The Cardigan Observer and General Advertiser for the Counties of Cardigan Carmarthen and Pembroke

TREASURES OF THOUGHT. If them Wfc thrown a glorious thought Upon life's common way8, g Fret T" ?ain haTe ^ughfc, et not to lose the praise. Great thinker, often tbou shalt and, Tn fl folly plunders fame, y rich store the crowd is blind, Nor knows thy very name. What matters that, if thon uncoil v T • S?ul that God has given, Aot in the world's mean eye to toil, But in the sight of heavon ? If thou art true, yet in thee lurks -ror fame a human sigh To Nature go, and see how'works That handmaid of the Rky. Her own deep bounty she forgets Is full of germs and seeds, :Nor glorifies herself, nor sets Her flowers above her weeds. She hides the modest leaves between, She loves untrodden roads richest treasures are not seen By any eye but God's. Accept the lesson. Look not for I AH ,.ai^ 5 from out thee cease I selfish ends, and ask no more I Than to fulfil thy place.

STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR, TWICE WED. -+- OIIAPTER III.-( Continued). up his residence, though^th« h°U&l1 he ^ad fixe^ UP°° tor considerably abov« tU 88 Was one in pretension abouts, and in the ordmai7 dwellings there- what was called t> r°mantic part of the coast, on Rehouse W KPga?g01iff' by the bui'der i„„ lnbabited, though it was left, in SandcomhA £ omplete. It caused quite a sensation discoverer! A D' °ne fine morning, workmen were SoiokerosH f m •ye(*. on tho long-deserted dwelling. tonishmB«f r°m1ltachimney,and soon, to theextremeas- Megtofn ° gossips, it was found that Saul Sutnour T\the new tenant and their neighbour. fifty Jiff' .1™ had assigned to this dark Btranger each dfemfJ1 c^aracters—all black as his beard, and her opinion X° ^an the last—soon began to alter smugglenf »!fn a smuggler, a spy upon the exile—I vno_ es(*aP^d convict, a Jesuit, a foreign naent of all a« w^at beside; but, to the amaze- acquaintan^ a» I penally unfolded to their One old woman w"hflen» ^nducted man. *be village ever went ^.8^.ouae 5 but> as no one from domestic habits were nnTv lto door' mnc^ of his ^iry, who took Sand WW°; .The^f">m the gang, told of the^uiet n«i„l 7^ *-»eek to Deep- ■who had met Saul in his solifn!? place; the men ^d along the beaS eavewZ^* OTertheclifc Wspoken, pleasant'way Tn Xtelh of the conversation; and once ahnM u- ?ntered »to tured on remaining u°ld Fchm> *ho bad ven- among the rocks ftfur t11 »W Playmate8 slunk away pathless to^h^w wWnflaPWCh,CamePuanin« beard" had given him H man witk the and relateda han<^l of pence aBkedhim hl had' mor<?ver' stroked his head, father r name' and if went a-flahin* This fact c of certain youthfui1^^ **7 subsequent experiments— example—almost estefentU*rsLur8ed by 80 signal an stranger, which reachiv ■ 6 rePutat">n of the Sunday f0un<i hi ^fed its climax when the following so com mend aki pariah churcb, and a begin- practice. Master iT8S ^G^owed UP by subsequent af«F«Kt to CviHf waB yoted 8n honour and somewhat in fv, ,a^ouBh the good folks were hood but it 1 ark as to hifs meana of lireli- 0ne Whole dav; n ascertained he went from home was tolerabl/iTTi, m^nth>and tbe Public mind a pension d J" the ldea thftt he went to draw In the IIMI of ,that" iad encounterpHh+i?ng COming from church, Meghorn bat, in token of »J°u Dg couPle> and had raised his touched his own. salute the young fisherman had but a verv^ aufu^' whom, I have said, he did not 8ee the down acquaintance, and certainly of his wife at this i e^es and too-ready blush >follies. He miahfr >io 6 rerQinder of her past arm, and the invotnnfV6 the closer hold on his arm, and the invotnnfV6 pressure to kia side; but a time had arrived wbo ary P.ressure to his side; but a or accounted for »i!°v.llothln^ is to be wondered at /and Aaron wag-In* „ a y°unS wife does or says, was suppo8e{j t 'according to the law established, and careful of ~~very proud, and very anxious He was retin>nJ« ln^eres';ing invalid. fe 1Dg, busy with hJ3 a 3°urney inland one even- thought nf i P fu vl81ons of afuture made brighter 'ith certain A 6r 1.ncreased happiness, not unmingled hichTav!^fifnanCial simulations, when a voice, to in. or some time been a stranger, hailed tf T> Bo dow?. lad why, it's ages sia' I see •d how "f0:1' and what hast thee been after? p» thee never looks in upon the missus pa gave but a cool greeting to the landlord of To„p^eP ° Day," who had never been much of a • j,, ,e v/1,h him, and made some brief excuse ition We"' we'l •' a pretty wife is reason en«w, Va v en°^ b11*" thee might look in when thee is g jt u ve some prime liquor in hand just now, » snou^Id cost thee nout, for old acquaintance \y both^»pI1^6d and then, as he walked on the it heinp /0,n^' expressed some surprise at the Yea it- K n ,py to custom, so far from home. i.toS'r4 hke*ne,be it? but I ha'been to j*d, for T K er'and I thought Td take the easiest fcankien tb^f1 j0/0?"8 as 1 were. But I say, (Tettv wifa n' ne6^ — °°k sharp now after this to live hJeaboui/' d° W Meghorn < What^n6^ and fronted him suddenly. ,Hre Tou nL J°U mea2 he "claimed. « How fcsghorn to her T** W tllat wa^ ? What is ft "Orf.. i Dashing down the heavy basket be carried the iflsherman turned npon the publican, and seized him 1" by the throat. | "Speak plain he shouted "8av ^AV.°rS fflSr tu Speak, then, and be cmick » ™ leasing his throat, but stilffiDin^M ranUen' Why, I thought you UP°° him. -I wouldn't have spoken if I hadn't^St^6* that they carried on, him and her 80— Hi/u and who 1 Whatthe-isityouione%n?" cried Aaron, shaking him. u Him ? Saul and your wife." It's a lie—a foul lie!" exelaimed the young man. Oh, well, if thee choose to say so. I only know I saw 'em times out of mind on the beach and among the rocka there—ay, up by the Ohine by moonlight, too, of evenings. Why, I thought everybody knew it. -wear, dear, I'd never have said aught, if I'd known, ■they said it was but a toss up which of yer she had ut there, it was nothing, lad—nothing—it's all gone and past. I don't want to make mischief—not I, ranklen, lad and thee'il look in and see the missus ay, do." The young man had relaxed his hold, his arm as?PPe(^ to bis side, and ho stood like one stupefied, i a." °'d sinner went his way hurriedly, and at the anrT'tk^ r'8k °f his neck, looking back every now hia -ien ^est' he should be followed bv the man whom B i7 1°DSU6 had stu°g *0 ^>7. reveni? was ,moVed by a deeper passion than braia-J • ideas were coursing through his indite*18 wife's caftious manners, her assumed With fJfCi r° M8 endearments, her fits of remorse, revolatio^h 116 Waa connecting these with the distorted and jU8fc listened to, and which was in -ertitude by his own previously-vexed Rnd all gon« dom^tic happiness. now, he would and trustingly at home till to the gossip of t)?Ve, '8^ened comparatively unmoved gorio to Nellv an^u mBn—at Jeast, he would have n,l,uko at h''r fn>> aVe ca^m^y told her, and, with a hB-ve so digmifisp-q ti?leP flirtation and concealments, D1ents- She 8°Iut,on of all their past dissgree- h(lr> worahinZr\\l Cai"e for bin;_he who doted on 6h:v not < ,l c walls that sheltered her- 'Terence «he f.him she strove to hide the in- Uicti ehti iiiti,,i 'l-' 11 would break forth at times Ir' was inS^01,8gaiB«^and ™tedlove. cliil's, within e 8frodo up aud down the Dufd&n-_thin_,l r" ot, home—he picked up his "then, rememhci. Purchased for her in the town 'kfcder, ha fiun^ !^g S°^e WOJrd or tone of the vile lis b&ske^ rj.y,d turned froai li the well-known light, the ruddy beacon that M often gladdened his return. He could have, the infOrraer-SaulMeghorn-himself-Oveq&a her—he had loved her so long, so dearly • e j his life, his all; he could not lose her and falg it—yet could he love her knowing her to o? ff What should he do? Should he her deceit—could he? No! he would ratne^.|^ her, and ask her, calmly, and in all really not care for him, her loving, baro- husband ? Was her heart indeed another sr m) He could no longer bear the uncertainty > see her, must hear from her own lips bis s Hurriedly he caught up the basket, »s it vag a leather, and dashing along the rocky P hisown door in a few minutes. the: He opened it as hastily, but his wife w jM The table was laid with the nicest ca » ,QW burned brightly, and the fire crackled anu ■ cheerily. All was awaiting him, all in re. j. said welcome," and gave token of ne where was she ? his vei The sadden tremour which ran tbrou? jcj told him how dear she was still, through a all evil report, and stern determination. red, Then, for the first time he remenibe_ > ,» ejaculated, God forbid I should do her m It was Dame Bullocks, old Dan's wife. from the adjoining room, with her "D^e'v.rt96 0f J and met the exclamation that was on anxious husband. fa- No, nothing the matter, she was only and as I'd happened to look in, I and persuaded her to lie down; sbes 3" bit." Then, after a pause, the good She's been a-sobbing, poor child, in her P. seems to have something on her mind; .M amiss, Aaron ? I ha' knowed ye from a cnua^ might tell me?" t ■. tn. PoOr tortured Franklen! here was fresb iu6J the fire that was consuming him. It was t^4^ appointed love, her mistaken union, his wite Pt/^ no doubt. Ji Oh! hew apt we are at conclusions wnen (j. tend to one's own misery! But he answere^^ good dame with truth, that there was nothi^J knew of. • Again she whispered, laying her hand upo^, arm with the kind freedom of a parent, I help hearing, ye know, my lad, and I have k%t say ye two aren't quite so happy as might ye know, dear lad, ye must just ha' ipatien<»- Nelly; she's a good lass, a sweet lass; a bit J*h and waywardlike, I know, bui mind ye, Aaro^ul never had no mother for to put her right, note's ways since she know'd the good of one—and sore misa. Ha' patience wi' her, there's a go^t a and all will come right; the little one wonders, my lad, you'll see; she will (c0^ °rk thoughtful and gentler like, wi' care o 'h^"ore Aaron, ha' patience with the young thing, fool" but young, and as good as gold—ye aren.. is me for speaking now, for ye see I 'j? my own, either one of ye ? ^as Franklen took the hand of the LI 4U both his own, and pressed it warmly and W«^9y in She little knew, well meaning as she was, g^ter. all the value of her words just then. T">oul, Precious oil upon the troubled waters of What a contrast to the last to which he ^ad bj«»oul! He looked round upon his home with a cle^^ned! and he breathed in peace; the evil tidings %Miaion, mouth publican seemed to die away foul- further off—he would not think of them. and A gentle voice from the inner rP01™j. dame, and Aaron heard her m expostulated the charge, who was insisting on rising to join her at his meal. band He hastened to add his protest to tnat neighbour, and with some difficulty s^Oe good inducing Nelly to remain where she in a hasty supper, and then came to seat bi»w « he took bed-side. "y her DameBuUocks returned home,afterrto. she should be called, did any fresh occ^jg that and they were alone. &rise-~ Husband and wife alone—each wi at the heart—longing to speak, J6 heaty bare to the other. 10 lay1 How many evils, how much ot (v world be spared, were perfect co °uld the betwixt such relations! Had Franklen but have hinted ™ k he had been told, all must have come*tfe what fidence, which was yearning for bes wy j the con* been his. v 0,ild Could Nelly only have related to r that for days past she had scarce c ^band how without meeting Meghorn on her P^« threshold reason she had to dread and avoid hk^Hd of the and self-reproach that haunted her, IZvt the fear her illness of that day—well, had i to have been very different. °»all migh But various motives held both si Once raising her pale face to hiss 44 about him. ff Ott her arms "Aaron, dear husband He bent down to her pillow. "Yes, dearest Nelly." „ She paused and sighed: then <4 dear sometimes, when I am J |w ]0ye yOl» miserable, thinking if I was to l^«elff j get so Aaron! what should I do without k'Ou, oh, de» me?" .t, o take She spoke tearfully, but witn a her tones. 'o? He was silent. Oould he doubt k must be true to him. "Let thop^ ? j* su honest fellow to himself, "} past ga'd bringing it up." And he kissed lot p^jn ber by back her words of love. ancl &os^eT OHAPTBE 11 T H E 8 T 0 B M B THK days passed on Nelly's BRJ^ 8< with them; and her health resfy3di8positioB diate cause for anxiety. ™ g^y n0 An unusually mild winter ha^. biting, inclement spring. Fiej^^j, -jed by » within the twenty-four hours to ^leg whicb compass, sorely vexed the sohi -nt of "down to the Bea," whether r of'iP —ho ^en craft, and of all who on shor^ g1jialler of suspense, nightly watched, P worge agony from the fulness of anxious hev." p^yed, hollow of whose hand are its (^pt'a0ne in the alone the winds cry ««hush,'bidding abashed. thfi 18 Great had been the loss 0(. e shipwreck on that coast in & j disasters The sun set upon families snriog found orphans clinging round P next da* mothers. Brave sons, the and parents and impotent eisterg, j/ »unnort of with talk of the coming day>t^uPP° farewell, office it should be to drag up £ k and bloody surf the mangled „Jj ^aerous vofs Weeping, and lamentation, bereavement, made d0?.^f^ the »%a8. nttle village, which had smiled Jk leftgant r and that winter's snows h^j £ auB of 0U e— beauty—that cruel spring. | 10 Amid this terrible afflict^ s out in a new character-^ jjeghorn an(j succourer of the suffering aiu c benefactor fi-5arcaused Iights -t0 Cussed. to be "fed from the conspicuous a signals Pied; boats -were, by his Jj}g dwelli°? °. ready for rendering assista^ers a j expense> and on more than ^hfiy.n it was P°?910(,if yolunteered to go out with "0e had tress; while at home, a vessel m « °r, Maimed fishermen ble^MniiL # the drown Nor was Aaron Frankle, ough the anxious fears wjLn, cAU of duJ' 5&«SLla2SS^. avoided the society ih°Z*b*°P°"Z nces made this somew ^te&k *hnt °ne occasion Saul ha^.M ^0rn 5 b o» manner as made it di^ljjcult. ° jn such a ltQ., without the impuSlt i 0n^ praises and flatteries of ^oh »nd the 1^testable to t^Vl°f eVe^ would have been, whJ Vk^an he ha^ quarrel tion, Aaron would haO Hh^rt&an provoca- His situation was j the his wife's concurraneX!? upon thftt, with event, remove to a vil? '> he a certain Nelly, on her partXT down &e coast Relieved for some KN V, ^6 mileS of trouble, sence of Saul Megk\ secret s°u lcome pre- with the fear that n^8t of u°. ^aS seized in frequent commu6Uwtt her p»th' he kneW to be into any closer en^Sw4nd.-wh,0^, should enter his coming to the crJW^ with involve The pure-minded «"cb 88 renewing an acquai A *k .he idea of and herself existed tNe« ^r9lB w to her husband, aj a m»n unk3°w" from hiai; and, th^\ h a presen her, she heard en0> >heVed, Saul to that they often wej.?^ ^on neve^_v,hours to kno Thus a sort of the n^° doom, marked the Stogether-^ of frw- thoughno unkindw^ hesifcatio » d ftBd W > The evil d^ys V^T90 of • n v. passed. The ski> t^a had to, have somewhat; they v»LeWh winds rnite of aid ancl V^, :and jb« ]m tb^r among the fornA^l?,ctl0"^Ls fortana^ backward. blessed 1a and willing labour, blessed him for what waa iut a*? fcore to than money, the service of strength as activity. Pit l,i5« had spent the day, after a night of toiling at ? n .n craft, assisting the removal of one of those itb tfhose home had been broken up, and I H. now sought a refuge in the town. ihn L.^e night v»as far advanced when he returned he K >d to find that Nelly had gone to rest, but she was and, as i» not surprising, all considered, in no ast %sant humour. 8(i6 began by gently upbraiding him for not being ton careful of his health, and neglecting needful but from one root of complaint grew another. You lea*? alone, and to serve strangers, VJ • I gometJmes think you don't love me as you did "^6," I might often doubt whether you ever loved me at 7 «il gaid Aaron, with more bitterness in his tone than was aware of. >Ut 4'«Ah! perhaps I his wife replied, her eyes i,JJ*ed uponthe fire, and in that tons of assumed in- Terence which chilled his very soul, brooding over )n'W haunting suspicion No he cried hotly you should not have been poor man s wife, Nelly; you need too much atten- ton and petting. T "I need not, unless I had chosen," she replied as 5 bitterly. „i daresay not. it is a pity y0u didn't choose I; « oh! it'8 nofc J?0 ,IaJe' 8h| exclaimed with flushed cheeks, and eyes that glittered as she turned them full irP°B/ -—: ajJ|aI1Pe that word! he cried, as i he sprang fr°m his chair, and dashing on his hat the had bufc,L^?)f^Uflhed1Pa8fc her, flung open l, the door, and l^P^ low paling out into the dark. She sprang after him to the door, to the gate, cried aloud to him to «>m«'back for mercy's sake—to come back that she was but joking. « Aaron! husband J dear Aaron!" The rocks sent backthedMpamng who, the wind moaned pitifully up the cleft, but he, far^below, was dashing head- long down the rugeed pathway to the beach. "To the boats? oh, he will go out, and the wind is rising off shore, she sobbed oh, Aaron mv dear dear husband, come back oh, do come back." The sleet began to fall, dark clouds were rapidly covering uP_ slle shuddered as the cold pierced to « heart, and weeping, she returned to the ^fer in all their disputes had he thus left her. ghe could n0, g0 ° bed—m the utter darkness she da^/tT6havee on^nehher "°»'d t. »r»d f° »«*»<>«*«' "tur.; bat .h.hioS?°!S increasing wind, andthesleet pattermg on thecaseLent. ghe made up the fire, for she thought he would surely and need the warmth, and oh how thankful she would be! how good, and kind• and never, nfer would she say such cruel things again ° But the hours rolled on; midnight had co £ > ^d was past; when, in the first hour of the mornSr the awSS ™waat surpassed The thunder roared, the sheeted J •»«« strain, -hla«e; the ram poured m torrents anil streams, swollen to cascades, dashed with a deafening gound to join their waters to the seething cauhW flhich hissed, and boiled, and groaned below All SEffiS Bsrsssssc; »• •«; £ ttu: 11 Trembling, she knelt upon the floor of W A JL «m*A from Z15S ifbg3 £ S= £ JTsfc never, never will (To be continued.)

POOR TUB-WOMAN TTTP1 mother of^ queeks lif a small parish, a few leagues distant from ft young and beautiful girl of sixteen sumrnl eobbing as though her heart would break Anfl^" had good reason, poor child for in her mother had just breathed her last. I^X! r00ai stood the undertaker and one of the DariS. V°T They heeded not the sobs and lamentation- girl, for tbey were used to such scenes K J? £ en summoned hither by some friends ne^hb^ and were considering with characteristic sagenesa t^ causes which had led to the present state oMncrea^d res. srs* ss b»»^uP "»omeBto( h«li(e7to"te°ephoa Jack Forsyth (that was the girl'a fafW\ .r, had been left with £ 300 fortune; but ^hi }*7 8a,d' Sered it all before he died, and ?«>?^uaQ- child to come on the parish. And such waT the promoting causes, they assured each other present increase of pauperism and na„« f tbe still further affirmed, could never be cheeK8m' I7 dued so long as people were allowed to ?0r 8ub" pleased, and throw away the moSy k°nd V had given them. ntt Providence Ellen Forsyth, despite the frantic grief, could not well avoid listening to l™ her of these interesting worthies, and SV.A refnarks solved that, come what might, 8h« „Sfccretly re- become a burden to the parish. ever would fore, was the form of her dearly-bei6_,j,00ae,r» ^re- mitted to the dust, then she disposed of com- of furniture the house afforded «Afti y .articlea parish beadle, who had defrayed the flll! ,Wlfch fn the first instance in behalf of th .exPen8es narish beadle should, and turned haw paWsh. as a in the direction of London. She res°lutely deal of London, though she had #1 ?d a great After a journey of four or five hours LI n there- sore, she reached a low inn ia thi and fo°t- town. It was during the troubloU8 tim ^8 of Charles; and, coming with no the first found it impossible to obtain a situati. tion' girl. The little money she possessed K a 8epvant exhausted, and no other opportunity n 61°g at ^enSth she engaged her services to a wealf^1^08 iteelf' carry out beer from a brewhouse-_k^ rewer« to sequence, one of those persona who a^m]ng' in con- tub-women. re denominated Mr. Peasley, the brewer, who han single gentleman, observing a good-WV?ened to be a most menial and degrading of occutwr g ^tfl inthia instantly into hw employ as a servant her If Ellen waa attractive in the mean u- woman, she became positively irresistihi e,of a tub- in the neat ga^b of a servant-girl, nu ° fche brewer and intelligent—modest likewise, yet 8Pr*ghtly served and the brewer, whose heart » n and unre- found himself day by day beconv 8UscePtible, entangled in the meshes of l0ve A ln3ensibly could not fail to perceive that a* -V he existed, in a social sense, between him^ic richest commoners in England, and 00e of the girl, who had neither money nor friend P0or servant not even respectable antecedents to 8' and perhaps But she was superior to all the b«H C°?lmend her. blandishments of that dissolute peri„^ctlTe arts and it impossible, by presents and promiJl 1 and finding from the paths of virtue, the a ^Pt her able to restrain his passion 1 no before the incorrigible Ellen, and offf° ted himself and fortune, which she, considering ?.her hia hand generosity of the proposal, kindly acU. love and Bllen Forsyth, now the wife of pted. and possessed of charms that the Iovfii^eal% citteen, land might have coveted, soon becaml1 ladJ in the and flattered by many, and hated j;6 ^urted, petted, portion by the remainder, who had Wi 8anQe Ppo- her progress from the low calling Qf „0ualJ regarded a coach-and-four, and tjie arms and A>^U °man of the prince of the brewers of Rustless purse who was more tj>an double the age ftf u p«asley, while she was aa yet a young woman died her undisputed heir to the bulk of hit 25> leaving rendered ber more than ever the obilv0perty. which fortune-hunting persecutions. J E °* flattery and The business of the brewery was of and no one but those far beneath 'he-C°Ur8e> dropped; and maliciously inclined, presumed t** 8°cial dignity antecedents, or to recollect aught of tl° ^tion her she had first appeared in the real lif6 at Period when low life as a tub-woman. Of course th 68 of London and earls to whom she nodded thro, V°rds» dukes, window, had no disposition to know » Lher carriage dalous a matter, so long as the of so scan- widow was willing to receive their at? and beautiful encourage them with her seductive and to still greater triumphs. "Wiles to hope for On the death of Mr. Peasley, a lawyer, named Hyde, was recommendB^aainent young ing and dashing widow as a 8l,i(..to ^e bloom- arrange her husband's affairs. Now e Person to work without a precedent—and the W°Velista do not with the page, or the father's secret^y f&lla « love the Bame; and the miss with the mun ^hich is all monsieur, who gives twelve lessons ? or the bachelor uncle with the housekeeper ?.nch the riches and poor relations in abundant u^h he has with the barmaid, who treats him tl' op the cstler oia the oly; and pray@ why should it oin-and-watet on the sly; and pray, why should it .n'and-water for thfl widow of a wealthy brewer t flut of P^ce with the handsome and einbitioujin love ploys ? It is all the work of a*8ociaH0riley she em- if the affinities be right; in proof,0"1 tell you add that the widow of the brewer did f i ieh> m< Hyde attorney, which was all pronli 111 love wit! yer an<j businees 1 like, and to work up the usual, or rather unusual, climax, Hyde, who regarded the widow's fortune as too substantial an affair to be trifled with, readily followed suit—loved, proposed, and was accepted. Hold!" says the reader. This transaction is no romance! It smacks too much of the world and —Change Alley!" True, it is difficult to rid ourselves of the old im- pression of love in a cottage, princely troubadors and similar moonshine—at least when compared to the present matter-of-fact narration. But the world of the real is not less stereotyped in representation than the world of the ideal; it is all the same yester- day, to-day, and for ever. Circumstances mav modify passion, refine intellect, purify thought, but in reality, human nature remains the same in Botany Bay, or' China, or at the Antipodes. Twenty years ago,' we remember to have seen Miss M'Crea murdered in statuary, and the other day we saw her again, a little faded, it is true, as naturally might be expected after constantly undergoing the process of being murdered for so long a period by a malicious savage in red daub and feathers; and as you look, are you not morally satisfied she is the same unfortunate lady, of the same identical plaster and wax that yonr grandfather saw, and that your grandson is positively certain to see, and to regard with the same admiration and awe that you yourself once regarded it ? Suffice it to say, or rather let it be sufficient to add, that the lawyer and the brewer's widow were married, and that Hyde, afterwards the great Earl of Clarendon, became, by issue of this marriage, father-in-law of James II. • go that the poor tub-woman was mother to the queen- mother of Mary and Anne.

A ROIXED-re HEDGEHOG.—When disturbed in its excursions the hedgehog has the habit of rolling itself up into a ball, with the head and legs tucked carefully away under the belly, and the whole exposed surface completely enclosed by the spiny skin of the back. This is effected by the contraction of a most complicated system of cutaneous muscles, the most important of which, called the orbicularis panniculi, forming a broad band encircling the body, draws to- gether the edges of the spiny part of the skin towards the centre of the ventral side of the body, thus forming a sort of prickly bag within which the whole body and limbsof the animal are enclosed. When thus arranged by the action of the cutaneous muscles, the whole of the spines of the upper surface are strongly and firmly erected, making a fence which suffices to protect the hedgehog from tbe attacks of nearly all his enemies. Scarcely any dogs can be found with pluck enough to make a successful attack upon a rolled-up hedgehog although it is said that sopae dogs and foxes have a trick by which to get at him, founded on the fact that a jet of water poured into the small aperture within which the head of the animal is concealed will cause him to unroll himself at once. The same power of contraction serves the hedgehog in good stead in protecting him from other perils. If he finds himself falling down a pre- cipice or from the top of a wall, or down a very steep slope, he immediately makes himself into a ball and in this form will fall from very considerable heights (eighteen or twenty feet) without receiving the least injury; indeed, hedgehogs have been observed more than once voluntarily to throw themselves down considerable distances contracting in this fashion. On reaching the bottom they simply opened themselves, and walked off none the worse for their fall.—Cassell'g Natural History. POSTURING EXTRAORDINARY. Joseph Clark, of Pall-mall, was undoubtedly the most extraordinary posture-maker that ever existed. Though a well-made man, and rather gross than thin we learn from Caul- field's Memoirs that he exhibited in a most natural manner almost every species of deforn ity and dislo- cation. He frequently made himself merry with the tailors, often sending for one of them to take his measure, but so contriving as to have an immoderate rising on one of his shoulders. When his clothes were brought home and tried upon him, the deformity was removed to the other shoulder; upon, which the tailor begged pardon for the mistake, and mended it as fast as he could. But upon a third trial he was found with perfectly straight shoulders and a hump on his back. He dislocated the vertebra of his back and other parts of his body in such a manner that Molins, the famous surgeon, before whom he appeared as a patient, was shocked at the sight, and would not attempt a cure. He often passed for a cripple with persons with whom he had been in company but a few minutes before. Upon these occasions he would not onlv change the position of his limbs, but en- tirely alter his countenance. His facial powers were more extraordinary than his flexible body. ge would assume all the uncouth faces he saw at a meeting or place of amusemen,. The World of. Wonders. SOTJTHWARK IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTUHY. —We can form a tolerably accurate notion of the ex- tent and appearance of Southwark at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Southward of St. Q-eorge's Church and the Mint spread St. Georges Fields, reaching nearly to the archiepiscopal, palaro at Lam- beth, and the village of Newington. ihe Kent Road was a lane between hedgerows; and there were bishops' palaces and parks, mansions, theatres, and pleasure-gardens near the green banks of the river. There were forts for the defence of the borough at the end of Blackman-street. near the Lock Hos- pital, and in St. George s Fields, where afterwards stood the "Dog and Duck, at the eastern end of the present Bethlehem Hospital. The old High- street of Southwark had gabled houses and large quadrangular inns, dating from the early Norman times; and between them and the Abbey 0f Ber- mondsey were open spaces and streams flowing gently towards the river. Pasture-lands, farms, and water- millg were farther east towards Bedriff (now Rother. hithe), and pUee for horses. Now all tha g > ut it 18 nleasant to think of the old days, even amid the con- stant bustle and crowding at the entrance Gf the busiest of London railway stations.-OW and New ^DETTH or LINCOLN'S AssASsw.-From Mary- i Za the n-rn-r- of Mr. Lincoln fled into Virginia, a at a place called Bowling green, in Caroline n ntv he was hunted down by a party of cavalry on &h oTlprS.He was accompanied by a man the Jbth o Ap ^n concerned in the plot ■ hr.fa.r_ hadtS ™fLe in a barn. The building being surrounded tu goldiers Booth and Harrold were aum- T j *1 Zander The latter at once com- Fi Savoured to parley with bis P^uew. and, ing the commanding officer, sai P g* me chance Draw off your men, and I will fight them ftintlv i could have killed you six times> to-night; w i believed you to be a brave man, and I Would nf murder vku? Give a lame man a show.' Aa he D^ii refused to surrender, the barn was set on fire, A Booth was then seen with a carbine in nis hand, and JJootn was ta extremity. A soldier fired StiTh.Iw ho »»a 40 tbMe ,b0,,t before he expired, n for my countl, J ftOTgkt IdriTor th. b«t." Tbjn, njmit W. w»a., tB0 „, • i « TT«filegs-—useless! As tbe passion of KU calm More the «"»« ».= nupd by by inapplicable e p 8entimentalism, saw the and by a poor and hia Tlctim'a life mi8erable truth that he> bad whateve andhis own wiM anyf gooa from his own P° jned in that reiterated word. HSff.i £ S—S3W* *<»■ deserved y bestowed the soie^ pa88ed His contempt whicn is e _er he sometimes spoke— lip9 Words of ^ur? ^a°fjon—words of searching words of scathing humour but some are irony—words of p y wor(J8 0f sheer contempt, startled to find him n0 noble soul which yet why not? there can The ,<BCOPn Qf 18 wholly destitute. side with the "love of gcorn must exist si J nower of moral indig- l0,e» Like uger, gj, M riehtao^ natien, scorn has its « h^man emotions, and as function in the ecoinomy o> rightly judge as long as there are things of mpt remain. And if contemptible, so long deserved contempt, ever there was a man who D^nceIine_faiaf, to his it was the paltry, pe J fabe to his friends, false religion, false to his na J. ce_to whom Jesus gave to his brethren, false to his inhuman TiceB which the name of that fox. theatre of their ab- tbe Caesars displayed on tn the autocratic in90lence, golutism—the lust, t^e a__aj1' ^ese were seen in pale the ruinous extravagance » ri.iignjas of the pro- the,t little h»l( vioces-these local tyran d€gradationfl of the Samaritan, who aped tn their very exietonce. Imperialism to whic J ^jcr the odious and petty jud*i might well groa HHrodiaB8__jackals who despotism of these by 0|,3ftreau lions. Respect fawned about the feet of tJ hftrdWj a9 ba8 weil been l0r" the powers that be ° impotences aud im- ,aia,involyere8pectior £ gf becmieB.-J)r.tarfatsL/ hi3 wife that AN Irish be kept jn the he r^Uy wjsh^d the chid^ « Although," he con- 1 object to their nci*^ tbey would only fceep <lal6j*

LADIES' COLUMN. -+-- THE FASHIONS. Some few novelties fer the early spring are an- nounced, and among those I have seen are shot silks of eccentric and original shades, writes the Paris cor- respondent of the Queen. There is one called "Apres la Pluie," exceptionally pretty. For the present Oriental fabrics are sought after, and those sold at the Union des Indes, Rue Auber, are very characteristic, notably those called "Rayons des Astres and "Le Firmament." The first material, of Chinese manufacture, takes its name from the raised silk stripes of contrasting colour covering its woollen surface, and branching out in all directions, in imitation of the sun's rays. The effect is very striking, particularly in the three most fashionable combinations of corn colour and blue, black and blue, silvery white md dust colour. Le Firmament has even greater brilliancy. Upon its I twilled ground of azure, indigo, &c., are interwoven dazzling br:ght patches of star-like form. Hence the appellation of the fabric. It is specially appropriate for evening wear, with trimmings of satin in harmony with the foundation, and silk fringe repeating the two shades. Foremost in the mixed materials of the bourrette class is the Mousse de l'lnde, shown in eight different hues. The ground of a plain dark tint, such as bronze, myrtle, or prune, is ornamented with raised self coloured dashes, interspersed with snowflakes composed of knotted woollen threads; the whole enlivened by lines of turquoise- blue, cardinal, or sulphur-coloured silk woven in and out of the irregular patterns. Bourrette de l'lnde, a fabric expressly for outdoor toilettes, presents a honeycombed surface, dusted or speckled with two or three light shades of silk, as orange red, moss green, and tilleul; the threads are introduced perpendicularly into the pure cashmere ground, two of each colour forming a stripe. In plain materials the cachemire de l'lnde still holds the pre-eminence; next to it in point of durability ranks the Thibet Victoria, a serge like texture of pure wool, and the reps d'Arabie. in fourteen dark colours. These make up into very pretty cloaks and walking cos- tumes. Patterns, with faille to match, are forwarded by M. Le Houssel, of l'Union des Indes, to all parts of the world. The latest Parisian novelty in bonnets is either a black velvet or a grey satin, bordered with a richly curled feather, which has been dipped in a bath of silver. The effect of the loose silvery down about the face is extremely soft and pretty. Bonnets are also trimmed with gold feathers; but they are more ambi- tious and less pretty. Very stylish sealskin bonnets trimmed with humming birds, and grebe bonnets, similarly ernamented, were seen en New Year's Day; likewise drawn satin bonnets, with soft crowns, and a humming bird on the curtain and another in frent. The form is that called B6b4, with flat crown, a some- what wide brim and a tiny curtain, an which there is a ruche of coloured Valenciennes lace, which is sometimes surrounded with beads. Occasionally the edge of the bonnet is ornamented with either gold, silver, or pearl beads. There are Marie Stuart bonnets describing a heart in the centre the row of beads or pearls on these is double. For demi-toilettes there are felt bonnets to match the costume worn at the time. These have all a round crown, with a feather encircling it, interrupted in the centre with a satin rosette, all of the same tope of colour, and satin strings also to match. Some of the newest bonnets are of satin, stretched quite plain over the foundation; they are not pretty, but they are fashionable. White felt bonnets, with a profusion of feathers, are also worn, and for such gay resorts as Nice and Pau the most fantastic head- gear is prepared, so fanciful that it would not be wearable in Paris. Such, for example, is the Arme- nian cap, made of astrachan, and trimmsd with hawks' feathers steeped in gold, and in light astrachan, hawks' feathers steeped in gold, and in light astrachan, trimmed with silver feathers; the bonnet de police" likewise, in sealskin tbe Henri III. toque, in black velvet, sparkling with jet, and a pouf of feathers at the side; the Brigand hat, made in felt, and with a foulard scarf round it; the Hernani hat, with a foulard handkerchief of bright colours twisted round it. These are all seen at gay winter resorts. Lace and the shawl are said to be returning to favour with the leaders of fashion in the French capital.

K^j talked into a broker's offioe not >? ea'.e" "You've come to steal a coat, out The fni?608-' tlle broker, as he thruBt him ii jv | Saturday the pedler appeared in allth.jlori,. hi. Sabbath clofb«. "No.,Vir,- of M»»pVdoIlook T"" »PM the broker, you look as though you had stolen one." THE GROGRAPHY of THE MOON.-We find t at the moon 18 a planet accompanying our larger planet, the earth, on its journey wund the sun. Her 2 MtbiThJU r&?0Ut °°e-1uarfcer> her surface about 2 lOTrf. <5^ 2-"th8' hep aa88 about 2-163rda of the earth s. She completes a journey round the earth regarded as at rest in about 271 davs travelling at a mean distance of 233,820 milfs but the lunar moHth, or the period between successive con- junctions ot the sun and moon, has an average length of about 29^ days. The moon's surface may be divided roughly into raised p,,rts wbich are usually bright, and great plamsfnot sinooth) which are darker, and in some cases very dark. Over all the raised parts the signs of rormer volcanic activity are very marked, craters and ring-mountains, much larger than any existing on the te-rth, being found in great numbers on the moon's surface. Smaller craters a.re numerous, not only in the raised parts, but over the grey plains. Many cracks and faults, valleys, ravines, and gorges, are also numerous on the rugged surface of our satellite. No water and very little air seem present on the moon though there are signs that seas formerly existed there, and there is reabon to believe that the'lunar air was once not very rare. Although all is not at rest in the moon, and certain portions of her surface seem to have undergone remarkable changes, even in recent times, there is nothin^ to suggest that our satellite is at preasst the abeda cf lifs.—Soignee fæ All.

VARIETIES. Boos CORRECTORS.—>We are as liable to be corrected by books as by companions. Show me a land that has mountains without valleys, and I will show you a man who has joys without sorrows. TRUB COURTESY.-As the sword of the best-tem- pered metal is most flexible, so the truly generous are most pliant and courteous in their behaviour to their inferiors. Silent, patient, continuous labour does more than noisy talk or vain boasting. Silent labour accomplishes and makes visible something that is enduring; while idle talk, like the babbling of a shallow brook, evinces more noise than strength. THE POVERTY OF WEALTH.—A poor man that hath little, and desires no more, is in truth richer than the greatest monarch that thinketh he hath not what he should or what he might, or that grieves there is no I n £ e to have. ».eal FRIENDSHIP.—The noblest part of a friend is an honest boldness in the notifying of errors. He that tells me of my fault, aiming at my good, I must think him wise and faithful-wise in saying that which I see not, faithful in plain admonishment not tainted with flattery. INSUFFICIENT TO HIMSELF.—It is folly to suppose that men can depend upon themselves alone for knowledge or inspiration. Individuals are im- proved by association with theit fellows, by the fric- tion of other minds. The man who bores you with the same stories year after year has no originality, nor ever will have until he enlarges his sphere of ob- servation. DEATH RATHER THAN BETRAYAL.—Mariana, in his "History of Spain," relates that a countryman having killed Lucius Piso, the governor of the kingdom, was subjected to torture, in order to extort from him a confession of his confederates. He endured the first day's torments with invincible courage; but mistrust- ing himself on the second, he slipped out of the hands of the executioner as he was going to the rack, and dashed his head with such violence against a stone wall that he died immediately. CARE OF THE EYEs.-Sooner or later our eyesight must become impaired. When beginning to use glasses, use them as short a time as possible, only in deficient light, or on minute objects, and then in deficient light, or on minute objects, and then change the strain to distant or larger objects. By a judicious attention to these two points, the age of the sight will be retarded many years. And, as reading is one of the luxuries of the age, and one of its most delightful pastimes, we cannot be two careful of the eyesight and should study how we may best husband its powers. A WRITER OF NEWS.—Mr. Samuel Crisp, who died about the year 1784, was a stockbroker, who retired from business with an easy competency. His daily amusement for the last fourteen years of his life was in throwing into the letter-box of the several newspapers slips of paper, containing short hints and broken sentences. And to gather materials for these, he travelled in the stage from London to Green- wich, and back again in the same coach, every day. The owner of the Greenwich stage, never anticipating that he would have so constant a customer, had agreed to carry him at all times for JE27 a year; but he re- fused at last to stand by his agreement, and this, with some other mortifications from the newspaper editors, who did not value his favours at quite so high a rate as he thought he merited, put an end to poor Mr. Crisp's life. A STRANGE PROPOSITION.—An agreeable woman with whom I was intimate came one day to see me at Seaux, and said, I know that your hopes have not been realized in the situation that you occupy; that you dislike it extremely, and that you only think of leaving it. I have come to offer you another. There is a person in the world ready to settle a certain sum of money, on reliable security, sufficient to enable you to afford a small apartment at Paris, and enough to live comfortably, with a few servants to wait upon you. Nothing is required of you except that there should be a door in your apartment communicating with another house, and that you will give admitt- ance to a lady who will be your friend and will visit you frequently." This time I did not require advice as to my answer, which, as may be supposed, was a most decided negative. The lady insisted. I asked no questions, not thinking it advisable to fathom the mystery. All that I could suppose was that people were concerned who did not regard expense if their mutual intelligence were concealed. "Memoirll of Madame de Staal de Launay." THE ONE-WHEELED CHARIOT.—An old man who called himself William Pinslow, Esquire, died at Ludlow in the year 1809. He was well known to many persons, besides his neighbours, for having, some years ago, so tamed two hedgehogs as to make them perambulate the streets with him in a degree of discipline and subjection which astonished all be. holders. In the early part of his life he was a soldier, and served under the old Cock of the Rock," during its siege by the Spaniards. In his latter years he was chiefly supported by the bounty of his opulent and benevolent neighbours. Though in the utmost degree of penury and wretchedness, he would never submit to receive parochial relief and having saved J67, he de. posited it in the hands of a friend, for the express purpose of defraying his funeral expenses, that even his interment might not be chargeable to the parish funds. Of this sum three-fourths remained untouched at the day of his death. During several years, rheu- matic lameness, occasioned and confirmed by his hard manner of living, compelled him to go upon crutches. In principle he was strictly honest; in manners civil and inoffensive, except when inebriated, as he often was, by the donations of travellers and military officers; on which occasions he was frequently conveyed home on a wheelbarrow, to the no small amusement of boys and children of a larger growth. THE JOLLY COBBLERS.—In Flanders the Company of Cobblers not only take precedence of the Company of Shoemakers, but bear for their arms a boot with an imperial crown upon it. They ascribe this honour to the Emperor Charles V. who was fond of wandering incognito, and on a certain night strolled into a cob- bler's stall to get his boot mended. He found the cobbler making merry with his friends, and when he preferred his request, was told that they were keeping the festival of Crispin, and that no work could be done on that day for any man, even though he were Charles himself; but that he was welcome to come in and join them in drinking to St. Crispin, for they were as merry as the Emperor himself could be. As this in- vitation jumped with the Emperor's humour, he ac- cepted it, and joined them in their drinking. Here's Charles V's health," said the cobbler.—" Do you love him ? asked the Emperor.—" Love him!" said the cobbler; ay, I love his long-noseship well enough, but I should love him more if he would tax us less.' They finished St. Crispin's Day very pleasantly, and on the morrow the Emperor sent for the cobbler to the palace, and mightily surprised him by thanking him for his hospitality on the previous evening, asking him to name what reward he would like best. The amazed cobbler took the night to think of it, and on the next day appeared before the Emperor, and re- quested that the cobblers of Flanders might bear for their coat-of-arms a boot with a crown upon it. It was such a moderate request that the Emperor told him he would not only grant that but another also whereupon the son of Crispin asked that the cobblers might take precedence of the shoemakers, a request which was also granted to him. SHERIDAN'N COURTSHIP. — Whenl the celebrated Richard Brinsley Sheridan became the suitor of Miss Linley, whom he afterwards married, he had so many rivals that he had to win her not only by his talents, but by his sword. Among the admirers of Miss Linley was a Mr. Matthews, a gentleman well known in the I' fashionable circles at Bath. A paragraph inserted in a newspaper was construed to imply a reflection on the intimacy between Mr. Sheridan and Misa Linley, and traced through the printer to Mr. Matthews, who having set out for London, was followed by Mr. Sheridan. They met, and fought a duel with swords, in a tavern (now a china shop) at the corner of Henrietta-street, Covent-garden. Mr. Sheridan's second on the occasion was his brother, Charles Francis, afterwards Secretary for Ireland. Great courage and skill were displayed on both sides; but Mr. Sheridan having succeeded in disarming his ad- versary, compelled him to sign a formal retraction of the paragraph which had been published. Mr. Sheri- dan then hastened to Bath, and as it was reasonable that the apology should be as public as the insult, he caused the retractation to be inserted in the same newspaper which had been the vehicle of the calumny. Mr. Matthews had, very soon after the duel, retired to Wales, but irritated by his defeat, and wishing to have a second trial, he made the insertion of his ac- knowledgment a ground for a second quarrel, and returned to Bath in order to demand satisfaction of Mr. Sheridan for the alleged injury. A challenge was sent and accepted, although Mr. Sheridan would have t been justified, according to the most delicate punctilios of honour, in declining the call; but he silenced all the objections of his friends, and the parties met the next morning in Kingsdown each with a second, who was not to interfere, whatever might be the consequence. Having discharged their pistols without effect, they betook themselves to their swords. The first onset was fierce. Sheridan attempted to disarm his anta- gonist as before, but was baflled and obliged to close. In the struggle they both fell, by which both their swords were broken. Matthews having now greatly the advantage, by pressing on him, asked the other if he would beg his life. He was answered that he scorned to do so, and the contest was renewed. They mangled each other for some time with their broken swords. and Sheridan, having received some dangerous wounds, was left on the field with few signs of life. He was conveyed to Bath, while Matthews and his second drove off to London. Mr. Sheridan was confined for several weeks. His generous and gallant conduct, as well as his love, completely subdued the heart of tho young lady, and soon aitberwarda they Waco mcdoc • The ShifBng signification of words is perpetual stumbling-block to the understanding. Compulsory goodness is impossible, for the cunrmrn of an action is in its motive, and a noble motive can never be inspired by force or fear. ADVANTAGE.—No one could gain an advantage if all men were equally matched and equally circumstanced. He who wins always wins by some ^balance in his favour. ORIGINALITY. — We must not make too much of originality, for if all knowledge were erased, this would be reacquired, and new men would rethink and re. elaborate the old thoughts. # VIRTUB LIVING.-Virtue is a life, not merely one of life's results. It animates the heart and inspires the soul with the love of goodness, as well as controls the words of the lips and the actions of the hands. TRUE MANHOOD.—Man is composed of thought, feeling, and will, and to attain a true manhood these must not only be fully and harmoniously developed, but they must tend in the same general direction. Virtues are manifold and various; some may shine brightly while others are dim; but virtue is the central sun whose light and warmth permeate the character, and whose rays penetrate into all our daily life. EVIL CUSTOMS.—Those who see clearly and feel keenly the evils of any prevalent usage should rather study the subject in all its bearings, seeking for the causes and for those remedies which attack the root of the evil than indulge in indiscriminate and ineffectual rebuke. THE WESTBURT WHITE HoMz.—A large mm of money has been laid out on the scouring of the White Horse on Bratton Down, near Westbury, Wilts. Tons of earth, turf, and chalk have been removed, and the whole body and bearing of the figure cut into more natural shape. A low wall will be built above its back, as a barrier to debris swept down by storms. This horse is only about 180 years old. There are eight white horses in Wiltshire. The only reaUy ancient one is that in Berkshire, nngr Wantage; he is mentioned M an old horse in deeds 600 or 600 years ago. EGOTISM.—Every sensible man drops oat of hit narrations every allusion to himself. He is oontent with putting Bis theme in its own ground. Ton abaU not tell me that you have learned to know most mm. Your saying so disproves it. You shall not tell me by their titles what books you have read* Yon shall not tell me your house is the best and your pictures the finest. You shall make me feel it. I am not to infer it from your conversation. A celebrated marshal of France said of Andrew Dorrea," It seems as if the sea stood in awe of that man," so strong waa hia personality. What a difference is there between man aDd man ia history.—Emerson. ANOTHER ANECDOTE FOR MR. DARWIN.—In the Jardin des Plantes, at Paris, an elephant had been turned out of his house to allow of a chase of the raw that devoured his food. The rats ran about in all di- rections, and while the elephant was stooping to pick up a morsel of bread which one of the crowd had thrown to him, a rat, fancying he saw a means of escape, took refuge in the interior of his trunk. The elephant made frantic efforts to relieve himself of his unwelcome visitor, but in vain. Suddenly he paused and seemed to reflect, then he went to his basin, filled his trunk with water, and amidst the great excitement of the lookers-on ejected the water and the unfortunate rat with one sublime effort. AN ANCIENT GLASS Cup DISCOVERED.—An interest* ing archaeological discovery h"* just been by A peasant while ploughing in the neighbourhood^ of Aries, Bouches-du-Rhone, France, consisting of an ancient glass cup. It is composed of two portions; one in simple ordinary glass forming the vase, whilst the second is an ornament in red glass superposed. This latter forms a series of ovals nnif^d by Imote curiously interlaced. On one of the sides is a Latin inscription, which has been deciphered. "Divus Maximianus Augustus." This object, therefore, be. longed to the Emperor Maximianus Hercules, who resided in Gaul for a considerable time. The cap just found has no foot, and those for festivals were almost always made so. A slave, standing behind the guest, passed it to him full and held it, when emptied, without its ever resting on the table. A GHOST STORY.-Not long after John Brown's death, one of the miners returned unexpectedly from his work in the forenoon, and to the surprise of his wife appeared in front of their cottage. She was in the habit, unknown to him, of solacing herself in the early part of the day with a bottle of porter. On the occasion in question, the bottle stood toasting plea- santly before the fire when the form of the "gude- man came in sight In a moment she had driven in the cork and thrust the bottle underneath the box. bed, when he entered, and, seating himself by the fire, began to light his pipe. In a little while the warmed porter managed to expel the cork and to escape in a series of very ominous guggles from underneath tho clothes. The poor fellow was outside in an instant crying, "Anither warning, Meg! rin, rin, the house is fa'ing." But Meg kenn'd whatjwas what fu* hrawly," and made for the bed in time to save only the last dregs of her intended potation.-Good Words. ORIENTAL MARRIAGES IN P ABIS.-Considerable in. terest has been excited in Paris by the announcement of two Oriental marriages which are about to take place. One is between the Vicomte Charles de Thonais and a young Chinese lady, a convert to Christianity, and the adopted child of a French merchant of Canton. This gentleman brought his fair daughter back with him to France, and had her educated .at a firat-claas school in Bordeaux. The young lady's name waa In-Tie, but on her baptism she added that of Marie. The other projected marriage is still more remarkable. A Japanese dignitary, attached to the embassy now in Paris, Lakana by name, young, rich and handsome, has asked and obtained the hand of Mdlle. Hebert, the daughter of a wealthy coal merchant now retired from business and living in good style. The fiancee appears only to have stipulated that her suitor should embrace Catholicism, to which request he made no demur. The Japanese are naturally a religious people. PREPARATION FOR LIFE.-There is a vast dinerence in the way persons regard the seasons of childhood and youth. Some ignore them as actual parts of life, seeing in them only a necessary portion of time, neither very important nor very interesting, to be hastened over to reach what is beyond, while others regard them as beautiful and pleasing periods, to be enjoyed and admired, yet fail to estimate their grand purpose as a means of preparation for mature and responsible life. Both are right in what they affirm, and wrong in what they discard. Childhood is an actual existence, with it 3 own peculiar relations and duties, hopes and fears, joy and sorrows, successes and failures. If it appeals to us in all its attractive helplessness, it yet claims our respect, and the smile with which we greet it should never be wreathed in contempt. Still it is chiefly as a season of preparation that youth attains its true dignity. There are few, even among parents, who realize the full significance of the fact that the little ones they now pet and fondle as pretty playthings will in a few yews take their places aa effectual powers in the world, invested with full responsibility ""l abun- dant influence. CHARITY SERMONS.—SR "Irfhur Helps somewhere suggests that clergymen would be more successful in attacking the pockets of their flocks if they sent round the plates before instead of after the sermon, with the understanding that if they gave liberally they should be let off from the sermon altogether. The experiment might be worth trying, although it would be unnecessary if charity sermons were modelled upon Swift's well-known laconic appeal. A more modern instance of the efficacy of brevity in a good cause may be cited. M. Dupanloup, the eloquent Bishop of Orleans, preaching in behalf of the distressed workmen of Rouen, contented himself with saying—"This is no time for long sermons, but for good works. You are all acquainted with the calamities of those whose cause I have come this day to plead. Once upon a time, a king, whose name is still cherished by us, said to his companions in arms, on whom he thought with reason he could rely,' My good friends, I am your king; you are Frenchmen. Yonder is the enemy; let us niarch., I will not address you in other words to-day than these. I am your bishop; you are Christian. Yonder are, not our enemies, but our brethren who suffer; let us flee to their succour I" The result was the col. lection of more than six hundred pounds. HENRY VIII. AND CATHERINE or AMULGOM.— When he renounced her in the presence of Fox at Richmond Palace, he was only fourteen years of age, a stranger to the power of love, ana innocently blind to the exciting light of female eyes. But as he grew in years the memory of that act would stay with him, and his occasional vision of the foreign lady in his father's house would keep her image fresh in mind. The mystery of their separa- tion could not fail to rouse his ouriosity. Why should he not prattle with her, play with her on the lute and harpsichord, take lessons from her in Castilian? He was learning Spanish, why not learn it from her lips? This must have sent his fancies wandering into rosy paths. Nor was her beauty of such a nature to be lost on such a boy -a boy who, in his length of limb, his ruddiness of cheek, his purity of life, his love of enterprises and labour, was a type of what was best in English youth. Her lovely eyes, her fair complexion, her abundant hair, and even that breadth of feature which an artist might have called her fault, would seem to him, so sturdy and so vast in bulk, the fitting properties of a royal mate. That Catherine loved the Prince, that she was always trying to be with him, and to please him, he must soon have been aware. When he was sixteen years of age the question of Juana had been raised. Eventa seemed nigh that would have cleared the ground; and while the messengers were speeding to and fro, the Prince and Princess were allowed to see each other oh the footing of a youth and maid who may ere long be man and wife. What boy of sixteen summers could resist the coquetry of a woman Riy years older than himealf ?—Jlepworth Dix&ft Tim Owns."