Madeline , and if old Jean Lerue, as I expect he will, will

come to terms with me about my little patrimony —take it, I mean, to set his

daughter and new son-in-law up in t he worl d—I shall take possession of my

new post so soon as the deeds arc signed, anticipating that you will not object

to be left here while I return to settle matters at home."

" What objection can I have to anything you propose, Jacque- , unless being

separated from y o u ? " said Madeline. " But even that I shall surmount,"

she added, archly, " without any material injury to my health, I trust,considering what a clever manager I have, for absolut ely you have arranged

all as cleverly and neatly as if the tenour of it had been in your ideas the last

ten years."

" I hope," returned Jacques, thoughtfully, " it will be better managed and

turn out more propitiously than if it had been years in coming to maturity.

But, good night, little wife, let us sleep upon it and see if ou r dreams throw

any shadows before th em; let me hear yours in the mor nin g; if mine are

momentous you shall hearken to them."

A few days later brought Emile and Charles dc Blcville to the chateau.

Emile had made an ineffectual attempt to be restored to her mother' s favour,

and though the refusal cost her many tears and some regrets, she had too

much of the light-h eavtcdness and gay disposi tion of her brother to brood

long and hopelessly over an event which appeared to her irremediable. The

party was also increased by the presence of D'Almaine's uncle, MonsieurLouis d'A lmaine, an admiral, and man of worth but small fortune, which is

generally the case, where the estates arc so entailed on the heir that but

little beside the savings o f the parents (wh ich is mostly very trifling) is the

portion of the younge r children. He was a wido wer, and accompanied by his

only child, a boy nine years old, who, being heir presu mptive to the D' Almai ne

estates, was looked on by all graciously on that account, as well as being

a fine, bold, handso me boy, with nobl e and generous feelings, which his

father, by his judic iou s affection and management , was rendering permanent

qualities.

" I have brought Eugene to see you, niece ," said the admiral to Lucille.

" He is young to come out visiting his relatives, but he was anxious to see his

new cousin, so I ind ulge d him; bu t his pon y and old Laurent wait to take him

home when he has paid his compliments to you, and a ride of ten miles

backwards and forwards will improve his appetite for the good things

Madame Lachere is preparing to gratify it."

" Oh ! he must not leave us so spee dily," said Luci lle . " As he was so kind

to wish to see me, I am desirous of further acquaintanc e with him . Spare him

to me, monsieur, a few days ; no doubt he is better acquainted with the

surrounding country than I am, and he shall be my escort to some of his

most favourite spots."

" Y e s , " said the bo y, pleased at the invit ation, his. dark eyes wandering

from his father's face to Luciil e's . " I know the walks and rides miles away,

nearly as far as Chateau H enr i Quat re."

" Ah ! your knowled ge is too extended," returned the admiral, smiling.

" Y o u must keep it with in bound s, or woe be to yo ur cousin if she trusts to

your guidance. But, my little Emi le, " he continued, running up to her as

she entered, " wedlock agrees with you, jud gin g from your bright bloom and

brighter eyes. Accept my congratulat ions, my dear, and tell me where you

intend to weigh anchor now you are spliced."

"W ha t a question!" said Emile, returning his embrace, and spe aking in

the same gay tone. " W h a t a question to ask a soldier's wife, where she

intends to live, for that is I conclu de what you mean. To tell you the truth,good uncle, since I have taken up the knapsack I in tend clin ging to it, and

thou gh, like the Engl ish song, I shall not carry my soldier 's wallet, I shall

follow wheresoever he goes with exception of the battle-field."

"Br a ve , and wel l- sp oke n!" said the old admiral. " I t is a pity you

preferred a helme t; for by St Denis you are worth y the choice of a sailor."Charles de Blcville joined cordially in the laugh, raised as much at

himself as at the admiral's prejudices to his calling.

Th e sudden entrance of Batiste, wh o had returned unexpectedly from

his farm, turned the conversation, li e was in high spirits, having settled

all to his satisfaction, and the following week entered on his new avoca

tions, and was soon initiated into the mysteries of stewar dship. He was

honest and jus t in his d eal ing s; he therefore not only gained the confi

dence of the count , but the praises and good-will of the numerous tenantry ;

and the neighbours, both large and small, seeing the terms on which Madeline

and himself stood with the owners of the D'A lmai ne estates, looked one and

all graciously upon them.

" I do not k now what we shall do with all the money, Ma de li ne !" cried

Batiste, after they had taken possession of their well-furnished house. " An

income of six thousand francs from monsieur, and near three thousand from

our ow rn farm—we arc certainly rich people."

" A n d the house, this handsome house, rent-free," said Madeline. " W e

cannot spend all the mone y. You must at least put by the farm mone y,

Jacqu es; for we are both young, and who knows—perhaps we may yetbe blessed with childre n, and that should be put away for their portion, or

some such purpose."

Jacques laughed. " Wh o dives deep into the waters now ? " said he. " Ah ,

Madeline, you are a true woma n, and a farmer's wife, for you are absolutely

reckoning your chickens before they are hatched. "

Madeline blushed. " X o t reckoning upon them, Jacques," said she, " o n l y

prepar ing for what may happe n. Y ou caught me up hastily for offering a

little healthful advice."

" W e l l , well, I see your meaning," returned Jacques. "Our three

thousand francs whi ch you imagi ne overpl us should be put into the bank, or

laid out probably to better advantage. "

" Yes . Wha t think you of the English stocks ? " said Mad eline. " They, I

have understood, are never failing,"

" I have not thought beyond my own country," said Jacques; "b ut we

have time enough before us for consideration—rely on it, for your sake, on its

being made the best of. It is good, honest mone y, and I sec not why it

should not thrive, however we invest it, "

Madeline in her wisdom quite, concu rred with him, and for the time the

affair terminated.

Lucille felt the advantage of having Madeline near her, separated as she was

from her parents, and witho ut having any near relatives near ; for Emi le was

leaving for the south, where her husband's re gimen t was ordered , and durin g

D'AlmaimjrS frequent visits to the metropo lis Madeline's and Batiste's near

vicinity to her was a source of sincere c ongra tulat ion.



19 8 DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OE [July 28, 1860.

C H A P T E R X X .

W e must pass over a lapse of five years, for little connecte d with our

history had transpired Avorth relation, with the exce ption of the Duk e de

Paleron's marriage with a lady high at court; that D'Almaine and the

duke had shaken hands, after an ample apology and explanation of the

former's conduct in regard to Luc il le ; and D' Alma ine and his mother were

on friendly terms. She still occupied the hotel as her town residence, Lucil le

having been steady in her first resolve of not making Paris, unless compelled,

a residence. Therefore when D'A lmai ne took his departure for the season

there, she spent that time in Germany, in a happier and more congenial

manner. She had n ot met her mother-in- law since the mornin g of her re

union with her husband, an event Madame D'Alma ine had not forgotten, and

which rankled with full force at her heart; her name had never passed

between the mother and son ; but it was observed when her daughter -in- law

Avas mentioned in the countess's presence, much bitterness of feeling towards

her wras exhibited, and once she had been heard to doubt the validity of her

marriage with her son.

A report, whether intended or not to find credit, was circulated in and beyond

the ranks of fashion, for it had vaguely extended to the neighbourhood of the

chateau. Tho ugh but few listened to it, there were scandalmongers who

talked it over and connected Luciile 's seclusion from fashionable haunts

with the report, whether true or false. Among these was the Duke

de Bale ron; Ids admiration for Lucill e was still unbounded , having called

upon her several times with the duchess, who possessed property a few miles

distant from D'Al main e's Norman estate. The duchess was a proud, courtl y

personage, several years the senior of the duke, between whom was no

resemblance of temper or disposition, nor a singl e reciproc al sentiment, she

being a vestal in person and heart, whilst he was a well-kn own and deter

mined galla nt; but she was rich and po werfu l; he was deficient of power

in any form, and trod complacently beneath that of his wife's, where it interfered not with his love of intrigue.

• # * # # #

It was a bright and golden morning, the gl orious sun tinting all objects

with its own beautiful radiance. D'Al maine , Lucill e, and Eugene d'Almain e,

now a boy of fourteen, were seated at breakfast in the parlour of the chateau,

whose large window s reached nearly from the lofty ceiliug to within a foot

of the floor, so that those within, as they partook of the morning repast,

might look without r ising on the terrace flowers beneath, now glowing in

the morning sun, the dew-drops yet l ingerin g o n their surface looking like

rare gems of many hues from the wealthy mines of Golconda.

" Where is Birdie this morning ? She is late with her offering; have you seen

her, Eugene ? " asked Luci lle, loo king as she did so towards the distant fields,

seen through a vista of lofty elms.

" I left "her gathering flowers by the bro ok ," replied Eugene ; " she had

not then made her selection, but ."

At this momen t a soft quick step on the gr avel was heard, and immedia tely

after the beautiful face of a child, shaded b y long dark curls, peeped roguishlyin at the window.

" Ah, you have not waited breakfast as you said you would, Eugen e !" she

cried, holdi ng up a tiny finger admonishingly, and with her small round sun

burnt arms drippin g with dew she raised into the room a straw hat laden

with flowers, and then with the ai ry grace of Queen Mab herself l eapt in

after them, and after a hasty kiss to her father and mother, qu ickly threw the

content s of the hat on the carpet, saying in a gleesome tone the while, " Look

ho w beautiful they are all—every one for papa." .

" A l l for papa ? " returned Lucil le, " and Birdie has not brought mamma a

single blossom ? "

Th e child turned her head towards h er w ith a beaming smile, and busily

scattered and searched among the flowers, till she came to a rose, adorned by

a small bud, which catchi ng up, she sprung t o the lap of her mother .

" X o , not forgotten, " she said, in a low soft ton e; " I gathered this pretty

rose from Monsieur Batiste's garden, because it looked like you ," and put ting

it against her mother's cheek, said, with a playful smile, " and was I no t

right ? Look, papa, Eugene, is it not the colour of mamma's own pretty

cheeks? An d, " she added, putt ing one small finger on the bud, at the

same time lo ok ing archly around as she did so, " and this is mamma's own

little Birdie."

Lucille silently pressed her chil d to her, and D 'Alm ain e, putting his arm

round bo th, said with feeling , " My bud and blossom, what would life be

without you."

Th e scene was interrupted by a head of another desc ription thrusting itself

through the open window ; it was that of a large Newfoundland dog.

" Lion, Lion!" cried the child , and instantly the nob le animal, wit h a spring,

was among them; the little girl 's arms were round his neck, and her rosy

mouth against his capacious one, his tongue amply returning the caresses

bestowed on him. " Lion wants his breakfast, " said Bi rdie, and seating herself

at the table, gave of course, as Lion expected, every alternate morsel to his

ready acceptance.

" Come," said Eugene, " make haste, Birdie, I am going to the trout stream;

of course you will go with me and carry the basket ? "

" To the trout stream, " said the chil d, a shade of sadness and distaste

crossing her animated countenance, " t o catch little fishes, Euge ne? X o , I

think 1 will stay at home . I do not like to see them struggle, beat themselves

against the basket, and then die."

' " Oh, but you must go, if only to save some of their lives, which you often

do , Birdie, to my detriment as a fisherman, you know—come," and he pressed

the straw hat over the clustering curls of the beautiful chil d. " Her e, take

up the basket, while I carry the rod and lines."

" N o , give the basket to Lion," said Birdi e, " i t is his business to carry

that," and putting it between the dog's teeth, he sprang from the window,

followed by the boy and girl, with the sportive laugh of youth and childhood

ringing joyfully with t he morning breeze among the broad leaves of the

sycamore avenue.

"T ak e care of her, Eu ge ne !" cried D'Almaine, as they turned and kissed

their hands to the watchers at the window. " Bcmember, if anything happens

to her you must answer for it."

" Agr e e d ! " came the laughing tones of the boy's voice. " With Lion with

us, what danger can there be to either ? "

Th e father's and mother's eyes were bent on them till the thick foliage

rendered them no long er visibl e, and as that sensitive ardent child, so wild,

yet so graceful in mind and person , tripped syl phlike, held by her cousin 's

hand, her transparent dress and the bl ue ribbons of her hat floating in the

air and sunshine, she appeared like some wing ed thing flown to earth fromanother sphere.

Arrived at the trout stream, Eugene was soon alone, dangling in the well-

stocked waters with line and hook. The child and the dog were at their old

sports—she gathering wild flowers, he, in frolic, carrying them away as they

were collected, that the pair might sport together amid the long grass.

At leng th her lap was fil led ; they were again beside the water s; the

blossoms, the labour and sport of so much time, were industriously pulled to

pieces, and with the excep tion of a col lar to grace the blac k sleeky neck of

Lion, they were thrown on their surface, and with clapping hands and spark

ling eyes watched, till the breeze both slowly and distantly bore them away.

An exclamation from Eugene now attracted them; he had caught a trout of

unusual size, and Birdie wi th commi serating eyes was soon gazing in the

basket at its floundering and writhing motions.

" T h e little fish is thirsty, Eug ene ," she said, taking it in her small hands,

and kneeli ng on the bank putting its head in the st ream.

In a moment the fish had glided thr ough her fingers, and recovered by its

native element, was swimming far beyond "reach.

Eugene, vexed that this fine spec imen oi' his skill as an angler had disappeared so suddenly, excl aimed, with a manner and voice ruffled, "Birdie, I

am angry with you; thus it is ever—as I fill the basket, you return its contents

to the stream. I had prided myself on that fish, thinking it would redeem my

character as a fisherman, seeing ho w often you have spoiled my sport."

Tears were in the child's eyes; it was perhaps the most severe rebuke she

had received in her life, and she answered lowly, " Forgiv e me, Eugene, I am

sorry ; bu,t littl e fishes like water, I only wished it to drink."

But Eugene was not exactly in a humour to pardon, and Birdie, throwing

herself on the bank, buried he r dark curly head amid the long, sleek white

hair of Lion's stomach, and was soon in a sound, child-like slumber.

Eugene, with instinctive care, covered her with his silk handkerchief, and

drew the branches of a willow, whose leaves kissed the waters, as a screen over

her to shield her from the noon -day sun, hung his basket high up in the tree,

to prevent further larceny, and unmolested pursued his occupation.

Whe n the child awoke Eugene had replenished his basket, his good

humour was restored, and, showin g the proceeds of so many hours' patience

to his little companion with the pri de of a connoisseur, said, " I think we shall

have praise to-day, Birdie, from Madame Santarre, who will make a nice

dish of them."

Th e child peered into the basket; its contents were immovable, conse-

sequently her sympathies were hushed. The basket was put into the teeth of

Lion, who , proud o f the hon our thus bestowed^ with wagging tail and

triumphant glances at the juvenil e pair, trudged sagaciously "and steadily by

It was a bright autumnal morning, just such a one as to tempt a sportsman

forth to try his fortune; and D'Almai ne, in shooting-jacket, gun in hand,

bade Lucil le adieu for a few hours to try his hand among the wild fowl on

his grounds.

At the extremity of the spacious garden a small summer-house, or ratherpavilion, had been erected as a morn ing summer's retreat for the ladies of the

mansion. It was delight fully situated, forming two commodious rooms, one

fitted up as a libra ry, the othe r as a small boudoir. It was a favourite retire

ment of Lucii le's; and thither on this eventful morning she repaired with her

child. After having taken from the shelves several books, but finding her

mind too wandering to read, Lucille went into the larger apartment, and

taking a small piece of work from a basket, tried to absorb herself with

it as much as the child's prattle would permit.

Th e building stood on an eminence, and as the child's quick eye discerned

objects they were prattled forth to her mothe r. At length she cried , " A

carriage is coming fast down the back road, mamm a; I sec a gentleman

looking from the window. Oh ! I see no w, it is the Du ke de Baleron ; and

papa far out on the hill yonder. Shall I ask him to come home ? "

Lucille instinctively rose, an unpleasant sensation assailing her, and looked

out on the road. It was one little frequented, and never used by visitors,

being exclusi ve to them'sclves and family, and felt surprise, not unmixed with

displeasure, that the duke should have presumed with his servants—for she

plainly saw two beside the driver—to enter on it. Turn ing her eyes in

another direction, she beheld D'Al main e approaching slowly, as if he had

seen the carriage ; but he turned suddenly, fired his piece, and called his dogs,

wh o were soon running with the dead birds towards him. He then again

loaded his gun, and pursued his way leisurely.

Lucille was still wa tchi ng him, when a quick step on the stairs of the

pavilion sent the blood rushing to her heart, and before she had time for

thought, the door was rudely opened, and the duke stood before her. Offended

at the intrusion, she indignantly desired him to retire, or to permit her to pass,

that she might leave his unwe lcom e presence.

" I will do neither," he answered, standing against the door, which ho had

closed on entering, and fixing his eyes boldly upon her. "Mada me," he con

tinued, hurriedly, but with the bold front guilt too often gives, " I have

sought this time and place to tell y ou life is a blank without you . Turn not

so scornfully from me, for you must and shall listen to me. I have heard-—



July 28, I860.] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 199

yes, even from D'Al maine' s mother—that y ou are not his legally . If this be I

true, I have the same right to you whi ch he has. Fly, then, with me ! I wil l j

make you rich, portio n your child, and, shoul d the duchess die, will give yo u

legal guarantee to make you my wife so soon as I am free."

Lucille could hear no more ; a spirit seemed issuing from her eyes which

made his fall beneath them, as she replied , " Do you dare say I mus t listen

to your hateful langu age ?—dare insult me by your base ins inuations, and

baser offers ?—dare say that were you free, thinking me guilty, you would

make me your wife ? Man, this outrage is beyo nd patienc e ! Le t me pass,

sir ! I insist that the door be opened to give me a free passage from the place

your words have polluted ! "

While she spoke the aspect of the duke had undergone a change from

beseeching gallantry to bold defiance, and drawing nearer to her, he said, wit hassumed nonch alance, " I should have desired matters to have proceeded

peaceably; you decree it otherwise. Know then, madam e, I came here on

no idle errand. My carriage wait s outside your garden gate, fleet horses are

attached to it, and trusty servants attend it. I have sworn you shall be the

partner of my intended journey. De Palerou never retracts when a lovely

woman is to be the reward of his persev erance. You are in my pow er. 1

can laugh your scruples to scorn. Before you arc missed from your morning

retreat yon will be miles away, D'A lmai ne, and all but myself, unacquainted

where you will be borne."

With a sudden dart he caug ht her in his arms, opene d the door, and

carried her down the steps of the summer-house. Lucill e had no power to

move in his iron grasp. A dread, an intense agony came over her; she felt

herself lost, and could only scream loud and agonisingly, her child joining her

with all the vehemence and frenzy of childhood, at seeing those fondly loved

forcibly taken from them.

" Curse your clamour ! " excla imed the duke. " I hear some one coming; I

shall he foiled at last!" and/putting his hand over Luciile's mouth, he turned

towards another gate leading to the road more cireuitously, but there was anascent to it, and Luci lle, who had fainted, was a heavy wei gh t; but, deter

mined in his plot, he ascended by rapid strides, and had nearly reach ed the

top, when a l oud " Hall o !' ' from the bottom, and " Stop, villai n! " reached

hint witho ut affecting his progress. He kept on, and had nearly reache d the

gate, when there was a report, a flash—the duke staggere d, proc eeded a few

paces, then, with a heavy groan, fell with his burden to the earth.

D'Almaine had heard t he screams of his wife and child, and hurrying to

the garden where they proceeded from, demanded o f the still scr eaming,

affrighted little girl where her mothe r was. She could only utter disjointed

sentences. " The Duke de Paleron—oh 1 he has carried mamma in his arms

up the steep Louis Quinze ! " the name give n to the place by an ancestor of

D'Almaine, who had been a minister, and h igh in favour with, the fifteenth

Louis.

At the report of fire-arms the servants o f the duk e were on the spo t

immediately. D'A lmain e shouted loudly as he approached, and his own

household were soon beside him standing over the objects on the ground,

both covered with the life-stream from the heart of De Paleron.

D'Almaine looked on with horror, scarcely knowi ng which, or if both, werenot his victims. " Wh at have I done ? " he exclaimed. " Wh at has the

rashness and villainy of this man hurried me into ? "

He caught the insensible Lucille in his arms, and telling s ome of the

domestics to bear the bleeding body of the duke to the chateau, ordered

others to haste for surgical assistance, and in a state of frenzied bewilderment,

flew with his wife to the house.

It was soon ascertained that Lucil le was uninjured, but D 'Al main e would

not quit her till she recovered. Wh en she opened her eyes she looked wildly

and fearfully round. " Wh er e am I ? " she cried. " M y husband!—my

cliild!—am I torn from both ? "

" You are here safe, I am near you. Fear n ot, for harm can not reach yo u

through m e," said D'Al maine , leaning over her ; but his face was pale, his

hair dishevelled, and blood-stains from his dress were on his hands.

" Oh, what has h appened ? Tell me, some of yo u ! " she cried, looking by

turns on the affrighted faces surrou nding her. " Tha t wretched man ! Ho w

wras I rescued? Oh, Jules, those stains on your hand—what do they tell

me ? Has he "

"Hush, dearest, compose yourself," said D'A lmai ne. " I have but avengedmyself on the man who sought to blast my own and your honour . Be tranquil ; I wish to make inquiri es about the w oun ded wretch , but cannot qui t

you fill I see you more tranquil. "

" Oh, do not think of me, " said Lu cille . " Think of yourself i f you are

in danger. I have brought it on you. Inquire after Monsieur de Pa leron ,"

she said to a servant standing near. " Jules, your looks frighten me. " At

this moment the surg eon entered. " Oh, sir, " she added, on seeing him,

'; the duke is woun ded. Tel l me, docs he live ? "

"Ma da me , " he replied gravely, "t he duke has gone to his account. The

ball pierced his heart—death wras instantaneous."

There was a deathlike silence for a minute, when the surgeon again spoke.

"Monsieur d'Al maine, " he said, "th e death of the duke will lead to un

pleasant inquiries . Until it blows over, I woul d recommend you to quit the

chateau, and till you hear the result, keep beyond the hands o f jus ti ce. "

There was a proud flash in D'Alm aine 's eye. " Hi de myself ! " he cried.

" What have I to fear from justi ce ? I hav e not violat ed it. A man may

strike an enemy in defence of his life, and when honour, which is dearer than

life, is at stake, shall he not arm himself to defend it ? "" That is as an honourable, injured man would argue," said the surgeon ;

"b ut the two servants of the duke are notorio us rogues ; for money they wil l

swear anything. Of course you wil l not purchase the silence of these m en ."

" I will purchase the silence of no man, " replied D'Al maine , haughtily,

" nor will I flee. My country is just , my own act was just, and the Du ke de

Paleron's death the just act of a retributive Provi dence ."

" There is truth in all you have said, count ," returned the surgeon, " and I

fear not the justice of Frenc h law s; b ut none but the duke's servants were

witnesses to his death, or knew his errand to your grounds. If his own or his

wife's family are inclined to be implacable, you may be in some danger. I

should recommend your departure hence to some place more secure."

" G o , dearest Jules," urged the trembling Lu ci ll e; "q ui t the chateau for

a few days. Be hear, if you wish, so that if you desire it, you can appear

when time and opportunit y favour your doing so ."

"Silence, Lucille," he returned sternly. "M y conscience, and none other,

shall guide me in this affair. I am the innoce nt and injure d, and can boldly

face any false eviden ce. Let a messenger be instantly despatched to Madame

de Paleron. Perha ps," he added, turning to • the surgeon, " you who are a

kindly and humane man, wil l be the bearer o f the melanchol y news yourself.

It is right it shou ld be broken gently to the wife, to whom—although shelived not on the most amicable terms with the deceased—the shock, as a

natural consequence, will be severe."

Lucille covered her face, and sighed deeply. Th e surgeon lookod on her

with commiseration; he felt more for her than for the duchess, whose apathetic

disposition was well known.

" H ow beautiful and delicate she i s! " he said, inwardl y, as Lucil le raised

her head to answer a questi on of the coun t's . " She appears as if a bre eze

would bend her. Pray Heave n in this sad case she may not have the sharp

wind of misfortune to contend with ."

Then turning to D'A lma ine he said, " I undertake your mission to the

duchess, mons ieur . She is staying at her estate, I think. Good morning.

I will look in upo n you again as' I return."

C H A P T E R X X I I .

The following morning , as D' Al mai ne and Lucille were sitting over their

breakfast, whic h had passed almost in unbroken silence, a servant, wit h

blanched cheek, entered to say, that two gentlemen wished to see the count,

" W h o are they ? " said D' Alm ain e. " Di d they not send in theircards ? "

" No , monsieur ," replied the servant ; " they merely said they must see

you. I told them you were at breakfast. They said they would wait till you

had finished. But they are rather suspiciou s-looking , and I thought I would

just step and tell you, in case you might not wish to see them. And there

is no occasion," he added, hesitatingly, " i f monsieur wills it otherwise. W e

can easily send them away without their errand."

" Show them in, " said D' Alm aine , in a tone not to be contended with,

" and you, Lucille, had better quit the room. It is better I should see those

gentlemen, or whatever they term themselves, alone."

" Let me remain," said Lucille, firmly, though her lips were pale and

trem blin g. " If they are the messenge rs of bad news I mus t soon know it.

Th e prolonga tion of a few wretched minutes passed in suspense will avail

either of us lit tle."

She had scarcely spoken when the door again opened, and, preceded by the

trembling servant, whose eyes seemed starting from their sockets in the

intensity o f his gaze on them, entered the two men with bow ing obsequious

ness; and one of them, drawing a paper from his pocket , presented itto the count. He scanned it a moment, then returned coldly, " A warrant

for my apprehension. Well , gentlemen, I am your prisoner. I will order

my carriage, and, when it is ready, will attend you . To where do you tako

me ? "

" T o llo uen, monsieur ," replied the man, surprised at D' Alm ain e's r eady

compliance ; " but there is no immediate hurry," he added. " If you have

any papers to sign, or business to settle, we can wait an hour."

" I shall be ready when my carriage is ," said D'A lmai ne, sharply. " Yo u

can retire into the ante-room, or remain here, which you please. I shall not

quit this apartment till I leave it in your custody."

They then, with an innate delic acy unusual to those in their occupation,

said, "they w rould retire until summoned by h i m ; " and bowing, left the

room.

Lucille, who had stood nervously gazing from one to the other during this

brief conversation, had summoned all her fortitude to her aid that she might

support h er husband. As the men left the room she approached him, and

leaning on the chair he had thrown himself on, said in a lo w but calm voice,

" D o not let this misfortune depress you . I will accompany you to Ro uen,and on the way consult with you what had better be done. I suppose your

valet had better follow with the necessaries you require ? "

" You can do as you like, dear Lucille," lie said, with an attempt at gaiety,

" only keep up your spirits; for I have no fears, thoug h I confess the

unpleasantness of the affair in a measure depresses me. I have sent a sinful

creature out of the wor ld unprepar ed; and t hough I consider the deed his

own, I could wish that other hands and o ther occasion s had been the means.

But have courage, for I again repeat I have no fears for my safety. I trustto my country, and it will do me justice."

" I hope so," was the faint reply.

Th e carriage was announced, and Lucille , throw ing on her shaw l and

bonnet, they were soon on their unpleasant journey, and an hour's drive

broug ht them to the prison. Being a man of fortune, private apartments,

with every attention from the governor, were accorded to D'Al maine. Ami

only that he was from home, and a slight manacle placed on his hands at

night, he would not have known he was a prisoner.

Lucille, who visited him daily, and who was assiduous in her inquiries

about the trial, learnt that a host of evidence against D'A lma ine , got up bythe duchess, who having, whe n first he entered the world, been slighted

by him, spite of her immense wealth and interest, for his younger and more

attractive wife, was now determined to rev enge the sli ght upon herself, by

bran ding wit h all her power the character and acts of hi m, whom she raved

of as her husband's murderer. She had bribed the servants, who accom

panied the duke on his infamous errand, to say his business at the chateau

was private with D'A lmai ne, and that a quarrel between them, on some



300

gambling transact ion, was the cause of the latter firing his piece at him with

such fatal aim; and that Madame d'Almaine fainting, and her dress being

blood-stained, was a mere attempt to attribute the quarrel to other causes.

Batiste, the indefatigable Batiste, was out night and day, gleani ng every

infor mation possibl e. He advised, and when it was necessary, acted for

Lucille with the friendship he had always professed, and which was now

tried to its fullest extent, while Madeli ne's gentle, studious attention to all

that was passing, was a drop of honey in the unfortunate wife's cup of misery.

Th e trial of D'A lma ine was hurried onward by his enemies, who felt they

had full proof to convict; for not one of his ow n people had either h eard the

screams for assistance o f Luci lle or her chi ld ; none had appeared but the

servants of Mons ieur de Paleron till after the fatal shot had pierc ed his

heart. Ther e was noth ing but his own testimo ny to refute the long train of conclusive evidence against hi m, and what was that when malice, wealth, and

power, were working with all her forcible engines against him ?

Lucille visited her husband daily ; there was little change in his appearance

beside a shade of melanch oly on his counten ance ; and his step, as he paced

restlessly up and down his confined chamber , at times faltered ; b ut his voice

had still its bold commanding toues, and still vaunted of his country's justice.

Lucille with an aching heart was looking through the ir on bars of his

prison, when she uttered half audibly , " One short week to bring such fearful

changes!"

She was pale and carew orn, and a resistless nervousness sho ok her general ly

firm collected manner. D'A lmai ne observed it, and stopping in his walk

before her said soot hing ly, " Luci lle , you are fatigued, harassed with this

unfortunat e affair, yo u have neither rest nor quiet. Coming daily to this

place robs you of both he alth and fortitude, and yet your p resence is so

essential to my comfort that I cannot say keep hence . But dearest," and he

seated himself by her and put his aim round her, " y o u will be better, and,

whatever the result, more resigned after the trial."

" T h e trial!" she responded, starting to her feet, then with an effortreseating herself, answered with an attempt at steadiness, th ough the tremu-

lousncss of her voice was not to be mastered and her eyes were fixed fearfully

on his ,—" must think of that, too , think of what may be its fatal results.

D'Almaine, ean I do this and live ?"

" Y e s , you must think of it as an event not to be avoid ed," he repl ied;

"b ut as one not to be dreaded. Thi nk of the just ice of our laws, and ask,

can they pronounce me guilty for defending my wife's honour."

" Ah," but will it have proof of that r" said Lucill e. " Wil l it believe your

single testimony against a host of opposi ng witnesses r "

" It will believe truth when spoken by honourable lips," replied D'Almaine.

" But should their verdict be contrary to truth and honour, what would be

the punishment ? " she asked breathlessly.

" The guillotine or the galleys," he replied.

A sharp, short, irrepressible" cry fell from Lucille; she covered her face

wit h her hands, and gr adually it sank on the table ; she remained in this

attitude several minutes, an d D' Almai ne was again pacing the room; but

when she raised her face there was a tint of colour on the cheeks, and the

eyes had lost their heaviness ; thought, busy thoug ht, in those few minutes

had coursed like a whirlwind through her brain, br inging with them hope

and life for her husband.

D'Almaine, who had watch ed wi th pain the .agony of the moment , was

surprised at the sudden cha nge, but h appy to see a returning sunbeam

glancing over her expressive face, whi ch gave cheerfulness to his mi nd,

pressed her return home with injunctions to take the rest she so much

needed.

Lucille unrcluctantly consented; a new impulse had given an impetus to

her whole nature, and her fervent good night at parting, uttered in a firm

tone, hung and lingered so confidingly on the ears of D'Al main e long after she

had left him, that his rest was free from the feverish excitement of the day.

On arriving at the chat eau Luci ile 's first inquiry was for Batiste, and on

learning that he had long waited for her, she hastened to him ; but her face

was again pale and anxious in its expression, and her voice trembling as she

demanded, "What farther intelligence, Monsieur Batiste, from Madame de

Paleron and her f ami ly?"

"That they have no mercy," he replied; "that they will pursue the

count with t he u tmost ri gour . Six of the princi pal advocates of Paris are

retained for the cause, and it is the general opini on that, with such powerfuladversaries, nothing can save him. Some say he will escape the guil loti ne,

but nothing cau preserve him from the hateful galleys."

A thrill of anguish compressed her lips and closed her eyes, and the white

marble slab, on which she leant for support, was not more colourless than her

face. Batiste handed her a glass of water. She waved it away, saying, in a

hoarse voice, " W ha t advocates have you retained for us ? "

"Thr e e , wh o rank high in public favour," he replied.

" What said they on reading their briefs ? " she asked.

" A l a s ! madame," said Batiste, " I cannot deceive you, though I see you

so wT

orn and harassed with the last week's misery, for I judged, more by

their manner than words, that hope had but a frail shore to anchor on."

"T he n on Heaven and our own energies will we rely, " said Lucil le.

" But the trial, Batiste, is the day yet fixed ? "

" It has been hurried on ," he replied. " It is to be the day after to- mor row .

A h ! madame, that day will be a trial for us all. To see the count tried for

a deed he should meet commend atio n for ; to see him tried by man, and

punished by man, for an act of retribut ion. Good as I have deemed the

laws of Prance, I begin to doubt their justice now."

" We are too powerless to do aught b ut murmur at the m," said Lucille. " Is

Madeline here ? "

" Yes, wit h the chil d, " he repli ed. " Shall I ring for her ? "

" N o , we will all three go to my dressi ng-room, " said Lucill e. " I have

much to talk over with you bo th ; it may be the last opportunity for the

present we can converse alone ; for I shall pass the two for thco ming days with

the co unt. Our time together may be short, if the evil hour cannot be

averted."

Batiste drew his hand across his eyes, as he reverentially followed her.

As she entered her room, Luci lle met Madeline and her child at the door.

" Oh ! mamma, " cried the deligh ted child, who had seen but little o f her

mother the last week, " ho w long you have been away ! Have you brought

papa h o m e ? "

" N o , dearest," she replied, clasping her to her to hide her tears, "not

to-day ; but papa has sent twenty kisses for his Birdie."

" I wish he would come," said the child. " I sometipies think I shall

never see him more, mamma, for I dreamt last night I was a long way from

Madeline and everybody I love, travelling in a large, heavy coach, and crying

because they wT

ould not take me to you. Mamma, do not go away again, incase the large heavy coach should come, and take me from you for ever."

"D ea r ch ild, " said Lucille , shivering, "d o not make me more unhappy by

your sad forebodings. Here, Annette, take her and let her not out of your

si gh t; for I am so weak and foolish that even a child's dream makes me

tremble."

Th e child disappeared with her nurse, and the trio entered the room, where

they remained in earnest converse till lon g after dark.

Before Lucille went to bed, for we cannot say rest, she went to her child's

bedside ; she slept sound, the sweet sleep of childhood; but, while the mother

watched, the smile on the child's lips fled, her features slightly distorted, and

she cri ed out in a peevish tone ," " Take me to Made lin e." Then the tone

changed to one of plaintiveness, a tear stood on the long, dark lashes, and

she said, "Goodbye, goodbye, mamm a; they will never bring your Birdie

back agai n; I shall never see you more."

" Good Heaven s ! " said Lu cill e, in a fearful tone . " She is again dreaming

that dreadful dream. Oh ! it is ominous , that her father's fate is sealed, or

that it is the Almi ghty' s intention to take my child to Himself. Oh !

awake, dearest, and let me hold you to my heart while I have you," andtaking the child in her arms, she bore it to her own bed.

C H A P T E R X X I I I .

It was the eve of the day before the trial, the hour when twil ight has

heralded in the bright stars, that a carriage stopped at the gate of the

prison. The horses, from appearance, had been hard driven, and the

coaehmaifc for he was the only attendant to it, might have been warm from

exertion, for he wiped the perspiration from his forehead several times before

descending from his box; but as soon as he did descend, he rang the bell,

the handle of which was just visible in the uncertain l ight, danglin g

from the pondrous doorway. Havi ng rung loud and boldly at the gate, he

went to the door of the carriage, whero with a careless air he stood humming

! a popular air. As the portal opened, the inmate of the carriage, who, from

| his attire was an advocate , handed a letter to him, which he gave into the

j hands of the door-ke eper, saying in a loud tone, " Fo r the govern or, and

say I wait a reply."

| "The man disappeared, the gate closed heavily , and he was soon with the

j governor. The latter, who with a few friends had j ust commence d a convivial

evening, broke the seal, after it had remained on the table before him till hehad ended an argument he was discussing ; and having deliberately unfolded

| it, read the contents.

| " Monsi eur de Calcot e's complim ents, and desires an intervi ew with his

! client, the Count d'Almai ne. He offers apologies for his late visit; but

! having been detained unavoidably in court, there was no alternative. Monsieur

de Calcote, to lose no time, has not even waited to unrobe, as time is precious,

from the few hours intervening previous to the trial."

j " I t is late, " said the governor , " and against rule to admit people after the

! gates are closed; but on this occasion the rule must be deviated from, I

| supp ose; for my orders are to admit unreservedly the friends and advisers of

the count. How has Monsi eur de Calcote arrived ? "

" I n his own carriage, monsieur," returned the door-keeper, "and I do

; not know how many servants, as I was not at the trouble of counting th em."

" O h , Monsieur de Calcote is a great man, " said the gov erno r—"a dmit

hi m by all means ; and tell him if he wishes an interview with me, I am at

his service."

Th e door-keeper disappeared, and soon the jing le of his numerous and

heavy keys was heard. Once more the lock turned, and the small portal half I opened. The man partly showed himself, and in a surly tone said to the

| coachman, who had drawn near the door as soon as it had turned on its hard

| hinges, " Your master may enter, though, like the governor, I think it is an

unseasonable hour ; but as it is a life-and-death question, I suppose "

At this momen t the coachman put something into the man's hand, saying,

" Master is aware that this is extra trouble for you, monsieur, and sends you

this."

Without Avaiting the reply the coachman let down the steps of the ca rriage,

and the advocate without a comment descended and passed through the

portal, and the key was turned upon him. He stopped to let the man take the

lead, who after passing through several lo ng nar row stone passages, mounted

a flight of stairs, and stopping before a low door, placed a key in the lock.

Th e door flew open, the advocate entered, wh en he heard the lock again

turned, and he was alone in the small chamber with the Count d'Almaine.

D'Almaine had been writi ng. He pushed the table from him, rising on

the entrance of the advocate, and in a cold, proud tone, demanded, " To what,

monsieur, am I to attribute this late, unexpected call ?"

The advocate laid the tip of his fore-finger on his lips, and with his eyes on

the door and his head slightly bent, list ened till the last step of the jailer had

ceased to vibrate, and every sound save their own breathing was hushed,

when drawing a chair toward s t he e xpiri ng fire, he point ed to D'Al maine to

be seated. .

D'Almaine, whose appearance bore testimony to his restlessness, at first

refused; but there was somethi ng so urgent and anxious in the manner of hi.«



July 28, I860. ] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 20 1

Tisitor, though he spoke not, that placin g another chair for him, he himself

sank into the one he had risen from, and seemed inclined to fall again into

the reverie he had been disturbed from.

The a dvocate replaced the chair, and drawi ng a small stool to t he feet of

D'Almaine, caugh t his hand, and all owi ng the cap to fall from his head, the

rich curls, bright as gold in sunshine, of Lucille, showered in a world of

beauty over the ample silk gown that had concealed her identity.

Overpowering sensations, in whic h were mingled love, dread, and w ronder,

fo r a time prevented D'A lma ine' s utterance. Lucil le broke the silence,

" Yo u are not surprised to see me here," she said; "w he n to-morr ow is

the trial."

D'Almaine looked with ardour on the sweet face raised to his w7ith such

devoted love, and the bitter thought came that perhaps another week and hewould be torn from her for ever; that she, with so much beauty, love, and

virtue, might be thrown portionless, and without protection, on a world which

bad hitherto shown her but little kindness, but then would pursue her with-

snares and insult equal to that he had rescued her from—a rescue which

seemed likel y to make both its victi ms. H e put his arm rou nd her, and raise d

her to his side.

" Surprised ! " said he ; " I ought not to be surprised at your devotion, my

wife, for it is that has brought you hither in disguise and in danger to my

prison; but I looked for you through this long and dreary day, longer than

any preced ing one, because not bri ghten ed b y your pre sence. I h ad an

audience to-day with Mons ieur de Boulin ; he bade me prepare f or the worst,

for the lightest punishment will be the confiscation of my property."

" That would be as nought, if your safety could be depended on," said

Lucille; "but I have heard much since I saw you, and dare not trust myself

to hope it."

" I have prepared myself to-day in a degr ee for what may happen ," said

D'Almaine ; " I have written to my mother, and to my uncle, who is the kindest

and best of men ; he wil l guar d yo u till yo u reach you r father, and long er if necessary, and ."

She kissed the hand lovingly that held her own, " Think not of me ," she

said, "this is not the time to speak, or even think, of the future ; the present

must have all our consider ation, all our energy. In six hours , if you remain

beneath these walls, you will stand a criminal in a court of justice ,

surrounded by the agents of relentless foes, wh o, if they are unable to pursue

yo u to death, will not stop till your doom is life-lo ng labour. Jules, you

must escape."

" Escape!" he cried, starting to his feet, and looki ng at her with distended

eyes. " Lucille, are y ou mad, to imagine even for a single sec ond, that the

bolts that secure me can be withdrawn, or the vigilance of a jailer lul led ]

No , no. Wer e such my idea, I should consider it as the ravings of a

madman."

" Hush ! speak not so loud, or all will be lost," said Luci lle ; " again seat

yourself, Jules, and listen to me. Yo u have still hope. Discard it ; i t is

misleading yo u, and will kill us bot h. I tell yo u they wil l send you to the

galleys. Thither if you go I follow you. Look at me; look at this delicate

form, these small han ds; and ask yoursel f if the y are form ed for labour thatwould tear the hard skin of an engineer; and yet, if you remain here, it is

the labour I am doomed to, for whither thou goest I will g o . "

Th e last words were uttered in a low tone, but so determined, that it wrung

every fibre in the strong man's heart; his eyes wandered over her lovely and

delicate person, and ho shuddered as if the pi cture she had sketched was ^already

a reality.

" What is to be done ? " he said in a burst of passion : " They have me in

their power; how can I burst their accursed bonds ? The galleys—they dare

not send me there ; my count ry woul d rise up against the vile injustic e of the

deed."

Lucille was silent till he seated himsel f; when, drawing the l ow stool once

more to his feet, she sank upon it, and raising her anxi ous eyes to his, said,

in a subdued tone, " M y husband, time presses. Will you hear me cal mly ?

Do not thi nk I came here at the eleve nth hour for useless conve rse. I came

to free you from your prison, and I will, if you will allow me for a short half

hour to guide you. Nay , dear Jules, for once, and only once, to rule

you."

" Ho w ? Tell me—speak out, Lucill e—for I do not, cannot understand

ho w you , a weak , defenceless woman , have po wer to break prison bars, and

free me from these hateful m anacl es," look ing at his hands.

" I will do both, all, if you wil l trust to me," replied Lucille. " I wi ll show

yo u that woma n, thou gh weak and defenceless by nature, can by her love and

energy outdo the strong resol ution, the reveng e, the eloqu ence of man, and

even his strong w orks, by maki ng th e bolt s and locks of a prison give way to

them."

While she spoke she had taken from a small silk bag, conceale d beneath the

ample folds of the advocate's gown, a file and other instruments, with which

she had commenced the labour of freeing him from his manacle. D'A lma ine

regarded her in silent wonder; there was so much of hopeful energy in her

voice and manner, so much determined will, that he seemed passive beneath

its sway.

It is wondrous indeed what miracles affection can surmount. W h o that had

before marked those white tapSr fingers could have imagined them capable of

such a toilso me labou r ; it was a labour perfo rmed in silence, for the feelin gs

of both, thoug h widely different, were intense. At length the chain gave way

to her pers everanc e; it was severed, and befor e she was aware of it fell with

a loud clank to the ground. Bot h were on their feet together. Wi th a

trembl ing hand she put the chain in his, hastily replaced the c ap she had

taken from her head, and for a few minutes the silence of death reigned i n

that prison room. At length she breathed again, though the blood refused to

stain her lips with a single tint of its vermilion.

"Tha nk He ave n! " she exclaimed earnestly. " T h e alarm rests with

purselv es; we are still safe, and so much accomp lish ed. Be brief, Jules,

we have no time for parl ey; Batiste wi th a carriage and fleet horses waits

outside. Dress yourself in this gown and cap, and without delay summon the

jailor, and follow him ; he will lea'd you to liber ty." She then freed herself

hurrijedly from the dress she had worn on entering.

" And you , how will you pass ? " he asked.

" I have said, think not, speak not of me," she replied, " there will be time

enough for me to pass when you are safe. Her e, throw on the gown, every

minute enhances the danger. Surprised at our lon g interview the gover nor

may send, may come here himself. Haste then, Jules; if this plan fails

we are lost, irremediabl y lost. I conjure yo u, by our love, our safety,

to fly!"

" Fly , and leave you subjected to the scorn an d sneers of the wretches

inhabiting this p l a c e ? " said D'Alm aine. "N ev er ! I will not owe mysafety to your d ange r! Go, Lucil le, leave me to my fate, if it cannot be

avoided but at such a price."

" Oh , this is cruelty ! " she cried, dashing the tears from her eyes. " What

have I to fear, thou gh you leave me in a priso n ? I shall have honourable

men to deal with ; and when d id they ever scorn or insult a wo man th row n

on them for prot ectio n? Go , Jul es; for mine, for our child's sake, fl y!

for in our helplessness we shall bot h need your arm t o defend us," and she put

her hands together beseechingly.

D'Al main e wavered. " Dare I trust yo u ? " he said, in a faltering voice,

bending over her. " Can I trust you with those who, for an imaginar y crime,

have pursued me with such rancour ? Will they not punish you that I may

feel their vengeance more keenly than if inflicted on myself ? Urge me not ;

the g alleys, if it must be, -a thousand times, than the sacrifice of such a

woman ! "

Luciile's face droop ed over the hands resting on her knees. " T o the

galleys ! " she murmured . " Yo u will it then—that Ave toil there together ?"

She raised her head slowly, their eyes met, she saw irresolution in the glance,

and promp tly acted upon it. " A h , I have conq uere d! " she cried, rising andthrowing the gown over his shoulders. " Yo u will save us ; the father will

again clasp his child ; we shall all be free! "

He caught her in his arms; but the knit brow, and the s wollen veins in the

forehead, told the worki ngs of his soul.

" I g o, " he said, hurriedl y; " I leave these walls ; but not like a dastard

to fly tar away while you suffer beneath them. No , I wi ll hover round them ,

to shield you, should the slightest menace assail; be near, to give myself to

them, should they dare detain you as a hostage. An d no w, " he added, with a

faint smile, "for the adorning,"if you think it likely that the piercing eyes of

the jailer will not detect the difference in our h eigh t,"

" I forgot not so essential a po int ," said Luci lle, a flush of grateful j oy

lighting up her pale anxious face. " See," she added, pointing to the boots,

" Batiste, ever watchfu l, had th em raised, by means of cork soles, three inches.

You have but to be firm to pass ; escape is certai n. Ha rk ! the cathed ral

clock strikes eleven ; ere its bell tol ls m idnight , you will be far, far be yond

danger."

D'Almaine 's dress was soon adjusted. Luci lle wrapped herself in the

travelling -cloak her husband had worn on her entrance, and with his cloth

cap pressed tightly over her thick bright hair, she seated herself on the chair

he usually occupied, and with a fluttering heart, bu t bold hand, rung the

bell for the turnkey. But a few minutes elapsed, when his slow, heavy

step sounded along the passages, and v ibrat ed o n the hearts of the husband

and wife, as with throb bing bosoms, and hands clasped in each other, they

awaited his coining.

D'Almaine's brow knit more closely when the key grated in the lock, and

he clutched Luciile 's hand more tigh tl y; but she, thoug h her feelings were

perhaps more agonised, had more self-possession. Wit hdr awi ng her hand

nastily, she whispered " Courage ! " and turned coldly from him. The door

opened; D'A lma ine passed the turnkey, and waited"till the ponderous key

turned and shut him ou t from Luc ille, when for a mo ment caution forsook

hi m ; he forgot his own danger, remembering only that she was alone and a

prisoner, and with an instinctive moti on he turned and laid his hand fiercely

on the lock.

" What has monsieur forgotten now ? " said the man, surlily, who had been

kept up beyo nd his usual time by the interv iew. " Methin ks after such a long

parley, a head long as monsieur's should have all owed his tongue to leave

nothing unsaid that was necessary for the count's defence in the morning."

Recalled to his senses by this rebuke, D'Alm ain e shrugged his shoulders

and went on.

While Luci lle, as the k ey was withdrawn from the lock, started nervously to

her feet, the blood like molten lead coursing through her heart, a cold heavy

moisture on her brow, she approached the door, and with form bent, till her ear

nearly touched the keyhole, her hands clasped, stood in the attitude of listen

ing, her lips compress ing mor e firmly, her hands claspin g mor e tight ly, as t he

retreating steps fell lighter and lighter on her ear. No t a sound escaped her.

Though so distant, she heard distinctly the key turn in the outer door, heard

it creak on its heavy hinge s, then close with a sound which seemed to bring

the rushing air with a torrent through the passages and to the door at which

she stood; then for a minute there was a deathlike silence, and then, oh joy ,

joy unuttera ble, the smac k of a whip was heard, then the rumb ling o f wheels,

and all was again silent as the midnight hour.

Th e cold moisture left her brow; her lips half op ened, for her breathi ng

Avas now free as air, and with still cl asped ha nds she sank on her knees, an d

in low , fervent accents murmured her prayer o f gratitude and love to Him

wh o had giv en her power to save her husband. The prayer, so full of sincerity

and devot ion, reached the thr one o f mer cy, for when she arose from her k nees

she rem embe red n ot she was in a prison , but with a lig ht spirit took up the

cloak which had fallen to the groun d, wrapped it round her, and t hrowi ng

herself on the pallet , slept her first healthy sleep since her husb and's

committal.

(To be continued.)



202 (July 28, isoo.

THE GLOVES.

Truth is stranger than fiction; th erefore let none o f my readers say that the

following story is "v er y im prob able ," since I c ould relate others perfectly

true, and yet much more improbable.

It was the last day of May, the spring was late, and the sun's rays seemed

just beginning to acquire their vivifying powe rs, and to bring forth the

blossoms usually seen in the beg inn ing of that "m er ry " month. A gentle

shower had fallen early in the morning, not sufficiently heavy to lay the dust,

yet serving to bring out the perfume o f the hawthor n in the hedges, while the

lilac and sweetbriar of the gardens scented the air with their grateful fragrance.

A soft, westerly breeze was stealing gently into a pretty morning room, where

two youn g ladies sat, one busy copy ing music, the other turning over the leavesof a book with great vivacity . Suddenly pausing in her occupation , the

latter said, " Blanche, do come into the open air ! On such a mor nin g as this,

I cannot remain shut up in the hous e. I always lon g to be under the old

horse-chestnut tree. Come, Blanche, come ! "

Without waiting for a reply, she darted out of the room, presently returning

with two brown hats, one of which she gave to her companion, (who during

her short absence had carefully l aid aside her music and cop yin g materials,)

and then carelessly plac ed the other on her own head, adorned with a pro

fusion of dark curls, not cork-screw ringlets, but massive, solid curls, falling

over her shoulders. Both girls then stepped out of the Frenc h win dow on to

the gravel path, and sauntered along very leisurely. Wh il e thus engaged, I

may as well tell my readers who the two young ladies are whom I now intro

duce to their notice.

Rose Sotners, as lady of the house, claims preceden ce. Ros e was the

daughter of Miles Somers, Esq., formerly a barrister in Lincoln's Inn, now a

country gentleman. At the.early age of eighteen he fell deeply in love with

a young lady seven years his senior, and being disappointed in his first love,

he resolved never to marry. But if, as I have been told by a gentl eman , (whospoke from ex perience,) it takes fifteen years to heal a brok en heart, Mr.

Somer s was an instanee in po int, for at thirty-three years of age, exactly

fifteen after his first unfortunate attachment, he married an amiable woman

with a handsome fortune, and lived very happ ily with her for some years.

As he had no famil y, he gave up the exercise of his profession, and retired to

Westfield Bark . He had resided there about five years, when Mrs. Somers

presented him with a daughter, payi ng with her life the price of beco ming a

mother. Mr. Somers was utterly prostrated by the death of his wife, and took

such a dislike to the innoc ent cause of it, that he sent her to a widowed sister

of his, who had kindl y offered to take charge of the motherless babe, and

educate her with her own daughter Blanche .

Rose remained with her Aunt Davenport until she was eleven years old,

when Death again ruthlessly stepped in, and deprived her of her second

mother. After Mrs. Davenp ort's death Mr. Somers (w ho during her life

time had conten ted himself with seeing his daughter tw o or three times a year)

determined to pay back the debt of gratitude he owed his sister, for the care

she had taken of his chil d, by best owin g the same care on her own, So he

took Blanche and Rose home , engag ed a governess for them, and gave them

every advantage and indulgence he could comm and. The y grew up beautiful

girl s, but in a different style. Bla nche , wh o was a year older than Rose, was

tall and fair; Rose was dark and petite. Their dispositions, too, were as

dissimilar as their persons. Blanche was cold, sedate, and very timid ; Rose

•was volatile , impul sive , and dar ing almost to rashness. Blan che was con

stantly reprovi ng Rose for recklessness, while Ros e continually laughed at

Blanche for her excessive cowar dice. Thus Blanche attained her eighteenth,

and Ros e her seventeenth year, and on the morni ng when my story begins they

walked along the path where I left them until they cam e to the end of the

shrubberies, then openin g a gate, they entered the pleasure-grounds, and

directed their steps towards the old horse-chestnut tree. This was Rose 's

favourite resort on fine mornings, and Mr. Somers had had a seat placed under

it. There the two girls were accustomed to sit, chatting, reading, or working.

On this especial morning they were unusually early, and on coming near

the tree, they saw to their surprise a youn g man asleep on the scat. Blanche's

first impu lse was to turn back immediately; Rose, on the contrary, stepped

forward to look at the sleeper. He was about two or three-and-twenty, as

far as she co uld ju dg e; a silky moustache, which shaded his upper lip, and

the profile of a well-f ormed nose, bein g all that she cou ld see of his countenance. A profusion of light curly hair clustered over his temples. Rose

said in a low voice to Blanche, " Don 't you think he is very handsome,

Blanche ? "

" Hush! hush ! " replied Blan che, in the same tone.

" Oh ! he is fast asleep," continued Rose. " I wonder who he can be ? He

has walk ed some distance, that is evident, by his dusty boots. He cannot be

a young farmer, for he is too stylish, though he is dressed in that detestable

grey, that always reminds us of old Mr. Farrant's Bath coat, cut up for

Willy 's jac ket and etcete ras. I should not be astonished if he were the

photographer, whose ambulatory habitation, is stationed on the green near the

church."

" Nonsense, Rose, come aw ay !" said Blanche. " He may awake, and then

consider in what an awkward predicament we shall find ourselves."

" I shall look very grand ," said R ose ; "s ay that we have just come from

the house, and ask him if he knows that he is trespassing. Perhaps he is one

of the actors that have come down lately. Do you think he is, Blanche? "

" I am sure I d on't kn ow, and care less," was Blanch e's reply. " Come

away, Rose,"

" On the contrary, Blanche, I think I shall stay and win a pair of gloves,"

said Rose, provo kingl y. " I feel very much inclined to do so ; there is some

thing so very attractive in the appearance of that sweet youth."

. " G o o d hea ven s!" exclaimed Blanche; " ho w can you talk in such a dis

graceful strain ? I shall leave you and go back by myself."

"But, dear Blanche," said Rose, in mock heroi c tones, " if an irresistible

impulse impels me on—(there's alliteration for you!)—if yonder sleeping

swain should be my fate, what then ? "

Blanche turned back, and was walk ing quiet ly away, so Rose had no

alternative but to follow her. Instead, however, of returning the same way

they had come, they took a shorter path to the house.

An almost imperceptible smile had played on the lips of the sleeper during

the latter part of the foregoing conversation.

When a sufficient time had elapsed for the cousins to be out of sight, the

young man, who had opened his eyes every now and then to assure himself

of the fact, rose up slowly, and thus soliloqui sed: " A very lively young

lady, upon my wo rd ! He r surmises respecting me were too flattering. A

photographe r—ambulato ry habitation—an actor. I must not forget this."

An d taking out a p ocket -book , he wrote down Rose's words. " And that isMiss Somers. Wi th your permission, my good father, I shall not be in a

hurry to gratify your wishes so far as to make myself agreeable to Miss Rose.

She must be tamed down a little before I can think of making her Mrs.

Fortescue . I wonde r if she is as pretty as my father says she is ? He r

cousin Blanche is evidently an icicle." By which it is to be inferred thatMr. Fortescue preferred Rose.

Lorenzo Forte scue was t he son of a very ol d friend of Mr. Somers. His

father had some time before paid a visit of six wee ks to Westfield Park, and

ha d taken a very great fancy to Rose; so gre at, indeed, as to wish her to

become his daughter-in- law. Lore nzo, his only son, was then in Germany

pursuing his studies, not with a view to enter any profession (for Mr. Fortescue

had a large independent propert y), but in order to attain a high degree of

intellectual cultivation, Mr. Fortescue thinking with Shakspeare that, " House

keeping youths have ever homely wits."

On Lorenzo's return to England his father spoke to him about settling, and

mentioned Rose. He wished to take him to Westfield Park without delay;

but Lore nzo, who was not particularly anxious to " settle," begged to be

allowed to " run dow n " into Sussex, that he might see and judge for himself with out bei ng kno wn. This very reasonable request being granted by his

father, he had arrived in the ne ighbou rhood of Westtield Park on the evening

of the 30th of Ma y, and the nex t morning sallied forth early to reconn oitre,

as he termed it. A gap in the hed ge bro ught him into the home-field ; and

the invisible fence, which separated this from the pleasure-grounds, being

somewhat out of repair, he wandered on and on until he reached the horse-

chestnut tree, where, being very tired, and the seat inviting him to repose, he

fell asleep.

He returned to the village in a musing mood, and artfully made inquiries

abou t Squire Somers "and his family. Fr om e ver yon e he heard praises of Rose.

Her generosity, her kindness, her attention to the old and infirm, were the

theme of all those to wh om he addressed himself. Miss Daven port was " a

sweet young lady," but Miss Somers, Rose, was, as it were, the embod ied

active principle of benevolence . So Loren zo took his seat in the railway

carriage that was to convey him back to London, half resolved at some future

period to transform Rose Somers into Mrs. Fortescue, after he had -given her

a wh olesom e lesson, provided always that she would accept him.

On arriving at hom e, he gave his father a full, true, and particular account

of all that had happened to him . Old Mr. Fortescue laughed heartily, butagreed with Lorenzo that Rose deserved a lesson.

" Then you were not asleep, Lorry ? " asked he.

" I ha d been sle epin g," repli ed his son ; " but I wo ke just as they came up,

and I thought it better to pretend that I was still asleep than to start up and

make apologies. A fellow look s so awkwa rd under certain circums tances."

"True," said his father. " W e l l , have it your own way, my b oy ; but I

still think that Rose Somers will make a good, affectionate little wife. I do

not very well understand, though, how you can win her affections if you never

go near her."

" M y dear father," said Lore nzo, gravely, " I consider marriage as a very

serious step, and one that ought not to be lightly taken. I would rather wait

for some time, and watch over Rose to understand her character thoroughly,

than marry in haste, and discover when too late that I have committed the

happiness of my life to the keepi ng of a flippant, ligh t-min ded creature, who

could no t enter into my feelings any more than I could understand hers.

Besides, I am not so sure that I am to the young lady's taste, for her conjec

tures respecting me were anything but complimentary."

" Y o u speak like an oracle, Lor ry, " said his father, smilin g; " but againI say, please yourself. Y ou are certainl y the princ ipal party concerned."

The next morni ng, as Rose and B lanche were sitting as usual together, a

pack et was delive red to the former. On openin g it, she beheld a pair of white

ki d gloves, embr oider ed in silver. Th e parcel also containe d a slip of paper,

on which were written the following words :—

" The donor regrets that Miss Somers's kind intentions in bis favour were

not put into execution; but, as intention is everything,he begs her acceptance

of the enclosed."

Rose read the above aloud, her astonishment increasin g at every wo rd ; and

when she had finished she looked at Bl anch e, with an exp ression of the

utmost dismay in her countenan ce. Blanche said quickly, " I t is from the

man who m you though t asleep under the horse-chestnut tree, of course. He

heard all you said, Rose." « *

" H e must have heard it, without do ub t! " exclaimed Rose; "and he

know s wh o said it. Oh ! Blanche , what shall I do ? "

" Not hin g," replied Bl anche, calmly. " He knows you, and you have no

idea who he is ; it is there that he has the advantage o f you ."

" I will inquire in the village about him," said Rose, impetuously." Do no such thing, Rose," said Blanche . " If you will be advised by me

yo u will take no notice whatever of this occur rence, and perhaps you may

hear no more about the matter. But you see to what annoyance you may

have subjected yourself."

" If I could but find out who he is ! " exclaimed Rose, burying her face iu

her hands.



July 28, I860. ] US E F U L INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 203

Blanche thought the opportuni ty of inflicting a long lecture on her cousin

too tempting to he resisted; accordingly she talked long and wisely to Bose,

but her admonitions were quite superfluous. Bose had never know n what it

was to feel ashamed of herself be fo re ; now she did, and repent ed her very

thoughtless conduct most heartily. For the next three weeks she would not

stir out, dreading to meet the "sle epe r awak ene d; " but Blanche went out

as usual, and reported that she had never met any one in the least resembling

the individual in question. By degrees Ros e's fears wore off, and at last she

resumed her walks. But the gloves had produce d a most beneficia l effect on

Bose ; her manners were more subdued; and she no longer laughed unmerci

fully at Blanche when the latter hesitated to cross a field " because she had

heard that Farmer Hob bs' s bull was grazing there." In fact Rose was very

much improved, and everybody noticed the improvement .Time wore on, three months elapsed, and Ro se devoutl y hope d that she

would be free from any farther annoyance consequent on her thoughtlessness.

Blanche had no time now for admonitions, as she wa s' engage d to Captain

Merington who was to take her to India directly they were married. Rose

fretted sadly at the prospect of losing Blanche, nor was she likely to follow

her cousin's example, for thou gh several gentlemen paid her marked atten

tions, yet she encouraged none.

About a fortnight before the day appoint ed for the weddi ng, Mr. Somers

received a letter from Mr. Fortescue, in which the latter said " that he pro

posed paying his friend a visit, and brin ging his son wi th hi m. " Of course

Mr . Somers wrote b ack that he should be delighted , and on the appointe d

day Mr. Fortescue and his son arrived.

There was no recognising Loren zo in the " exq uis ite " who presented

himself to Rose and Blanche just before dinner. A profusion of light brown

moustache, and a respectable beard en tirely concealed the lo wer part of his

face, and besides, his eyes were open!—very beautiful dark blue eyes they

were, and so Rose co uld no t help thinking when she caught them once or

twice fixed on, her countenance. She found him very agreeab le ; indeed she

was the more disposed to like hi m fro m the affectionate respect with whic h

she regarded his father. Everythi ng went on. very well until the eighth day

of their visit, when after dinner old Mr. Fortescue, prompted by a spirit of

mischievous fun, compla ined of being very sleepy, and instead of chatting

briskly, as was his wont, he laid himself down on the sofa and feigned sleep.

Mr . Somers had been obliged to ride over to Arundel on important business

connected with some property belonging to Blanche, and had not yet returned;

Blanche was play ing at chess with Captain Merington ; Miss Quintin, a lady

of a certain age, acting "p ro pr ie ty " to the you nger ladies, was deep in a

book called " Phantasies," which she could not understand, and therefore

thought the more of, everything she read being " excellent" in proportion as

it was unintel ligible, consequently Rose was left to entertain Lorenzo, in

which she was very successful. Dur ing a pause in their conversation, Lorenzo,

pointing to his father, said, " I say, Miss Somers, would not this be a glorious

opportunity for you to win a pair of gloves ? "

Rose felt the blood rush to her face, neck, and arms, which were dyed of a

deep crimson, while the ligh t smile that had illumined her countenance fled,and she stood look ing at Lorenzo as if petrified.

Aghast at the effect his words had produced, Lorenzo said, gently, " Forgive

me—I did not mean to offend. But with a man of my father's age, an old

friend of your father's, too, I thought I might indulge in a harmless joke . "

" It is not that! " said Rose, in faltering tones, and attempting to smile,

" It would be ridiculous affectation i n me to take offence at such a#trifle,

but — " here the tell-tale blood mounted to her face again, but, making an

effort, she added, " You will think it very strange, no doubt, but the mention

of winning gloyes in the manner you alluded to just now, always reminds me

of a very disagreeable occurrence."

" I think I understand," he replied. " I suppose some rash individual

offended you in that way. Of course, no mortal could have been fortunate

enough to be so favoured by Miss Somers ! "

There was such a droll expression on his face as he said this, and his merry

bright eyes beamed so lovingl y upon Rose, that, looking up archly at him, she

said, " I only transgressed in spirit, I will confess that much to you . But I

Avas severely punished for my fault, and do not like to call it to my

remembrance."

" The fault scarcely deserves a punishment, I think, now," said Lorenzo.

" I am sure my father Avould be deli ghted were you to transgress in reality,

for his sake. Is not the opportunity tempting ?"

Rose, laughed and shook her head. Just then old Mr. Fortescue awoke,

and became brisker than ever. Presently Mr. Somers returned, then there Avas

music, next came supper, after Avhich they all retired to their respective rooms.

" S o , " said old Mr . Fortescue, Avhen he found himself alone Avith his son,

" s o Rose did not Avish to kiss the old man, Lor enzo ? "

" Oh, my dear father! " exclaimed Lorenz o, in deprecating tones. " If you

could but have seen how painful ly she blu shed ! I Avas quite sorry that I had

alluded to the subject, and then she half confessed, so prettily ! Oh, I can

see that she is quite sobered down."

" Then I conclude that you would condescend to offer yourself for her

acceptance ? " asked his father.

" I am afraid I hardly dare after so short an acquaintance," said Lorenzo.

"Dear father, if Rose Avere to refuse me I should be miserable for life."

"Just listen to me, " said Mr. Fortescue; " I neither Avish to raise yourhopes too high, nor do I Avish to precipi tate matters, but I have a strong

suspicion that Rose does not dislike you, Lorry. I will tell you Avhy.

Before she saAv you , she always appeared very fond of me ; now that she has

seen you she seems fonder of me than before; therefore, I argue that if she

particularly disliked you , she would not manifest an increased liking for your

father. So now go to bed, and if you dream, dream of Rose."

The fortnight passed quickly, too quickly, indeed, for poor Rose, who felt

that when Blanche and Lorenzo left the house, she would be lonely indeed.

The wedding-day arrived, and Blanche Avas married to Captain Merington.

Many tears were shed on bot h sides at the parting; and when Rose had l o s t

sight of the carriage bearing aAvay Blanche, she rushed up into her room to

give free scope to her feelings. Wh en she made her re-appearance, her father

informed her that his friend, Mr. Fortescue, had kindly consented to prol ong

his visit, and Rose bright ened up at this information.

For two months did Lorenzo and Rose enjoy each other's society, and then

he offered his hand. Rose accepted hi m; and, as there were no hard-hearted

fathers in the case, everything was speedily arranged, and Rose became Mrs.

Fortescue. Lore nzo took her up the Rhi ne for a Avedding-trip, having on his

Avedding-day sacrificed his beard to please Rose, Avho discovered he looked

much younger and handsomer Avithout that appendage. Whe n they returned

to England, he went Avith her to reside at Fern Hill, an estate his father

possessed in Hampshire ; and the day after their arrival, as Rose Avas runningall over the house (as you ng brides are in the habit of doing when for the first

time they take possession of a home of their own,) Lorenzo led her into his

stu dy; and while she Avas admiring the v iew from the Avindow, he took from

a portfolio a sketch, representing himself asleep under the horse-chestnut tree,

Rose and Blanche standing near him. Underneath was Avritten, " I feel very

much inclined to Avin a pair of gloves ; there is something so attractive in

the appearance of that sAveet youth."

" Good gracious!" exclaimed Rose, looking bewildered. " W h o told you

of this, Lorenzo ? "

" Nobo dy, sweetest," wras the repl y. " That sketch represents a little

episode in my oAvn history. That sleeping youth is myself."

" Impossible ! " said Rose, fixing he r eyes scrutinisingTy on bis co untenance.

" No t only possible, but true, dearest; and I can assure yo u that I felt

highly flattered at your supposing me, first a photographer, and next, an

actor. An d if you Avish for further confirmat ion, I can show you the false

beard I sacrificed, and that identical suit of detestable grey t ha t always

reminds you of old Mr. Somebody's Bath coat, cut up for Willy's jack—•"

" O h ! Lorenzo ! Lorenzo ! Ho w you must have despised me ! " said Rose,

hiding her face on his shoulder.

" N o t in the least, Rose. I thought your spirits rather too exuberant,

that is all. An d besides, I Avas pla yin g a traitor's part, by pr^e ndi ng to be

asleep, when, in reality, I was very Avide-awake."

" But tell me all about it, darling ," said Rose, dragging him to a seat, and

placing herself beside h im. " Ho w did it hapjfen that yo u Avere in the

pai$: ? "

" Well, Rose, I will tell you the Avhole history."

He then told her what my readers are acquainted Avith, and added that for

three months he Avent very often to West field to have a peep at her " saucy

face," and concluded by saying, " And noAv, Rose, Avhat have you done Avith

the gloves ? "

" They are safe in a little box, dear Lorenzo, " replied Rose. " At first I had

a strong inclination to throw them behind the fire, but on second thoughts I

put them carefully aside, and reso lved to look at them once a Aveek,, that, if

ever I were tempted to overstep the bounds of propriety, I. migh t pause, and

remember the ago ny of shame I had endured on receiving those gloves as theforfeit I Avas entitled to for my intention only of Avinning them." STELLA.

B O Y H O O D ' S B A Y S .

M y b o y h o o d ' s days are past and g o n e !L ik e iiowers they' ve faded one by

one ,

Unlike the tides are the y.

On ce past they're g o n e for evermore,A n d leave but g l o o m to hover o'erW h e r e jo y had been the day before—

A n agent of decay .

Th e flight of tim e chan ge ever tells ;

That progress in the sys tem dwel ls ,

A n d tempusfugit, cr y th e bells,

'T is t rue in good and i l l !Because my youth has tied from me,L ik e captive eagle when set free,

A s if, her task perform'd, to be

AJundly spirit still .

I knew not that they were so brief,

Until they faded as the leaf,A n d left a vestige of their grief,

Such as when kindred die ;

I kn ew no t the y were fleeting powers,Fo r pleasure mark'd the passing hours,A n d life wa s muffled up in flowers,

L ik e buds in earth that lie.

Oh , ail was pleasure, bright and fair,Such as again L long to share 1

A n d I was young , and free f rom care,A merry, laughing bo y;

Unconscious of niy being's worth,I tarried wit h the scene s of mirth,L ik e a big thou ght detain' d on earth,

A n d rnhie was purest j o y .

But ah, those hours like shadows fled,

Or dre am of star-land swi ftly sped,A n d manho od's years rest on my hea d

A s mount ain sprites in size !

M y spirit 's sun shines not so bright,No r with such iridescent light,N or are my ho pe s so flattering qui te—

On mists and fogs they rise.

N o w cares of life with mo contend,A n d adverse moments them befriend ;

A n d then des£>air, like monster huge,

Reso rts to plans and subt erfuge ,

T o make my path mo re dark ;While g l o o m portentous all the day,L ik e wol f alert in search of pre y,

To steal my hours of j o y away,Is apt to toss m y bark .

Oh , what is life ?—and wh at am I?Su c h clouds arc lingering blaek and highAth wart m y brain and mental sky,

L ik e curtai ns o f despair !

A n d mus t .1 strug gle day and n ight ,Like some poor hapless, luckless wight,A n d Avith thes e Gorgons ever fight,

W h o wor se than pull m y hair ?

But wh y lament ? Still pleasure brimsTh e soul, and health the b o d y tr ims.A v a u n t ! Get hence, insulting w hims !

Hi e to your native tomb !Fo r life ha s j o y s for all of those

W h o shun its vices as their foes ;

A n d hope wil l cancel petty woes—

W ith o u t it all were g l o o m . B. D.

That e ve r y day has its pains and sorrows is universally experienced, and

almost universally confessed; bu t le t us not attend only to mournful truths;

if we look impartially about us Ave shall find that every day has likewise its

pleasures and its joys.

P O W E R I N A W O M A N ' S E Y E . — A lady, when the conversation turned on

dynamics, asked the late George Stephenson, the celebrated engineer, *j What

do you consider the most poAverful force in nature ? " — " I will soon answer

that question," said h e ; "i t is th e eye of a woman (to the man that loves

he r) ; for if a woman looks Avith affection o n a man, should he .go to the

uttermost ends of the earth, the recollection of that look will bring him

back."



20 4 [J uly 28, 1SCU

T O C O R R E S P O N D E N T S .

T H O M A S F . , in a well-written letter, proffers us that ol d

geologica l ante-Mo saic nut to c rac k abo ut the age of

the wor ld, and the lapse of time prior to the creat ion

of man , or as he puts it , the Deluge. He is almost in

Doub tin g Castle, because he cannot reconcil e g e o l o g y

wit h the Mosaic account. He should read Pye Smith's

Religion of Geology. There are man y ways of recon

ciling the pres ume d differences in the Bible. The fact

of the Deluge itself has bee n doub ted ; but geo logy ha s

aided religion in proving its universal nature. We are

not certain as to the date even of th is miracle. The

version of the Sept uagi nt pla ces it B.C. 3246, and the

vulgar Jewi sh chr onolo gy at 2104 years B .C. Here at

once is a dis crep anc y of 1100 years ! Wh o shall dec idewhe n doctor s disagre e? There are twel ve assigned

dates for the Delug e alo ne; and believers in each c o n

dem n the others. May not all be wr ong ? May not

the proud sci ence of geo logy itself be false ? A thou

sand years, we are told , in the e ye of the Al mig hty ,

are but as a day. Wh o can tell wh en He hast ened

or whe n He slackened o'er his wor k? Enough that

w e are here : eno ugh for us that we are surrounded

b y myriads of mira cles ; enough, that while we live

Time (for us) exists, and that befor e us and be hin d us

lie the two eternities. Our Correspondent also askswhether, as symboli sm is generally used in the Old

Testamen t, the accou nt of Paradise, ko.., might not be

simply symbolical . Well, we prefer to tbi uk not so.

Let any one try to put forward a more simple, natural,and probabl e account, and we will surrender our own ;

bu t till then we will adhere to the old one witho ut

sym bo l . A firm faith is the best theology. T H O M A S F .

ha d bet te r not begin questioni ng and doubt ing, or

else he will end by becomi ng a Pyrrhonist and doubt ing

everything . Havin g ourselves reasoned boldly, as well

as beli eved faithfully, w e have at last determined not

to question where we cannot unde r s t a nd .

H . O. F.—Ladi es of the present day are not parti cularl y

fond of fox-hunti ng gentle men. Their habi t s may be

of the best ki nd, but their dev oti on to the sport is so

in tense t h l P the ladies have little of thei r society ;

hence the grum blin g on the subject. Ye t the manly

sports of England should claim some consideration at

th e hands of the fair se x. Our heroe s are trained in

th is and other s imilar scho ols of gymnas tic discipline ;

and w ho in the wid e wo rld can equal them for coura ge

and devoti on to noble purposes ? The military spiri tof the country requires to be suppo rted by those exer

cises which give to the frame of manhoo d the qualities

that i m pa r t to Englishme n a powe r of endurance

ami fortitude which is so conspi cuous, whet her in the

senate or on the field of bat t l e . The Du ke of Welling

ton said that th e Bat t le of Waterloo was won at E ton,

wher e every proper bod i l y exerci se is allow ed to the

b o y s . And in our day, when Britain is so mu ch in

danger of bein g invaded, ladies should not objec t to

the other sex being withd rawn a few hours a week

f rom th e usual amenities of the parlour and the

drawing-room.T W E N E Y writes a very sensible le t ter on the Volunt eer

movement , suggest ing that all men should be trainedto arms, that drill sergeants should be appointe d and

paid, that publ ic bu t t s an d targets should be erected,

an d that all should be taught and drill ed free of ex

pense. We hope the day will c o m e when it will be so.

W e want wor kin g men in the rifle corps. We w ant

the worki ng classes shoulder to shoulder with the

middl e and higher classes. Her Majestj\has set the

exampl e, and has hit the bull 's eye. At one time the

freedom of th is land depended on a g o o d y e w b o w ;

n o w it will depend on a good rifle and a skilful mark s

man. Mat ters are tending that wa y; the nation is

getting mor e active and manly , and perhaps less

money -maki ng. Our Correspo ndent, and all who like

him approve the m ovem ent , shoul d keep the ball

\ip with all thei r migh t and main. Individual exam ple

can do mu ch ; we must not cease in our exertion s.

C O N S T A N C E M., whe n co mpan ion to a lady, formed an

acquaintanc eship wit h a you ng gentl eman w ho was

a me mb er of the famil y, and wh o paid her all the

at tent ions exp ect ed from a lover. She says she didno t then love him, and t reated him with such coldness

that his demeano ur altered, and he no w treats he r

with that polite regard whi ch any lady mig ht re

quire from a gentl eman. But we must seriously say

that frivolity of conduc t in the youthful of either se x

oug ht to expe ct its punish ment. Even among the

young, to wh om tender passions are natural an d

healthful, there is a strict et iquette which requires

kindness of disposition, and that nobility of heartwh ic h is the finest je we l that man or wom an can wear.

W o m e n whose hearts cannot beat to the impulses of

affection had bet te r at once retire to the g l o o m o f a

nunn ery ; for it is quite ev ident they do not duly

appreciate the duties that Provi dence assigned to

theni .

I N D I G N A N T R O S E B U D . — T o we a r earr ings is at bes t a

harmless vanity. They are n ow very fashionable, and

often very graceful and very pre t ty. They adom a

handsome girl, and thei r manufacture does good fo r

trade. Many -a jeweller earns his living by making

them, a nd we do not kn ow any one wh o is harmed by

the m. Our Correspondent was certainly courageous

in pier cing her ow n ears; an d her van ity is at leastharmle ss, if a desire to comp ty wit h a genera l fashi on

be vani ty at all. We are not a r philosophers. We

mus t hav e petty cares and little pleasures, and pret tyear-rings are of the l a t t e r : and since man y othe r

young ladies would faint under the operation, R O S E B U D

has shown courage.

A L M A . — W h a t does ma mma sa y? As he has been to the

hons e, she is quite entitl ed to ask him to c o m e again

j f she approve s. Consult mam ma.

A T R O U B L E D W I F E writes one of t hose painful letterswhich at onc e emb ody a romanc e, and reveal to us a

glimps e of life whic h we are powerles s to ameliorate

or contro l . Young , fair, affectionate, fond of her

husb and, she is subj ect ed to the gl ance s of a ri cher

friend, a patron in fact of the pair, who is more

powerful, younge r, more ac compli shed, and hand

somer t han her husba nd. This friend, she mor e thanhints, love s her ; he has not yet spok en ; but her own

hear t is a traitor to her ; her letter confesses she is not

indifferent to him. She ass umes a coldn ess ; her hus

ban d notice s it, bla mes her for it, bids her we l c om e

still more th is dangerous friend and rival, upon wh om

the prosp erit y of tne family hangs . What shall she

do ? F irstl y, pray for s t r eng th ; secondly, chide herself; thirdly, go to her chamb er, sit down , and fancy

the mi sery and result of the sequence to this tale a t 1

which sbel iints . Let her school her own hear t ; le t

he r t h ink of the misery which weakness would entail,

th e vice whic h it wou ld engender, the crime which it

w o u l d ensure. Let her determine to do well, and she

will have powe r given. Rem ove from the scene if she |

can; if not, look th e matter boldly in the face, an d

a bove nil confide fully in her husban d. After all, the

mat ler , since the Lothar io has not declared himself,

ma y be fancy. We hope it is so. " Le t me here w arn

- you ," writes Dr. Gregory, in his legacy to his daugh

ters, " against that weakness so c o m m o n among vain

women—the imaginat ion that every man wh o takesparticular notice of you is a lover. Nothi ng can expose

more to ridicule." Again, there is a kind of unmeaning

gallantry much practised by some me n. which to

w o m e n of disce rnment is quite harmless. Let the

T R O U B L E D W I F E also remember that no woman falls

but by her own fault.

For if Virtue feeble were,

Heaven itself would sloop to her.

There is never a temptat ion with out a wa y of escape.

M A Y K.—The condu ct of the you ng men of the pres entday is generally highly creditable. The slight inatten

tions of whi ch the you ng ladies complain are to be

at t r ibuted more to the services they perform for thei rcountry and home than to any negligence of character

and conduc t. An English man respects wo ma n so

m u c h that he pro mot es legisl ation in her favour. The

defence of the count ry may withdra w yo ung men from

the delightful attractions of private l i f e : but when once

they have done thei r duty to society They will be sure

t o return to the conge nial spher e of the quiet fireside.

A grea t orator onc e said that the age of chival ry had

gone . But the recent demonstration of the Yolun teer

Rifle Corps gives an emphati c refutation to the

un gall ant an d unpat rioti c asserti on.

T H E R E S . — After marriage the di spositions of both hus

band and wife sometimes undergo a materia l change.

A s Apr il is capri cious , so is the first temperature of

married life. The slightest wor d of unkindne ss may

open up a channel of mutual recriminations and littledisagreements ; but these, if a t tended to in time, will

preve nt the river of domes tic cont entm ent over

f l owing its banks, and s o conver ting its borders into awatery grave of ut ter uselessne ss. *' A stitch in tim e, "

says Frankl in, "sa ves ni ne ;" and the first angry

w o r d between man and wife should be banished to

that closet of whic h the k eys are held by prudenc e,

tender regret, and fond and loving confide nce in the

future.

A. N. B., an unac compl ishe d membe r of society, has a

rap at the demi-semi -accom plishe d ones who rudely

speak in Fren ch to each other in the midst of John ny

Nontong- paws, wh o do not unders tand th e l i ngo, as

Ja ck says. We shou ld like to rap the m also. The

puppies , male or female, must be underbred pu ppies t o

try to exalt themsel ves ab ove the plain sensible c o m

panions w ho surround them ; but A. N. B's letter is

not quite free from bile. He has been touche d by

these spoilt children, and his pride has been wounded.

H e shoul d bide his time, impro ve himself, and be

sure that the concei t of spoi led children will not fail

to puni sh itself.

M A R Y I S A B E L . — Y O U put to us a multitude o f questi ons,

but the who le of them require but a general answer.

In th is age intellectual accomplishments in women

ar e t reated with the highest regard. We have tra-

velled out of the nar row paths of barbarism, and gone

into those of a just and generous appreciation of

woma n's character. The choices t ornaments o f moder n

soc i e ty are intellectual women , and the pavent w ho

woul d deny to his daughter an education commen

surate with his circumsta nces in life, commit s a cr ime

agains t socie ty ,

L I H Y A N D ROS E . —-In this grea t and glorious country

ladies in our ti me receive more respect a nd nobler

attentions than ever the y did in mediaeval time s. The

laws of the country of late years have been specially

directe d to the protection of wome n. The House s of*

Parl iament have been engaged for nearly twen ty years

in the discussion of the marital r ights of the w eaker

se x ; and n ow the l aw is so stro ng that any abused

wom an can obtain redress, by ah application to the

nearest magis t ra te in the distri ct in whi ch she resides.

J A N E C — People in bad health are pr one to be fretful.

Your sister, in all proba bili ty, mea nt no harm . In

sick ness kind nes s often effects a cure soon er than th e

medi cin e of the faculty. The min d is lord of the b o d y ,

and the sympat hetic influences of the tw o are so closethat, when the one is injured the other is sure to suffer.

Take counsel from the emotio ns of your good heart,and patience will soon c o m e to your relief.

A S C H O O L B O Y . - The questio n ma y be solved thus :—

1 man, £ 30 ; 2 child ren, £30 ; 1 wo man , £20— in all,

4 souls for £S0. The £20,000,000 di vi de ! by 80 wo ul d

• equal 230,000 tim es 4 persons, whi ch wou ld be equal

to 1,000,000 spuls, con si sti ng of 250,000 me n, 250,000

w o m e n , and 5U0,000 children.

F L O R E T T A . — For ma kin g sh ell-flowers us e diamond

cem ent, whi ch can be purcha sed read y made, or pre

pare it accord ing to the rec ipe given in No. 808. Now

is the time to co l lec t marine plants for dried speci

men s, but not for the vivary. In consequ ence of the

recent tempest uous weather ma ny things may be

fonnd on the beach which at other seasons are very

rare.

GasroN.— N o b o d y can touch it with out your authority.It wou ld be wiser to transfer both to one acco unt, the

clauses of the Ac t not be ing sufficiently explicit,

though that relat ing to married wome n allows the

managers a discretion in the matter.

X . Y . Z.— Sum mon h im for i t ; a person who retains a

lady's portrait, when an a ft'aire du coiur is at an end,

mus t be at least a polt roon . If you wish to escape the

publi city of such a proce edin g, you can only put up

with the loss. There is no other way,

E. J. M I N N I E . — I t is the b l o o m of health ; to reduce it,

abstain from ferm ente d liquors, such as beer an d

wine, and eat spa ringl y of animal food.

F L A X . — E i t h e r par ty may make the recognition; the

greater resp ect is due to the marrie d lady, and raising

the hat is a mark of respect.

O T H E R COMMUNICATIONS R E C E I V E D . — G . K . — A M E L I A H.

— W . G. L.—B. D . — W . G. L.—B. D . - W . S.—S. B . —

C O P L E Y H A L L . — L I Z Z I E U.— E . E. E . X. (it is all a

sham ; keep your mone y in your pocket).—JASON (yes,

if persona l). - F . G. H. (plac e yoursel f in the hands of

a properly qualified medical man). — E . (ye s; we have

many landowners of that persuasion ; thanks, but wo

cannot find r oom for bet te r original ones) . — O . R .

(repeat the question ; wron g; return them).—R. W.

(Schlegel's Let arts on Dramatic Literature).—LOLA B E L L(send four stamps for the Numbers ) . — MIRZA D . (write,

wi th real nam e and address, on business matters).—

M I L I E A . {Benjamin, -Hebr ew, son of the r ight head ;

jolie in French means pre t ty, pleas ing; it wou ld beopen to remark ; dark auburn).—FLORENCE (call upon

Mr . Hut ton , No. :!6, Crawfor d Street, Marylebone).—

F U L L Y B., (in E nglis h, bane; in Fre nch , 6a*). —

A D E L A I D E A . H. (you should have another party with

y o u , or the sanct ion of you r parents ; very good ; see

Nos. 359 and 304) .—D. M. G. (see reply to G. D . M. ,

in 897).—G. W. J. (if requi red ; not till he is dead, or

she has be en divorced) . — S P ERO (it is too careless, and

careless clerks are no acquisition).—H. H. (the law

sanctions his doing s o ) . — E N I A (if approved, it would

be paid for).—G. M. (for a life of Belisarius, c onsult

Vol . VJI. of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman

Empire; or page 310, &c. , of Dr. S mith' s Student'*

Gibbon). — E S P E R A N C E (friends are always partialcritics, but try again).—X. (Archbishqp Whately's) .—

A S U F F E R E R (consult a regular medical practitioner).

E N Q U I R E R (it is legal) .—B. B. C. (legal, but the partiesma yb e punish ed).— G. A . S. (air and exercise : try a

chan ge of scene to so me inland pl ace for a few days

occas ional ly ) .—A. M. (begin " Si r" ; and put, in two

lines, in the c orner of the pa ge on which yo u sign your

name, " To Bo x, " «fcc. ; see reply t o J. P. in No . 808;

yes , but llourish loss) .— A R T H U R I N A (go out accompanie d by a friend, and t he nuisanc e will cease, or tell

a policeman of the annoyanc e ; very good) .—X. Y . Z .

(consult Brand's Popular Antiquities). — C A R O L I N E

S O P H I A O . ( thanks ; we rece ive mor e original than we

can find space f o r ) . — L I L Y and Rest; (as it is leap-year,

ask the gentlema n to de cid e; for the meaning of

Christ ian names see No. 2 4 ) . —D O M U S (the student's Hume, Haydn ' s Dictionary of Dates; Greek only, edited

by Hal m, 3s. of Mr. D . Nutt , 270, Strand, W. C . ) . —

D E L T A (property descends ; the s o n ) . — M A U D A M Y (not

without at first obtaining their sanction ; y es ) . —AGNE S

(endeavour to be content with your stat ion ; and buy a

shilling Webster 's Dictionary to improve yourself in

spel l ing) .—AN I N V A L I D (appl y to Mr. We ldon, Book

seller, Paternoste r R o w ; it will be cheaper to buy

them second-hand than to hire t h e m ) . —SC A TTK R W I C K ET

(consult Bell 's Animal Magnetism, Philadelphia, 18;>7,Triib ner and Co ., 00, Paternoste r Row).—JACoBis(i t is

dishonourable to pay marked attentions without

serious intention s; long engagements sel dom lead to

anyth ing) .— R O S A L I E (no exclusive ly military tailor;

perha ps y ou refer to Dun n's Tailors' Labour Agency) .

Q. U. E . (for the best infor matio n on the subjec t of

Saving s Banks , apply to Mr. Jose ph Bentle y, 13, Paternoster Row , E. C . ) . — G E R T R U D E 0. (there are various

syst ems ; ascertai n the title of the book your drawing-

master uses, and procure i t ) .—E. E. DE It. (no).—

J A M E S W. (wha t was the title of your " t r u e story"?) .

— A D A (a private gentleman).—S. E . (only through

private channels). — S. 1). (Ho dge's Chemistry for

Deachcrs, 3s. Od. free).—J. M'G. AY. (sleep on the other

s i d e ) . — M A R Y W. (se e N os . 710 and 773). - SCOTLAND

(see No. 520; write more compactly).— J. W. (see No.

. 3 4 0 ) . —D ELA M ER E E . (sec No. 797).—GIPSY (see No. 659).

— CONS TANCE (see No. 091).

C L A S S E S F O R W O M E N ,

\J 45, G R E A T O R M O N D STREET, W.C.

Vacation Term, 1860, J u l y 30 to Oct. 6.

Half Terms, J u l y 30 to So pt. 1 ; Sept. 3 to Oct. 6.

Hours—3 to 4 o ' c l o c k P.M. 4 to 5 o ' c lock P.M.

Monday Reading Writing

Tuesday Book-keeping . . . Ar i thmet icThursday.. Writing Reading

Friday Book keeping . . . Ar i thmet ic

FEES. Term. Half Term.

For One Day in the We ek . . Is. Od Is. od.

T wo Days 2s. Od Is. 4d.

Thr ee Da ys 2s. Od la. 8d.

Fou r Da ys • 3s. Od 2s. Od.

Ne w Pupils to pay an entra nce fee of Is. (not to be

renewed after absence).



July 28, I860.] USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 20 5

FAMILY H E R A L D .

E Y E S , N O S E , A N D M O U T H . — S E C O N D ARTICLE.

That illustriously obscure author, Marolles, w ho made a list of his own

orks extending over two thousand subjects, and who , since n o one wou ld

uy them, used to circulate them by slipping them in between the volumes on

e second-hand book-stalls, has not forgotten the subject of Noses; and

pens his chapter, we arc told, by a disquisition on the nose of the Vir gin Ma ry,

hich he declares was of a sweet and feminin e aquili ne, and whi ch t herefore

hall head our list of illustrious noses of that kind. Mr. Holman Hunt, in

s new picture, has not followed the authority of Marolles; but then, as he

as made a mistake in the architecture of Her od' s Tem ple, (he has pict ured

oriental instead of an imi tation of the G reek !) we may excuse" his fall ing

hort in this particular. If we want examples of the aquiline, eagle's beak,

r Jewish nose, we have only to look round about us on our Hebrew brethren.

he species is good, shrewd, and useful. Perhaps selfishness and determina

on are more strongly marked in it than in any others. Not only the Jewish

ut nearly all the ancient easterns appear to have it ; and one proof of the

rigin of the gipsies is found in the chara cter of their noses. In the Egyptian

ulptures we continu ally find the Jewish nose ; nay, so far as we can ju dg e

om the unrolled mummies which are to be found in the British Museu m

nd elsewhere, the noses in mu mmy flesh are aquiline . So also with the

ssyrians, in the Nineveh marbles, that type of nose is strictly adher ed to ;

nd whether the king be hunting , or purs uing, or fighti ng with his enemies,

e find the promi nent aquiline the leadin g feature of his face. Grecian and

nub noses do not seem to have been dreamt of by the prolific artists of those

ays. The Grecian was probab ly the nose of Mahom et and his successors, as it

of his devotees, who are to be found all over Persia an d Indi a. Th e Hind oosso partake of the type ; and it was but the ot her day that we were watching

e countenances of Dule ep Sing and of the first of ou r eastern baronets, Sir

owasjce Jejeebhoy, and marking the long , curved, thin, and somewhat

endulous "b ea ks " which they possessed. Th e only exceptio n is, they say,

ana Sahib, whose nasal organ is more straight than those of his brethren.

Amongst a rare-collection of various woods in the museum of Ke w Gardens

re to be found two wooden statues of Siva, a deity much worshiped by

dolatrous easterns; and the frowning brows, fierce eyes, and cruel expression

the thin drawn-up li ps are much aided by the narrow, finely cut, aquil ine

ose, which, with thin nostrils wide ly inflated, seems to run dow n to meet

nd cover the upturned lip . Y ou can well see wh y the ignorant; devotees

ared their wooden god. No mean artist has carved, that face ; he has well

arried out the characteristics of the g o d ; and his count enance corresponds

ith his name—Siva, the destroyer.

The vindictiveness of Siva is an expression partly owing to the character of

e aquiline nose; and to follow out the tho ught suggested , we shall find

ndictiveness and spite very promin ent among st animals and bir ds, the

atures of whi ch bear some appro ximat ion to the forward curve we have

nder notice. A Itoma n-nosed horse is perhaps as spiteful as an y; and cou ld

c have photographic side-faces of the horses tamed by Mr . Itarey, we

hould be able to ju dge the extern al features whi ch accomp any wha t the

rooms call " v i c e " in these animals. Fro m our own observation on mules,

onkeys, and horses, we sho uld say that an aquiline co ntour is decidt dly

uggestive of bad t emp er; that it is so of spite, as wel l as of ener gy, in the

pinion of Shakspeare and D icke ns, bot h very close observers, we need only

uote two of their characters to pr ov e; these are Shylock and Fagin, both

ews. . Tha t these were both men of hig h endowm ents and of great intel lects ,

hat they were both very much tr ampled upo n and injur ed, that both were

ot the subjects of pity, is not to be denied, any more than that we are now

eating inventions of an author's brain as if they were realities. But they

re so consonant with truth that they are realities, and we can pictur e th e

ew who wished his daughter "d ea d at his feet, with her jewe ls in her ear, "

nd he who was the instructor of Charley Bates and the Artful Dodger, with

ore vividness than we can those real criminals Sir John Dean Paul (whose

ose is aquiline), Mr. Pullinger, or Robs on of the Crystal Palace. Perhaps

e most obtrusively aquiline nose that ever was seen was that of the

onqueror of Scinde, the late Sir Charles Napier. The organ itself was

rodigious; it was a squire-of-the-wood's nose, one really not seen in a life

me elsewhere, and the energy whi ch accompan ied it was as pro digi ous. But

he nose was far from Jewish. It was aquili ne, not pend ulous , thin at the

nd, and fine and thin in the nostril. Geo rge Cruikshank, the artist, who

ore some similarit y to the general, has also a fine aquiline no se, and it is

urious that in the Indian army Napier used to bear the soubriquet of " Old

agi n," whilst Cruikshank, wh o illustrated Dickens's fiction so admirably,

opied the face of the J ew from hi s own, sitting before a glass for the first

udy of those et chings whic h, emb ody ing the idea of the author, made the

rst issue of " Oliver Twist" so popular and so highly prized.

Great conqueror s, and also those gui lty of great cruelties, the scourg es of

heir kind, Attila, Tamer lane, and Ge ngh is Khan, also had, so far as w e can

etermine from report and tradition , aq uiline noses.

Mrs. Hemans and Charles Dickens, when young, may be cited as possessors

f aquiline noses; Dickens's has grown to be somewhat more than it was in

Maclise's portrait, and is now to be classed as cogita tiv e. Of his chief rival's nose

e must say little: it has been the causa teterrima belli—the fruitful source of

literary quarrel, which resulted in the more powerf ul turning the weaker

uthor out of his club, and thus marking him for life. Th e truth is, our

atirist's nose is broken , havin g suffered in its yo ut h; and that which should

e profoundly cogitative is now little better than a snub. But authors being

roverbially of an irritable race, this nose trou bled its possessor, and he

esented its" being dr agged into p ubli c life; and indeed it is both actually and

n print a delicate subject to be handled ; the princ ipal wo nder is that a man

truly great shoul d be so thin- skinned as to irrepa rably injure a fellow-

writer for a rem ark upo n his nose, or as the imagi nati ve Celt calls it, " the

preface to his countenance."

Having thus arrived at snubs by an example whi ch recalls old John Dennis

and Alexan der Pop e, we may as well briefly dismiss them. The snub is the

most abused and despised of noses. It has accompa nied but few great men

through life, Kosciu sko and the Empero r Paul of Russia being' the most

notorious. It has not had even a negative respectability, for under the name

of retrousse this nose has been worn by almost all the most piquante of demi

reps and the mistresses of kings upon record. Acco rdi ng to Marm ontel,ilun petit nez retrousse renvers les lots d 'un empire;" (a little turned-up

nose has overthrown empi res; ) and in the histories of Pomp adour and D u

Barry, and a few others o f those celebrities, such as the Duchess of Ports

mouth and Mistress N ell Gwyn ne, we have sufficient proofs of the truth of

this dictum . Our finest biograp her, Boswell, Geor ge the Second , and Queen

Charlotte, were punished by having this nose assigned t o the m : w e use

our phraseology advi sedl y; for certainly a woma n who throug h history will

be ever know n as " Farmer Geor ge's plain wife," and whom even court

painters could not flatter, is to be pitied.

Great curiosity, general gaiety, a certain force of character, and impudence

are associated with snub noses. Cupid, the most impudent of ancient deities,

is pictured thus adorned. These qualities are scarcely compensated by a certain

readiness of wit and cleverness at repartee, w hich accompanies it; nor does the

term " celestia l" at all soften the evil . This adjective has been bestowed up on

the organ because it is continually turning up and seeking the skies, or

because the Chinese, the celestial nation, or the far greater portion of them at

least, have such noses. Th ey are, in fact, a nation of snub no se s; and if

Messrs. Oliphant and Wingrove Cooke are to be credited, they are the most

impu dent and lyi ng of all nations.

The space aiforded us will only permit us to point out the grand distinctions

existi ng between the noses of humanity. W e cannot go any farther, except

to hint that there exist all sorts of varieties of these classes. W e indica te t he

genus ; we cannot point out the species, or we migh t particularise the Graoco-

Rom au nose, the cogitative snub, the Jewish snub and the Roman snub,

bo th of whi ch are sufficiently distinc t to be measured and descanted upon .

Bu t we must leav e a subject w hic h possesses such charm s, and affords, in m ore

senses than one, such a handle to a man's charact er.

The mouth, our last feature, for w hich we have indeed left little space, is

one upon whic h very much of the character of the face depends. No. wom an

can be a pretty woma n who has an ugly mouth. To the most regular

features a gapin g mouth, or ugly, droopin g, and badl y for med lips, will give

an air of listless ignorance , or half idiotcy, whic h is so repulsive. Firmness,

gene ral deci sion, cruelt y, softness, and gentleness of min d, love of our fellows,

eloquence, spite, vindictiveness, generosity, and strength of characte r, are all

indicated by the mouth.

It is incumb ent therefore with astute and cunning men, with those who ara

crafty and poli tic, and who plo t against humani ty, to conceal the play and

worki ngs of the mouth . As Ca3sar covered his baldness with a laurel crown,

so a modern Caesar covers his lips with a thick drooping moustache ; in this,

too, nature has admirably aided him . Forrester, the Bo w Street runner, and

Fouche, Napoleon's celebrated chef of police, almost invariably detected the

guilt y by noticin g the play of the lips. Forrester, in his curious "M em oi rs ," has

frequently told us that he saw " guilt upon the li p" of more than one whom he

suspect ed; and his sagacity, if not unerring, was great. But who can watch the

play of the mouth when it is covered by a thick gro ve of moust ache! All the

celebrated police agents, from Fouche to Inspector Whicher, have been

completely puzzled by such. It is well therefore, on important occasions, to

conceal the mouth . It is too sure an index of character.

Thin pale lips are supposed to be indicative of ill temper. The y are more

surely perhaps the consequences of a weakly and not too healthy habit of

j body. A very thin nether lip, clenched teeth, and a pale cheek have been for

j ages the stock in trade of the flctionist when he wishes to draw a conspirator ;

| and the painter has followed him. Judas, in many of the early Italian| pictures, is seen biting his under lip. ltichar d the Th ird, as portrayed by

llo lin gsh ed and by Shakspeare, had a similar habit. Men of nervous and

excitable temperament have, especially if suspicious, a habit of plucki ng at

their lips and distorting their mouths.

Small mouths are very much praised, and have been for a lon g time muc h

in fashion. Fashionabl e painters and artists for the Book of Beauty have

carried this smallness of mouth to an absurdity. Yo u will see engravings of

ladies with mouths considerably smaller than their eyes, which, of course

pres umin g the face to be in due propo rti on, is as much a monstr osity as if the

mouth, like that of a giant in a pantomime, extended from ear to ear. The

female mouth should not be too small. Fr om what we can gather from

contemporary portraits, supposing them to be true, both Queen Elizabeth

and Mary Queen of Scots had mouths muc h too small to be handsome. That

of the former, the greatest female monarch who has ever existed, should have

at least indicated her capacious mind. That of Queen Charlotte was ugl y;

that of the princess of that name was a true Brunswick mouth, exhibiting the

two front teeth, from the shortness and curious elevation of the uppe r lip, which

is perpetuated in the males of the present royal family . The Hous e of

Hapsb urg has also a very ugly mouth, celebrated as the Austrian mout h.

Certain masters of the ceremonies have written muc h on the expression of the

mouth . " I t is," says one, "t he feature whic h is called into play the most

frequently ; and therefore, even where beauty of form exists, careful training

is Heeded, to enable it to perform correctl y its manifold duties. An elegant

manner of utterance renders words, insignificant in themselves, agreeable and

persuasive. In the act of eating, skilful manag ement is necessary. A -laugh

is a very severe test to this feature."

Mr. Dicken s, whose observation is very wide, has ridiculed such teaching,

when h e makes one o f his superfine old wom en instruct her pupils in the

formation of the lips by uttering three magic words—potatoes, prunes, and



S06 T HE FAMILY HERALD—A DOMESTIC MAGAZINE OF [July 28, 1860.

jprism. An d we presume that when Lord Byron nearly fainted at the sight of

liis wife enjoyin g a rumpsteak, the skilful management o f his Ada' s mouth

•was neglected.

Turning from such foppery to the poets, we may conclude by saying

that from the Greek Anthology downw ards, to the fluent yo ung fellows who

write songs for music publishers, thousands of lines have bee n written in praise

of ladies' mouths. The Latins and the Italians have paid great attention to

this feature ; rosy lips, pearly teeth, and violet breath have been for ages the

stock in trade of the poets. But perhaps the bes t things said of them are by

an Irish and an Engli sh poe t: the Irishman, hy perbol icall y, likens the mouth

of his charmer to " a dish of strawberries smothered in c r a m e a n d Sir John

Suckling paints to the life the pretty pout ing unde r-lip of a beauty in his

Ballad on a Wedding— Her lips were red y and one was thin

Compared to that was next her chin-

Some bee had stung it newly.

F R I E N D AND F OE.

More dangerous than an o p en fo eIs the false and faithless friend

Who' l l s toop to means debased and lowTo gain a selfish end.

Th e o p en foe's an honest manW h o hates and lets you k n o w i t ;

Th e faithless friend's a paltry knave

W h o hates, but dares not s h o w it .

S u ch have I met, and found to beTo sense and justice blind,

Benea th the standa rd of a manIn body and in mind.

Sure such a one will freely takeA favour kind ly meant,

A n d then your wearied ear assail

W i t h empty compliment .

friend "Perchance this same designing 'On others may confer

A favour, ay, and that unask 'd ,

Or if , without demur.

Th e favour on himsel f bes tow'd

B y lying he'll disclaim,Bu t hi s good deeds of cha rity

W i t h boasting tongue proclaim.

A s mariners the quicksands dread.Or wh i r l p o o l ' s dangers shun,

Ma y he who k n o w s not friendship's rights

Be shunn'd by every one !

Give me the friend with honest heart,Who' l l chide whe n chiding's just,

A n d let the false and faithless oneBe humb led to the dust. A. W. W.

F A M I L Y M A T T E R S .

Gratitude is the music of the heart when its chords are swept by kindness.

Purposes, like eggs, unless they be hatched int o action, will run into

rottenness.

Never meet Tr oub le half way, but let him have the whole walk for his

pains. Very likely he may give up his visit in sight of the house.

Th e win d is unseen ; but it cools the brow of the fevered one, sweetens th e

gummer atmosphere, and rippl es the surface of the lake in to silver spangles of

beauty. So, goodness of heart, thou gh invisible to the material eye, makes

its presence fel t; and from its effects upon surro undi ng th ings we are assured

of its existence.

T H E E A R L Y R I S E R . — T h e rose of health blooms upon the early riser'scheek ; his eye sparkles with the fire and glow of yo ut h; his step is as elastic

as thoug h his legs were set with wire spi ral-springs, and his body composed

of India-ru bber. He is strong, too, and toug her than white leather. He can

outwalk and outlive any human being that never leaves his bed-chamber until

nine o'clock, wherever you brin g him from—whethe r from the hardy Green

land, or from the soft clime of the sunny south.

F O O LI S H N ES S . — H e who never plays the fool is a serious, solemn, jogging,

worrying, lackadaisical fool all the days of his heavy life. He lets the

machiner y of his system go clapp ing and cl attering and crashing to pieces

before its t ime, because he is ashamed to be seen oilin g it by his neighbo urs.

He prevents some of the best purposes o f his being , and spoils many of his

finest faculties by refusing to obey the impulses of his nature, and allow his

lighter qualities judi ciou s exercise, He offers himself a sacrifice on the altar

of the most abomin able of bugbears, false dign ity. Hi s hard, hollow shell,

serves as a portable tombsto ne, whereon we read inscribed, 1 1 Here lie

interred Humour , Wit, Mirth, Fun, Frolic , creatures whom God sent into

the world , but whom I, deeming them unworth y, put to death and buried ."Deliver us from such locomotive mummies! w e love to see a man sensible

and sober in season, and in season not afraid to indul ge in jov ial nonsense.

He enjoys the blessings giv en him. He un bends the bow , and uses the string

as a whipcor d for his child's top ; and, our word for it, the next arrow that

springs from the tense nerve w ill fly the further and with the surer aim.

Strange that men will be so inconsistent in their various courses ! W e are

fully aware o f the ladin g, harassing influence of mo no to ny ; yet we often

require it in the conduc t of those with whom we deal. W e hear an infinite

quantity of exhortat ion abo ut the serious business of life, the brevity of time,

and its too great preciousness to be wasted in trifling pursuits and amuse

ments, our duties of diligence and gravity, and that comfortless sort of cant;

but it is all uncomfortabl e, and worse still, unthankful doctrine . Our mental

harmony demands playfulness and hilarity as interludes to the grander tones

of existence; and if this demand be unsatisfied, painful exhaustion and prema

ture debility soon must follow.

POMADE D I V I N E FO R BRUISES AN D SPR AIN S. —Th is is an old and simple

remedy. To prepare it, take six ounces of well-washed marrow, or clarified

lard; one ounce each gum galbanum and benzoin; a quarter of an ounceeach of cloves, cinnamon , and n ut meg ; and o ne fluid ounce of turpentine.

Put the whol e into a jar, and set it into a small saucepan of boili ng water,

where let it di gest for three JIQUKS, stirring it well every ten minutes. Then

take the jar from the fire, and let it stand to settle the contents till almost

cold ; .next pour off the upper stratum, and strain through fine muslin ; when

quite set it is fit for use, but should be preserved in well-co rked bottles. It is

applied by rubb ing it int o the bruise, or sprain, with new flannel.—G, W . S. P,

S C I E N T I F I C AND U S E F U L .

A number of oil springs have been discovered in Wester n Pennsylvania.

Th e chief well, whi ch is 181 feet deep, is y ielding 90 barrels a day. It has

to undergo purification, but no means have yet been found for destroying its

pungent smell.

Baron Lie big has recently succeeded in forming artificial tartaric acid. It

is said to b e identical with the tartaric acid of nature, and that he has pre

pared the tartrates of soda and potash, and even tartar emetic, with it. This

is a most important discovery in organic chemistry.

Cranberries may be profitably cultivated in swampy ground that would

otherwise^ be useless. Wh er e the cranberry cul ture is carried to its fullestextent in America, swampy lands, that were worthless a few years ago, have

no w "a' saleable value of £150 to £200 per acre."

In the Gulf of Mauaar (Ceylon) turtle are fr equently f ound of such a size

as to measure five feet in length. Sir Emerson Tennent states that, in riding

along the sea-shore one day, he saw a man in charge of some sheep who was

resting under the shade of a turtle shell whi ch he had erected on sticks to

shield him from the rays of the sun.

Whales that have been harpooned in the Northern Atlantic Ocean, have

been captured i n the Arct ic Pacific Sea ; thus proving that they are connected,

independently of the discoveries of the lamented Sir John Franklin. The date

of "harpooning and that of capture have been so. near as to prove that the open

water must also be very near, the whale requiring to come very often to the

surface to breathe.

G L A S S C OFFI NS. — Mr . John R . Cannon, of the United States, has invented

a glass coffin. He says there is no substance so durable as glass, nothing

which wil l so securely keep whatever is inclosed in it, and it is prob ably only

on account of difficulties o f construction thart glass coffins have not been

sooner made . The qualities and advantages of glass for the purpose are easily

apprehended, and need no elucidation from us. The coffin exhibited is

composed of two parts, each moulded by pressure ; the joint is made true* by

grindi ng, and secured by cement, so as to hermetically seal the cavity. For

still further security Mr. Cannon binds on the cover by passing around the

whole two or more metallic straps, to which are attached ornamented handles.

W h e n jjesi red, also, the inter ior air may be removed by an exhaust pump, or

displaced by carbonic acid.

EB ONI TE. — Th e exhibition of the Society of Arts, which has just closed,

contained few more useful inven tions than those exhib ited in a new material

termed "E bo ni te ," the base of whic h we understand is india-rubber. The

substance, another proof of the great value of caoutchouc, is light, hard, and

black, and is capable of applicati on to an immense variety of purposes. It is

the most perfect insulator known for telegraphic purposes; a very great desi

deratum, wher e the loss of electric ity reduces the speed of transmission and

the consequent increase of worki ng expenses. For battery cells, photographic

baths, and similar apparatus, it is considered by its manufacturers to be far

superior to gutta-percha or porcelain. For such ornaments as bracelets,brooches, chains, & c , it excels jet , both in appearance and durability, and in

the delicate articles into which it may be fashioned. For many purposes

besides those mentioned we should think that it will largely supersede the

metal, hard woods, and ivory, at present in use.

R E M A R K A B L E DISCOVERY.—DEAFNESS CURED BY E T H E R . — A poor French

governess, Madll e. Cleret, has su cceeded in partially curing several persons

afflicted witl i deafness and loss of speech . The Frenc h Academy have awarded

the Mont hyo n Prize for the discovery, whic h was accidental, and has been

proved perfectly innocuo us. The method consists in introduci ng sulphuric

ether into the aural conduit , in doses of four to eight drops a day for about

twenty days, when the application4 is suspended fo r a short time, and again

recommenced. Since the publication of this fact numerous applications from

persons suffering from deafness have been received by physic ians, and a certain

number o f cases have been made public . A gunner's mate, aged 51, had been

attacked six months before with acute rheumatism, which at length became

chronic and com plicated, wit h deafness in the left ear, and difficulty of hearing

in the right on e. There was frequent singing in both ears, but no otorrhoea;

and the deafness used to increase and diminish with the rheumatic pains. Onthe 26th ult. a few drops of ether were instilled into both his ears, when he

immediate ly experi enced a feeli ng of expansion within, accompanied by a

slight pain, and from that moment he could distinguish sounds less confusedly.

On the following morning he declared he could hear with his right ear quite

as wel l as before his illness ; the instil lation was therefore only repeated in

the left ear, and on the fourth day he declared himself qui te cured. Anot her

case, similar to this, is reported b y Dr. Berlemont, of Jonc ourt ; and Dr.

Coursier, of Honnecourt, announces that he has been treating six patients,

between five and fifteen years o f age, for some time wit h ether, t o their

manifest advantage. In one of these cases, however , the application was

productive of much local pain.

S T A T I S T I C S .

Th e fibre of a sing le silk cocoon is 1,520 feet in length.

Th e total lengt h of railroads in Germany at the close of 1859 was 7,949

miles.

Th e number of sea-goi ng vessels in the world is about 85,000, of which

two-thi rds belo ng to England and the United States.

Th e total expense of maintenance from the foundation of the British

Museum in 1753 to March 31, 1860, has been £1,382,733. 13s. 4d.

An Inland Revenue return, just issued, states that the paper duty collected

in the year ending the 31st of March, 1860, amounted to £1,451,254,



July 2s, 1860. USEFUL INFORMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 207

In the year ending the 31st of March last the duty coll ected from railways

amounted to £359 ,212 , the duty on stage carriages to £12 7,6 73, and on

hackney carnages to £86,203.

The population of the worl d is now estimated at 1,279,000,000, namely :—

Asia, 755,060,000; Europe, 272,000,000; Africa, 200,000,000; America,

50,000,000; Australia, 2,000,000.

The Atlanti c Ocean covers a surface of nearly 2 7,0 00, 000 of squa re miles,

an area more. than. Europe, Asia, and Afr ica put together. The Pacific

Ocean is about 7,0o0 miles lon g and 4,000 miles broad. The Mediterranean

Sea covers an area of 1,000,000 square miles.

The Army and Navy Gazette says, that in the hurry of preparing the

returns the num bers of the Volunteer s revie wed by her Majesty on the 23r dof June were mis-stated, and that the total, instead of being only a little

above 18,000, was within a fraction o f 21,00 0.

In England there are 300 silk manufactories, in which are 2,000,000 spindles

and attendant machinery driven b y engines, amounting in the aggregate to

4,000-horse power. About 7,000,00 0fb of raw silk are imported into Great

Britain annually. Fe w persons are aware of the amoun t of the En gli sh silk

trade.

P O S T A G E S T A M P S . — A parliament ary return shows that Bristol, with

137,328 people to write, buys £37,0 77 worth of postage-sta mps; "while

Sheffield, with 135, 310, only lays out £19 ,98 4, or very little more than half;

Birmingham, with 232,841 inhabitants, spends only £47,173 upon "Q ueen 's

head s;" while Edinburgh, with but 160,302, lays out £6 8, 09 8; and Leeds,

with more people (172,270), only £28,363.

C U S T O M S R E V E N U E . — A return has been issued showing the amount of

customs levied in London and in the other ports of the United K ing dom . In

London the gross receipts for the year ending Ma rch 3 1, 1860, were

£12,585,117. 3s. Id .; in the other ports £12,204, 675. 19s. l i d . ; making the

total amount for the United Kingd om £24 ,789 ,793 . 3s. ; the entire nett

receipts, after the deduction of drawbacks, allowance s, and repayments, bein g

£24,391,083. 17s. 4d.

T H E I N C O M E T A X . — T h e total number of persons char ged to the incom e-

tax in the United Ki ng dom in the year ended the 5th of Apri l, 1859, was

332,036, and the amount charged upon them £322 ,80 5. The number of

persons charged is thus classified:—Under £100 a year, 272,482, £11 7,2 76;

£100 and under £15 0, 28,222, £64,060; £150 and under £200, 13,682,

£43,681; £200 and under £300, 11,523, £51,280; £300 and under £400,

3,844, £24,209 ; £ 400 and under £500, 1,309, £10,6 96 ; £5 00 and upwards,

974, £11,003.

T H E C O P P E R T R A D E . — F o r the twelve months ending Dec . 31, 1859, the

total amount o f copper ore imported into the United Ki ngd om was 71,277

tons, and copper wrought and unwrought, 2 5,105 tons. The total declared

quantity of the c opper ore exp orted was 987 t ons, of which 921 tons were

foreign, and 66 tons British. The copper wrought and unwrou ght exported,

amounted to 25,382 tons, bei ng 2 2,788 tons of Briti sh, and 2,594 ton s of

foreign copper . The imports were received chiefly from Chili , Cuba, andAustralia, while British Indi a and France were the largest recipient s of our

exports : the former took 7,123 tons, and the latter 5,270 tons of copper.

O R C H A R D S I N F R A N C E . — T h e r e are 2,500,00 0 acres of gardens and orchards

in France. W e impo rt large ly from Fr ance apples, pears, and cherries,, with

medlars and quinces, and inn umerable other fruits, m any dried or preserved .

In the south of France are peach orchards of a thousand or two of trees each;

in the vicini ty of Toul ouse thousands of peach trees are cultivated in the open

ground, the summer temperature being so high that wail fruit w ould be roasted

as it hung. The almond is cro wn near Lyons as a standard in the vineyards.

Th e winter melon is also an article of culture and export ation from Prov ence

and Langu edoc. Olive plantations abou nd, the most luxuriant being between

Ai x and Nice, there being a total of more than 300,000 acres of this evergreen

shrub, of which the fruit is plucked green, or whe n ripe , crushed for oil .

Capers, too, flourish, especially about T ou lo n; a nd figs, of course, are common

enough . Maize is grow n largely in the departments of the east and south

east, and various varieties of mille t or dari in the same districts. Spelt,

saffron, madder, teazle, bro om, poppies , are other crop s gr own to considerable

ext ent ; and camelina, lentils, and chicor y are employed as green for age ; andthe sorghum, or Chinese sugar-cane, yields prolific cuttings of green food or

abundance of sweet jui ce for the sugar-mi ll. Ther e are a mil lio n and a

quarter acres of chesnut plantations, prod ucin g food for the peasantry.

V A R I E T I ES.

There are unfavourabl e accounts as to the next tobacco crop. In some

parts of Vir gini a the yield is not expected to b e more than one-fourth of an

average one.

Th e screw steam-ship Hero, having on board H . R . H . the Prince of Wal es,

sailed on the m orni ng of .the 10th instant for Canada, accompanied by the

Channel Squadron.

Th e late Mr. Adam F. West on, of Bombay, has left the munificent bequest

of £160,000 to the town of Northallerton, Yorkshire, of which he was a

native. The object is to form a botanical museum for the northern counties.

N A T I O N A L H O S P I T A L F O R T H E P A R A L Y S E D A N D E P I L E P T I C . — S i n c e the

opening of this hospital, 24, Queen Square, Bloomsb ury, for i n-door female

patients, the applications for relief ha ve been both numerous and urgent, and

chiefly by persons in poor and helpless circumst ances. Upwa rds of three

hundred cases are under treatment. A ward has now been opene d for the

reception of male patients ; but the comm ittee of management are under the

necessity of appealing to the affluent and benevo lent for funds necessary, to

maintain the required number of additional beds.

R E M A R K A E L E C A S E S O F L O N G S E R V I T U D E . — I t is generally known in the

Potteries that the relations subsisting between the hands engag ed at the

Etruria Works and their employers, Messrs. Wedgwood, are of a very pleasing

and friendly descrip tion. Ther e are not less than nine persons upon the

manufactory who have served the.house fifty years and upwards. These nine

patriarchs of the works, with the head of the firm, Mr. Francis Wedgwood,

have just been photographed in a group by Mr. Emery, of Ilanley.

S A G A C I T Y O F T H E C A T . — M . Antoine states that, in a convent in France,

where the m eal-ti mes were announ ced by the rin ging of a bell, a cat was

regul arly in attendance as soon as it was heard, that she too might be fed.

One day she was shut up in a room when the bell rang, so that she was not

able to reach the usual spot. Some hours after whe n let out, she ran to the

place where she was accustomed to find her dinner, but there was none for her.Presently the bell was ringing , when some of the inmates, wishing to kno w

the cause, found that the cat was clinging to the bell-rope.

F E M A L E E M P L O Y M E N T . — O u r • readers will remember the articles on

" Flower Farmi ng," and "Fe mal e Labour ," in Nos. 794 and 795. It is

gratifying to record that the suggestions then made have been practically

tested by several persons in different parts of the empire, with commerci ally

profitable results. After tw o years' perseverance, Miss M . E. Procte r, of

Friskney, near Boston, Lincolnshire, has recently produced from flowers

grown by her two samples of exquisit e odours, fit for manufac turing perfumes

—one wallflower, the other hawthorn . W e wish her and others engaged in

the pursuit every success, the more so as the su pply of raw material for

perfumery purposes is not yet equal to the demand.

A N A R T F U L D O D G E . — A traveller comi ng from Ameri ca broug ht a

quantity of cigars with him in a lar ge bo x, and not want ing to pay duty, he

had a false top made to his b ox, in whi ch h e pl aced a coup le of bi g rattle

snakes. On arriv ing at the custom -hous e the keys were demand ed, and giv en

up with a warningthat

the box contained poisonous snakes. Theofficer

bein g incr edulo us opened the lid of the bo x in an off-hand, careless mann er.

Hea ri ng the noise of the key in the lock, and seeing daylight admitted, the

rattlesnakes wok e up, and bega n .to hiss-and rattle away with their tails at a

grand pace. Down went the lid of the box in an instant, and the box, rattle

snakes, cigars and all, were allowed to pass without further examination.

F O R G E D N O T E S . — W e are indebted to Mr . Samuel Thom pson, publisher,

Halifax, for the following additions to the lists of forged Ban k of England

notes, whi ch havo appeared in N os . 895 and 896 : — Five-pound Notes:

£ [ 59035, Fe b. 16th, 1846 ; 5093, Feb . 16th, 1846 ; ^ 23438 , Au g. 28th,

1847; | 02162, Jan. 16th, 1 85 5; \ 56015, Jan. 15th, 1859 ; J 51403,

March 21st, 1860. Ten-pound Notes: ^ 5604 5, Oct. 4th, 1848 ; 68936,

Aug. 13th, 1857; w 83997, June 15th, 1858; £ 74036, June 13th, 1859;

and g 31109, June 13th, 1859.

W H A T B U T T E RF L I E S A R E G O O D FOR.—Utilitarians may, perhaps, inqui re

the uses of butterflies—what they do, make, or can be sold fo r; and I mustconfess that my little favourites neither make anything to wear, like the silk

worm, nor anything to eat, like the honey- bee, nor are their bodies saleable

by the t on, like the cochi neal insects, and that, commerci ally speaking, they

are just wor th nothing at all, excepting the few paltry pence or shillings that

the dealer gets for their little dried bodies occasi onally ; so they are of no

more use than poet ry, paint ing, and m usic—t han flowers, rainbo ws, and all

such unbusin esslike things . In fact, I have noth ing to say in the butterfly' s

favour, except that it is a jo y to the deep-minded and to the simple-hearted,

to the sage, and, still better, to the child—that it gives an earnest of a better

world, not vaguely and generally, as does every " thing of beauty ," but with

clearest aim and purpose , thr ough one of the most stri kingl y perfect and

beautiful analogies that we can find throughout that vast creation, where

" all animals are livin g hier ogly phs. " The butterfly, then, in its own pro

gressive stages of caterpillar , chrysal is, and perfect i nsect, is an embl em of

the human soul 's progress, through earthly life and death, to heavenly life.—-

Coleman's British Butterflies.

T H E RIDDLER.

T H E RI DD L E R ' S S OL UT I ON S OF No . 8 9 7.

E N I G M A : Tlie Letter A. C H A R A D E : Table-cloth. R E B U S -.Slave; vale; veal; vedse.

The following answer all: D . S. D.—Twee ney.—H owell s — Hoskins,— Tomlison.—Harriet E.—Mills.—Amer.— Ad a P.—Becc les .—Edmund.—W. A. E. D.—Mawson.—Dixon.—Telegraphis t .—Pupi l Teacher .—W. H . H.—Moonen.—Grocers.—Tootell .—Monks. — Lemuel.—Sadler .— Eekersly.—Tervit .— Logan.—J. S.— W. J . R.—Arden.—Torkin gton. — Dora. — J. L. J. — Timswell. — Dean. — Peter. — Dev.—M'Le llan. Enigma and Charade: H. A. M' L. — Wills. — Agar. — Beale.— W. V. B.—Wardfo.—Thornoso.—Currey. Charade and Rebus: Thos. F. Enigma: JBridgman.—King.— D . D.—Guendolen. Rebus: Simpson.—Lamb.

ARI THM ETI CAL QUES TI ONS .

1. A had 30 Sheep, and B 24 Sheep ; and A sold 10.

2. The first man mu*t grind dovm 2*179 inches; the second, 2*409 inches; the third,2*735 inches; the fourth, 3*244 inches; the fifth, 4*227 inches ; and the sixth, 10*206 inches.

3. The distances are 69£ feet and 30£ feet respectively. Length of ladder, 85 617 feet.

The following agree with all: Veritas.— Buglass. —Maeind oe.—Aquatic.—Tween ey.Howells. —Hoskin s. —Rawsterne.— Tootell .—Tervit .— Logan.— Anchora.—T nusweil .

—Wardle.— Smith. -De an (send it) .—M'L ellan.With 1st and 2nd.— Steele (in the 3rd quest ion the distance from the base of eachbui lding is required , sic).—Sadler.—Hey.

With 1st and Zrd.— Edmund.— Ansell .—Harriet E.— Torkin gton.— Ardern.— Walsh.With '2nd and 3rd.—D. S. D.With 1st. — Mills. — Br idgman. —Am er . — Mawson. —A da P .—Becc les .—King.—

Rutherford.—Lemuel.—Guendolen.With 2nd.—Hinde. With 3rd.— Tomlison.—M' Caa.

Solutions which arrived too late to be inserted in previous Nos.—Eckevslcy.—Gladiolus,—Auohenharlidge.— Gladiolus.—Manscli .—M'Lellan,— W. A. E. D .



208

RAN 0 O M RE A D I N G S .

W h y are presidents like vagabonds.*—Because they are associated with

vices.

Oftentimes t he " faste st" y oun g wome n are the most easily overtaken by

the ga llopi ng consumption.

" Johnny, how many seasons are there ? " — " Six: spring, summer, autumn,

winter, opera, and ' Thompson's Seasons.' "

Th e earth's inhabitants need not be always grave, but it would be a terrible

thing if the earth herself were to lose her gravity.

Fish, at least, if no oth er animals, have cause to believe that it is a bad

practice to think of rising in life upon somebody else's hook.

There is a you ng lady at Camberwell so refined in her language that she

never uses the word " blackguard," but substitutes " African* sentinel."

"Wha t's Jografy, Bil l?" —-' I t ' s a tellift* of forrin' lands that we know

nothin' about by 'cute chaps that's never seen 'e m. " Bill got a Government

situation.

W e have heard of asking for bread and receiv ing a stone ; but a gentleman

ma y be considered as still worse treated when h e asks for a lady's hand and

receives her father's.foot.

A you ng gentleman who had ju st married a little undersized beauty says

she would have been taller, but she i s made of such precious materials that

Nature could not alford it.

Of a celebrated actress, w ho in. her declin ing days bought charms of carmine

and pearl-powder, Jerrold said, " Egad , she should have a hoop about her,

with a notice upon it, * Beware of the pain t!' "

Four fast young men, the sons of gentlemen of wealth, were brought before

a police magistrate for riotous conduct . The magistrate inquire d what theirba d course of life could be ascribed to. Most probably to their four fathers.

Quilp and his wife had a bit of contentio n the other day. " I o wn you have

more brilliancy than I, " said the woman, " but I Have the better jud gme nt ."

— " Y e s , " said Quilp, "our choice in marriage shows that." Quilp was

informed that he was a brute.

" I feel rather unwell, my dear, and my tongue is furred —can it be those

sausages I had for supper? " sard an ailing gentleman to his spouse at break

fast. " Oh, I dare say it is, pa S " cried a pre cociou s urchin, "f o r I've h eard

that they make cats into sausages."

A formal fashionable visitor thus addressed a little girl , " Ho w are you , ray

d e a r ? " — " V e r y well, I thank yo u," she replied. The visitor then added,

" No w, my dear, you should ask me how I a m." Th e child simply and

honestly replied, " But I don't want to know."

There may be seen at the present time, in Alfreton, a placard from a tailor,

wh o , in callin g the attention of the publ ic to the fact that he intends com

mencing a clothes club, assures all who may favour him by becoming members,

o f having " good charges and a very moderate article."

" Yo u are from the country , are you not, sir ? " said a dandy you ng book

seller to a homely-dressed Quaker, who had giv en him some troubl e. " Ye a. "

— " W e l l , here's an -Essay on th£ Rearing of Ca lv es .' "—" Th at ," said

Aminadab, as he turned to leave W shop, " thee had better present to thy

mother."

T he Marquis de Favieres, a great bor rowe r and a notoriousl y bad paymaster,

called on Samuel Bernard , the great financier, one morn ing , and sai d: " Sir,

I am going to astonish y ou ; I am the Marquis de Favi ere s; I do not kn ow

you, and I come to borrow five hundred louis of y o u . " — " Sir," replied Ber

nard, " I am going to astonish you yet mor e; I k no w you , and yet I am

going to lend them to you."

Young Hawkins married a lady for her mone y, but cannot touch i t till

8he dies, and he treats her very badly on accou nt of what he calls her

" unjustifiable long evi ty. " Th e other day, Mrs. Dawk ins finding herself ill,

sent for a docto r, and declared her belief that she was poison ed, and that

Dawk ins had do ne it. " I didn't do it," shouted Da wk in s; " it's all

gammon—she isn't poiso ned! Prove it, doc tor ; open her upon the spot —I'mwilling."

A t a late ball in Paris a very stout gentleman, propri etor of a bad catarrh

and a very charming wife, insisted, very inconv enient ly at the close of a polka,

that madame should return to the bosom of her family. " Never mind ," she

said to her partner ; " ask me to dance in the next quadri lle all the same—

I will find a way to stay for it." Slippi ng out while the sets were formi ng,

she went int o the gentle men's dressin g-room, found her hu sband's hat , and

threw it out o f, the window. Then returning, and requesting her spouse to

first find his hat and cal l the carri age, she accepted partners for the next six

dances, quite sure of two hours before the hat could be found.'

Colonel Jones and Major Smith would occasionall y get on spree, and their

frolics were often protracted until late in the night. On such occasions their

pleasure was frequently damped by the thought of their wives at home, who,

like Tam O'Shanter's good dame, sat nursing their wrath to keep it warm.

On e night, after having kept up their frolic until a late hour, they returned

home, when Colonel Jones found his wife waiting for him with a countenance

that foretold a storm. Th e colonel, whose face had never blanched before an

enemy, quailed before the righteous indignation of his better-half. Instead

of going to bed he took a seat, and, resting his elbows on his knees, with his

face in his hands, seemed to be complet ely absorbed in grief, sighing heavily,

and uttering such exclamations as "P o or Smith! Poo r f e l low!" Hi s wife

kept silent as long as possible; but at last, overcome by curiosity and anxi ety,

inquired in a sharp tone, "What's the matter with Smit h? "— "A h! " says

Q U E E R K I N D OF L O V E . — A neuralgic affection.

A H I N T . — A wido wer, who wishes to marry again, must buy his departed

wife a beautiful monument. This succeeds invariably.

R A T H E R COOL.—"There has been a slight mistake committed here," said

the house-surgeo n, " o f no great moment, though —it was the sound leg of

Mr . Hig gin s whic h was cut off. W e can easily cure the other—comes to the

same thing."

W I T T Y P ER V ER S I O N . — D r . Willia mson had a qu ar fi with one of his

parishioners by the name of Hardy, who showed considerable resentment. On

the succeeding Sunday the doctor preached from the following text, which he

pronounced with great emphasis, and with a significant look at Ha rdy, who

was presen t: " There is no fool like the fool-Hardy."F U L L I N S I D E . — " I di ned with La mb one day at Mr. Gi)lman's. Returning

to town in the stage-coach, which was filled with Mr. Glllman's guests, we

stopped for a minute or two at Kentish Town. A woman asked the coach

man, ' Are you full inside ?' Upo n whic h Lam b put his head through t he

window and said, 1 1 am quite full inside ; that last piece of pudding at Mr.

Gillman's did the business for me.' "— Leslie's Autobiography.

S E C O N D A N D T H I R D THOUGHTS. — Su e t t , the comedian, used to tell a story

of a woman with whom he lodged, who was rather fond of gin. She would

order her servant to get the supplies after the following fashion : " Betty, go

and get a quartern loaf and half a quartern of gi n." Off started Betty. She

was speedily recalled : " Betty, mak e it a half quartern loaf, and a quartern of

g i n ." But Betty had never fairly got over the threshold on the mission ere

the voice was again hea rd: " Betty, on second thoughts, we may as well make

it all gi n. " %

T H E R U L E OP T H E O R D E R . — T w o monks, one a Domini can, and the other

a Franciscan, travelling together, were stopped by a river. The Domin ican

told the Franciscan that, as he went barefoot, he was forced by the rule of hisorder to carry him across ; that if he refused, he would commit a great sin.

Th e Franciscan yielded to this observation, and took the other on his shoulders..

W h e n they were in the middle of the ford, the Franciscan asked the other if

he had any money about him. " Y e s , " replied the latter, " I have two reals."

— " I ask you a thousand pardons, brother, " rejoined the disciple of St. Francis,

" but my order forbids my carrying mone y." An d with these words, he

plumped ifts man into the river.

T H E Co w A N D T H E M A C I N T O S H . — " I was one day fishing the Ness out of

a boa t, when I noticed a co w inquisitively examining some things which I had

left by the water-side. On land ing I found she had been influenced by other

motives than those of mere curiosity, havi ng eaten up the whole of one side

(the button half) of my new macintosh. Happ enin g shortly afterwards t o meet

the miller whose property she was, I exhibi ted to him the maugled evidence

of her misdeeds, expecting at least to meet with something like sympathy for

my loss. His sympathies were howeve r all on the other side. He surveyed

it for some time i n si lence and with an air of deject ion, and then simply

exclaimed, ' Eh, but she'll no be the better o' the buttons 1'"—Salmon Fishing

in Canada,

W E L L I N G T O N ' S F I G H T I N G B R EEC HES. — W h en the late Mrs. Caroline JaneLoudon, the botanical writer, wrote to Apsley House for permission to see

the remarkable beech grove at Strathrieldsaye, forming the "W at er lo o

avenu e," and presenting the finest specimens of the beech family in Eng land,

she briefly asked in her note to see his grace's Wat erlo o beeches, the signature

being / . C. Loudon, whereupon his grace despatched the known reply,

addressed to the Right Reverend Dr. Blomfield ( / . C. London), mistaking the

u for n, and confounding a fig tree with a be ec h. —"F . M. Duke of

Wellington's,compliments to the Bishop of Lon do n; is told by his body

servant that the trousers woru at Waterl oo were gi ven away many years ago

to Mr. Hay don , the painter, at the request of that gentleman, who may

possibly have them still. July 21, 1839."

A N U N SO P HI S TI C AT E D A B I G A I L . — A notable lady (of Edinburg h, I

suppose) had lo ng been annoyed and fretted by her own tow n servants, and

being no longer able to bear their manifold tricks and malpractices, she

intimated to her friends her purpose of getting an unsophisticated girl from

the country, whom she could train to her mind; and she was fortunateenough in securing a yo ung woman from a remote corner in the land, and

thoroughly recommen ded for activity, honesty, and good-nature. Ho w the

process of training went on, you may judge from the following specimen.

Th e girl ha ving seen something very wonderful going on in the street, in a

tone of "unso phist icat ed" familiarity, called to her mistress, "E h , woman !

come here and see thi s."— " Wo ma n! Do you presume to call me woman ? "

— " A y 1 if ye are no a woman, what are ye ? Are ye a speerit ? " — C L A S O N ' S

Dean Hamsay's Reminiscences.

A F E W QUES TI ONS F OR I NTELLI G ENT MUSI CI ANS.

M ay not a b ar o f very exultant music be called a crow-b ar ?

In what bank are the eight notes you talk of raising ?

Is an air called a "strain " on account of the labour o f performing it ?

Can you do a good turn in a natural way ?

Is not the influence of flats rather depressing in hot weather ?

Is there necessarily anythi ng green about a pastoral symp hony ?Ar e agricultural youths partial to the hautboy ?

Can a French horn intox icate ?

Could you open a musical entertainment without the ke y ?

Published by B E N J A M I N B L A K E , 421, Strand, London, W.C ., to whom al l

Family Herald 28 July 1860

Documents

Transcript of Family Herald 28 July 1860