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

THE RECRUIT. A little group of half a score I see about a carriage door, Where a lithe lad, a young recruit, Is starting on war's tortuous route; Oh, may he know, when lightnings fly, The magic might of their good-bye! As the bell sounds, all draw apart, Except the one who shares his heart, Fondly he vows, till he come back, In barrack or in bivouac, He'll love her whom he leaves behind, And keep her only in his mind. Her fingers on a bow of rose, Are trembling at a host of foes, At comrades wild, and fiery drams, And flashing warlike telegrams But not so feared are guns and swords As woman's witcbing eyes and words. Go, soldier, and whate'er allures Your roving fancy, she is yours more fair, and forms more slight, Will often pass before your sight; But never break a plighted vow For coral lip or pencilled brow! Poace, parted souls, I could but say, May your love strengthen by delay May tender troth, so signed and sealed, Survive all shocks of flood and field Then home return, adventurous youth, And reap the fruits of holy truth! -The Quiver.

THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR, TWICE WED. CHAPTER VI. MOTHER. ■^AME RULLOCHS stood at the door of her cottage, patching the pale dawn as it peeped sadly above the p^rizem, stealing up with drenched face, as the bois- kfous night fled away, like a timid child watches the departure of the cruel stepmother who has caused its tears. The dame had not closed her eyes that night; her j>0y8 were all at sea; and what she and htr good man had suffered through those storoiy hours was known •lly where their prayers were heard. As she stood straining her eyesight far out her only where their prayers were heard. As she stood straining her eyesight far out her was already away to the was aware of some object swiftly hurrying up the craggy Pathway from below, becoming every instant more visible in the increasing light. All her attention was soon fixed upon this object, as she first made it out to be a woman—then that she Was bareheaded, her long, dark hair flying behind her with the haste she made, for the wind had fallen at daybreak. The figure stumbled, fell more than once, then climbed upon hands and knees; then, looking up, ■pied the dame, who had gone nearer in her wonder: 'We was a cry then, and the arms were thrown Upward. "Gracious mercy!" cried the old woman—"it can't be—yes, it is—it is—why, my Nelly, my dear girl 1" and with a step forwards, 8he caught in her arms the unhappy creature, panting, white as death, and as cold. She uttered no sound, but grasped the dame with hands that were bleeding from the cruel rocks, and hurried her into the cottage. s. — Shaking all over, holding by the table to steady her limbs, with clenched hands and chattering teeth, she stood before the horrified dame. She opened her lips, but the power of speech was Evidently gone, as she put into the old woman's hand scrap of paper, then stood with fixed eyes glaring at her as she read by the light of the lamp— Nelly, you wia never see me again in this world I I know aU your deceit and wickedness. I can bear no more. When you get this I shall be gone for ever The good soul dropped the paper, as she clasped her hands, and the tears started from her eyes. "Tell me, dear Nelly—come, come to me, dear!" and she turned to the wretched creature who stood as if turned to stone beside her. But the other never moved, never shed a tear; her teeth were now locked firmly together, her hands Clenched, her eyes fixed. Speak to me, my dear J" cried the kindly old body; don't take on so, don'tee, dear! he'll come back—he Will, my pet! don't, my own child, don't/" At the words, He'll come back," the unhappy wife slowly shook her head, then suddenly uttered a cry so piercing, the house rang with the sound. She shook off the old dame, who would have held her back, and, with another shriek, darted out of the cottage. She is out of her mind Oh! Lord, have mercy lipon her—she will be killed 1" cried the old woman, as she ran out, but Nelly had already disappeared. But the cries had been heard already from the cottages up and down in the rocks and on the beach scared forms appeared; happily for the distraught creature, she was intercepted, and brought back, with bleeding feet and garments torn, to the poor dame, Who met them on the way, and had her carried into her own cottage. Strong convulsions seized upon her; and while one fan for the doctor, a long half mile away, the rest helped the dame, or, for the most part, stood terrified in dutab amazement. What is it ?'' What ails her?" "Where be Franklen?" "Who's been to their place t How came she here ?" These were but a few of the questions put, and Which none could answer. The damo had thoughtfully put away the scrap of Writing; but, alas! Nelly's remorseful ravings soon made concealment impossible. I have been wicked I killed him Oh come back, Aaron—husband dear, come back, and 111 Dover, never say such things again! Oome back! comeback—I'll tell you everything, dear—everything, if you'll forgive your poor Nelly!" Such was the substance of her exclamation, varied by shrill cries and fearful struggles, which they with difficulty overcame. I must go," she cried; let me go, and bring him back-he will not say me nay; he will come for me. Oh! you cruel, cruel men-you will let him drown. Leave me go, I say "Poor lamb! poor dear soul cried the good dame, While the tears fell fast over her wrinkled cheeks; "see, sir, her dear pretty feet all cut with the stones —-eh! if he could but see this now, he'd give his heart's blood to heal them, so he would, for he loved her, sir, if ever a man loved a woman." Alas: they were already speaking of the absent husband in the past tense. "Where is this paper you speak of?" asked the Burgeon, when he had administered an opiate, and dressed the wounds of the miserable girl. "Is it her husband's writing? Do any of you know it ?" A crowd of heads bent over the paper the doctor held. But three were competent te judge; two of the men had been at school with Franklen, and de- cided at a glance that it was his writing. The third, a woman whose letters Nelly used to write to her husband at sea, and which Aaron usually directed, could swear tp it. The mftm of medicine moved towards the dame. "Are you acquainted with Franklen's handwriting ?" lie asked. The dame took from a shelf a large Bible much yised, and opened it. On the blank page was written: ''Jessica E. Bullocks, from her loving godson, Aaron Franklen." That was his, sir," she said in a choked voice. The surgeon laid the paper beside the writing in the ~ook. Again the heads clustered round, and a sorrow- fulmurmur went through the little crowd. The gentleman shook his head, and, returning the P^Per to the mistress of the house, passed in to the ^daide of his patient.. Even in that forced sleep she was starting, con- "^ulsive throes agitating her every limb. The dame Prayed the doctor not to quit the cottage. "I fear she'll not get over it, sir; you see at this time The good man made a sorrowful assent. He, too, had his fears. A slight bustle outside announced the safe return of 8ix young fishermen with their father.. But the joyful shout that would have greeted their Providential escape from the perils of the storm was **shed. The universal interest was centered on a ore painful and mysterious subject. As soon as heard all, ere they had tasted a mouthful or taken a garment, the young men ware off again, accom- panied by others, to the cottage of the Franklens-to beach—-to the cliffs. The hollows, the bay, the lo»npe<^ and Deepgang were searched; high and seal' ,i r and near, the hardy young fellows climbed, h0i, rocks, and penetrated caves, chinks, and fej. °W8 in vain. The day passed, the tides rose and 7"~watched with a melancholy eagerness by the ^oienUS Bearchers. They awoke the echoes, but no ^ade answer; they set a watch through the seen morning dawned and nothing had been mhada pCa.r^u' conviction was borne in upon the other n° ranklen's boat was gone—the nets and had^f-ir';en&nces.1'emained in the little stone hut Were **or their shelter but the boat and oars He the eldet^6 in a passion like, maybe," said the nearoK i young Bullocks—who kept up Wards, longest—as they slowly returned home- Ay, and that awful night needed all a man's cool- ness and thought," added the younger. Neither spoke of that which was the inevitable conclusion; they paused as they came to the dear of the cottage, and heard the plaintive voice within, in that incessant wail, which, since her violence had abated, the bereaved creature never ceased. How is she, mother ?" Oh, lads, it breaks my heart to hear her, poor child, it just do. She thinks she's going to be married, and keeps talking about her things, and tells me how it's all to be, just as if he was to come to fetch her in the morning-oh! dear, dear heart, that such things should come to pass! Thee'll have to go sleep again at the cottage, for the doctor says it's the only chance to save her sense at all, and maybe her life; to keep her from a sight of things at home." Ay, ay, mother, that's all right, don't be troubling about us." They all vied who should show her most kindness, and each lent his or her mite towards the easing of that terrible burden which had fallen upon her. Struggling against probability, Dame Bullocks and her husband still held to the belief that Aaron would yet return but at the end of ten days-ere yet Nelly had spoken a rational word—some boys came running to the cottages with the tidings that Franklen's boat was below the point, among the Shark's Teeth (a low reef, of broken, dangerous rocks so called). It was true enough—they brought it off at high water-a large hole was stove in its side; it must have filled at once, and gone down. But as if to leave no ray, even the faintest, of hope or possibility, some days later Aaron's coat and a hoot were picked up among the, sedges on the Point. These the dame took charge of, and imposed the most solemn promises on those who found them, that they would in no way, by sign or look, let the uncon- scious wife know of their discovery. The time was at hand when life would succumb to the new trial, or the faculties be restored by the now im- petus given. On a bleak, ungenial morning in May, Nelly Franklen became a mother-still unconscious of her loss, un- awakened from that mysterious swoon into which reason had fallen though the few words she had uttered gave more token of coherency. A girl." The same tender hands waited on her as had done in her first agony of grief-the good doctor and the dame, with a gossip or two, without whom such events are not duly honoured. "Good-" The medical man checked himself in the exclamation, as he handed the child to the dame, who, in her turn, gave but one glance at the newly-born, and turned her eyes upwards with a ges- ture of horror and dismay. The gossips approached; one busied herself about the young mother, the others had turned to the child Merciful- Heaven save us!" > "Hush!" uttered the dame, in an authoritative whisper, indicating the bed and its occupant by a sign. The gossips drew near, and, with vehement gesticu- lations and dumb show of terrified wonder, compen- sated for their checked utterance. The doctor approached and attentively examined the child. "Poor lamb! poor innocent!" said the nurse, and she held a whispered conference with the surgeon. A clear calm voice spoke from the bed, rational as any in the room. Is it dead ?" she said. A faint cry seemed to answer the mother's question. Bring me my baby." Dame Bullocks hesitated, as she looked at the medi- cal man. He signed- that she should comply. The newly-made mother clasped it in her arms, turned her languid eyes upon its infant face, then uttering the words— My husband!" a glance round told her he was absent-she burst into tears. The first she had shed since that terrible night. CHAPTER VII. AFTER THE STORM. YES, she was saved to life, and from worse than death; those blessed tears seemed to lift from her heart the icy numbness of despair, which had op- pressed it; and though she now wept and bemoaned his loss—whom she felt must be gone for ever, since he came not at such a moment—it was less terrible to behold her natural grief than the stolid apathy of despair, which had, till now, wrapt her in oblivion of all their tender consolation. At first, she took but little notice of the new little claimant on her love; she seemed rather to mourn that any inducement should have been sent her to prolong the life which could no longer have any charm for her; but her good attendants, with a sensible ap- preciation-humble as they were-of her feelings, let her weep her fill, and by-and-by she grew more calm, and turned, as for consolation, to all that was now left of him; as dearer than any hoarded memorial of love -for was it not himself, in some sort, come again ?- and a shade of regret passed over her face as she learned her child was a girl; had it been a boy, she might more fully even have realised her fond fancy. In a while, her violent fits of weeping had given way to quieter grief, and as they stood aloof, those about her would anxiously watch, while she half raised herself to bend over the sleeping infant—evidently seeking, feature by feature, to trace some resemblance to the beloved husband she had lost; and when some infant trait or mimic turn in the small, waxen face struck upon her memory, she would sink back, weeping softly, then turn again to her babe; and, gently encircling it with her arm, draw yet closer, as if to guard the precious legacy of his love. So she would fall asleep, most frequently a wandering tear glittering upon the unconscious little cheek beside her, as if the babe, too, wept in slumber for the uncertain fate of the father whose heart it could not make glad. In her yet uncertain state, they carefully guarded from her knowledge the strange visitation entailed upon thA hapless innocent: it was not difficult, for the hild was quiet to a miracle—sleeping for hours at a time, and, when it awoke, would lie with its eyes wide open, fixed on vacancy, but seldom making any sign till some one came to take it up. It be a uncommon child, for certain," said one of the gossips, making one of the usual levee attending the morning toilette of the little stranger, presided over by good Dame Bullocks. It beant natural-like for a babe to be so quiet at all times, and that strange look in its eyes-" Ay, that's what I say, Kitty," put in another; why, mine, I'll wager. you'd ha' heard 'em two mile off-my man's many a time said he heard their squall soon as he come round the Point——" It beant right no-hew-I'd wonder if it was all right in its head like," whispered the fint, touching her own forehead. Dame Bullocks shook her head. "Poor larnb," she said, softly, it be right enough, never fear—it be right enough; it's just the weight of her trouble like, poor soul; and no wonder, is't, Xitty ? the wonder be, I think, how she come thro' at all. But look at the sense in them dear, pretty eyes, bless 'em! Why, one might a'most think she heard you, and understood what you was saying of her, pretty creatur'l" And the dame fondly kissed the child, as, in answer to her kindly chirrup, it looked up to her motherly face with something more nearly approaching a smile than the spasmodic symptom usually visible at that early period of existence. (To be continued.)

SATIRE is an ugly weapon in the work of reform. It tears asunder, it cauterises, it blisters. No one is really made better by it. The one assailed, though he may fear the sting, will never be better through its application, though he may seem so. A satirist lives all the time in boiling water. JESUS AT THE FBAST OF TABBRNACLM.— And suddenly, in the midst of all the murmurs and discussions of the Jews, in the middle of the feast, Jesus, unaccompanied apparently by His followers, unheralded by HiB friends, appeared in the Temple, and taught. By what route He had reached the Holy Oity-how He had passed through the bright thronged streets unnoticed—whether He joined in the innocent mirth of the festival—whether He too lived in a little succah of palm-leaves during the remainder of the week, and wandered among the brightly-dressed crowds of an Oriental gala day with the lulab and citron in His hands—whether His voice was heard in the Hallel, or the Great Hosannah-we do not know. All that is told us is that, throwing Himself, as it were, in full confidence on the protection of His dis- ciples from Galilee and those in Jerusalem, He was suddenly found seated in one of the large halls which opened out of the Temple courts, 'and there He taught. For a time they listened to Him in awe-struck silence but soon the old scruples recurred to them. He is no authorised Rabbi; He belongs to no recognised school; neither the followers of Hillel nor those of Sham- inai claim Him He is a Nazarene He was trained in the shop of the Galilsean carpenter; how knowelh this man letters, having never learned?" As though the few who are taught of God-whose learning is the learning of a pure heart and an en- lightened eye and a blameless life-did not unspeak- ably transcend in wisdom, and therefore also in the best and truest knowledge, those whose learning has but come from other men It is not the voice of erudition, but it is, as the old Greek thinker says, the voice of Inspiration-the voice of the divine Sibyl —which, uttering things simple and unperfumed and unadorned, reacheth through myriads of years.— .Dr. Farrars Life of Christ,

TACT.—Tact is to manner what genius is to talent. There are many people in the intellectual world who are clever, erudite, sharp, yet who are utterly destitute of genius whilst in the social world the number of persons who are ambitious, plausible, and agreeable, and yet totally deficient in tact, is legion. Ho frequently do we hear questions asked which should be avoided, and subjects discussed that should never be introduced! How constantly do the scheming and the worldly-wise show their hand, and thus mar their game, by a plausibility so palpable that it never deceives! How often is hate defeated by the intensity of its spite and its clumsy malevolence! If men and women exhibited a little more tact in their walk through life, the snob would talk less of his intimacy with the great, Dives would boast less of his wealth, women would be more careful in their dis- paragements of each other, the jealous would pretend I less to indifference, and the acrid would mingle a little more honey with his gall. We read of an am- bition that overvaulta itself and falls on the other side. It is quite as possible to fail from overdoing as from never attempting. A well-bred display is one thing, the ostentation of the vulgar another. To know a lord does not necessarily imply an incessant refer- fence to the aristocracy. The possession of wealth is not always evinced by allusions to the balance at our banker, the extent of our property, and the Bplendour of oar establishment. Familiarity is always silent; it is novelty that is always intrusive. — London Society. STRUGGLING TO BE BjMTEB.—We are now all of us asking again, how shall the people be kept from the public-bouse ? And some of us are asking also, how shall the dull Philistinism or emptiness of the other classes be healed? And we have made some steps towards the true solution. We say, it is not enough to tell people to be religious, you must occupy their minds and give them a taste for some- thing better than drinking. And we get up penny readings and popular lectures and working men's colleges. Dimly at the same time we see that the deficiencies of the better classes are radically of the same kind and require the same remedy. What takes the working man to the public-house is the same defect which ties the city man to his desk and makes his life monotonous and unlovely. It is the ignorance of anything better —the want of occupation for his higher life. And something begins to be done for him too. We have begun to purify the idea of culture, and to understand that we must present it for the future as something precious and beautiful in itself, and 110 longer merely as a means of success and money-making. These are the new convictions which practical reformers have lately acquired. They have led to a practical rebel- lion against the clerical revival ef the last age, for they amount to a conviction that no such revival can by itself regenerate the country. And the clergy are acknowledging this by enlarging their field, by taking into their province much which hitherto they regarded as secular. They do so under the plea that that which is in itself secular, such as music, architec- ture, popular science, may be made indirectly service- able to religion. But meanwhile a great change and advance of opinion has been taking place among the professors of the so-called secular pursuits thus newly patronised. The future historian, describing the present age of English history, will mark it aa the period when the English mind first clearly grasped the ideas of Art and Science. Look at our present clear conception of Art in its different varieties all equally te be honoured, the poet recognising himself as the colleague of the painter or musical composer in the same great guild, and see what a space has been traversed since music was scarcely known and paint- ing regarded as an ungentlemanlv pursuit, while "try acknowledged no connection with the sister arts, but rather classed herself with wit or with learning. In like manner, what a change since science asserted her- self with the commanding aelf-conaciousntsa which now diatinguishea her! Not long since she lay huddled up indistinguishably with metaphysics and Greek scholar- ship and theology. Now she proudly stands aloof from all such association, and declares herself called to regenerate the world. Both in the case of Art and of Science it is a consequence of the new distinctness with which they are now conceived that their dignity is greatly raised. They take a reli- gious character. The artist would be ashamed to J speak of himself as a humblw caterer for the public amusement, as, for instance, a Walter S.ott always did. He is now in a manner bound to exalt his art if not himself, and to call himself a priest of the reli- gion of beauty. Nor can the latter any more be content to speak of science as an elegant and liberal pursuit; it is a point o £ honour with him now to pro- i1 claim himself a votary of the religion of the future.— Maomillan's Magcuine.

LADIES' COLUMN THE FASHIONS. A walking costume, says a writer in the English' woman's Domestic Magazine, for very cold weather, is of seal-coloured vigogne cloth, trimmed with deep bands of sealskin fur, sprinkled with tiny tips of pea- cock's feathers. The skirt of faille vigogne cloth is trimmed round with one such band and with a fluting of seal coloured faille. The front part forms a draped tablier, with similar trimming. Long paletot and waistcoat of the vigogne cloth, bordered with the same sealskin fur and tips of peacock's feathers dolman sleeves trimmed to correspond, and tight undersleeves with sealskin fur cuffs. The tiny muff is of cloth to match the dress, lined with quilted seal- cnloured faille, and edged on either side with a band of sealskin fur and peacock's feathers. The bonnet is a tiny capote of sealskin, lined with pale pink satin. It is trimmed with a soft border of the tips of pea- cock's feathers overlapping one another, and with an aigrette of pink flamingo's feathers. The strings are of double-faced pale pink and seal-coloured satin. Another walking costume is of wool and silk neigeuse in mixed shades of myrtle and moss green, tilleul, and wood colour. The skirt, with semi-train of myrtle- green faille, is finished with a deep pleated flounce with double heading. The front part of the skirt is of the wool and silk neisreuse, with similar flounce. A scarf of the fancy neigeuse is drapei and croseed at the side, its lapels losing themselves in the folds of the train. This scarf is edged with hop-blossom silk and chenille fringe, of all the colours of the neigeuse. The short costumes are making their way into favour slowly, but surely; Hihe comfort of them is great after the fatigue and trouble of trains. The materials used for them are ladiea* cloth, basket and twilled cloths, camel's hair, and serge. Self-colonrs, as blue, grey, brown and green, are preferred. The skirt is generally kilt-plaited, and, if the wearer's figure is not Blender, it is mounted on a deep band, fitted plainly round the hips, and lined with strong sileaia. The kilting is sewn to the edge, and descends in straight plaits to the ankle, where it is turned up, and hemmed with blind stiches. These long plaits are about two inches wide, and are folded to touch each other at the edge. They are pressed flatly, and are held in place with two rows of tape; the lower row the height of the knee, and the upper one between that and the band. Above this is a short apron falling below the band, so as to con ceal it, and terminating in two long-plaited ends that fall straight from the back of the belt. This band and overskirt are patronised by stout figures; with the slender ones the kilt-plaitirig commences at the belt, and a plaited scarf or Bash is tied round the figure immediately below the hips. This scarf-like sash ia of the same material as the drese, trimmed and ornamented with rows of machine stitching on the hem; it is folded and knotted either at the back or on the left side. The bodice is plaited, has a square yoke and deep collar; the sleeves are narrow and un- trimmed; a jacket,; lined with silk and with an inter- lining of flannel, is added for outdoor wear. Grey costumes are now trimmed with chinchilla bands; the bonnet worn with them is grey felt, with a coronet of chinchilla fur in front; the crown terminates with a how composed of six loops of grey satin ribbon, and grey satin strings are tied in a long-looped bow below the right ear; a slender grey wing on the lett aide of the crown.—Queen.

USEFUL HINTS. MENU FOB THE WEEK.-S,turday: Sprats; hashed mutton,veal cutlets and tomato sauce; bread padding. Sunday: Plain^poiip; roast goose and apple sauce; roast loin of mutton; jam tart. Monday: Fried ttolea hashed goose; calf's heart, roasted; apple pudding. Tuesday: Giblet soup; boiled rabbit and onion sauce rump steak; plain suet pudding. Wed- nesday Tapioca soup; fillete of soles; mutton chops; mushroom sauce; sweet omelette. Thursday: Carrot soup; roast beef, horse-raddish sauce; Yorkshire pudding; macaroni au gratin. Friday: Fried cod, anchovy sauce; cold beef and pickles; baked rice pudding, custards. Vegetables in Season.—Potatoes (and through the year), parsley (and through the year), small salad (and through the year), borecole, or Scotch kale, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cardoons, leeks, celery, parsnips.—Brief. MILK PORCH.—Cut off the thin yellow part of four fresh leoions and a Seville orange, and be careful not to take any of the white pith of the fruit, or it will make the punch bitter. Pour over this rind a pint of Jamaica rum, and let it stand, closely covered, for twelve hours. Strain the liquor, and mix with it a pint of lemon juice and two pints of cold water, in which a pound of refined sugar has been dissolved, and add the whites of two eggs beaten to a froth, three pints more of rum,a grated nutmeg, a pint of madeira, a pint of strong green tea, snd a quarter of a pint of maraschino.' Mix thoroughly, and pour over all a pint of milk, boiling hot. Let the punch stand a little time, then strain it through a flannel jelly bag until it is quite bright, and either use it at once, or bottle it to put away. ENGLISHWOMEN'S BOOTS AND SHOES.- Without say- ing that our women are wrong in copying Parisian bonnets and costumes, we would point out that they would be far better dressed were they to follow the example of 183 belles Parisiennes in the matter of boots and shoes. Naturally enough, there are upon either side of the Channel many people who are invariably particular as to boots, and on this account it would be impossible to convince some people that we are open to great improvement in these particular articles of dressi Take. however, an English lady of what is called the middle class and a Frenchwoman of a similar status. Probably there is more of what we know as go" in the style and fit of the Frenchwoman's dress, though the toute ensemble of the Englishwoman may, at first sight, be more pleasing. Look again, and the ugly boot of the Englishwoman destroys the first impression; it is fiat-soied and there is not a good heel. The heel may be very high and yet look well, or it may be low without marring the effect of the curve in the sole; but this latter quality is generally wanting in our boots. Take another class, 'the milliners, dressmakers, and others who work for their daily bread. Do they not in Paris wear the prettiest boots or shoes, and often eschew bonnets, gaudy ribbons, and gloves ? Upon the other hand, are not our working girls proverbial for their over-indulgence in ribbons and what is commonly called II finery," and, moreover, for their very indif- ferent boots ? Here women trudge through the mud, allowing their dresses to drag upon the heels of their boots, and thus every movement detracts from the ele- gance and beauty of the wearer's apearance. He or she who is sceptical should watch Parisians crossings road on a muddy day. Half an hour spent in watch- ing the boots of Frenchwomen would assuredly con- vince the veriest unbelievers that our countrywomen are sadly behind the Parisian sisters in their knowledge of good boots and shoes.-Pictorial World.

TEA AND SHBEMPS AT GREENWICH.—It is re- marked by more than one writer, that Greenwich is about the last place where the practice of touting for customers is kept up at the doors of small coffee. houses but, perhaps, the well-known cry of the butchers in the lesser streets on Saturday evenings, Oome, buy! buy! what will you buy ? may be re- garded as the last remnant of a custom once nearly universal. Here you cannot walk along the streets which lie between the town and the park with- but being solicited by ten or a dceen rival houses to step in and regale yourself. If you take every card that is offered you, you will have a good store in your pocket on returning home at night. Tea, eightpenoe, with a pleasant view of the river." "Tea made, with Shrimps, ninepence," and so forth. The inhabitants of Greenwich would seem to be the moat accommo- dating and hospitable people in the world. You can walk straight into almost every other house along the route and order tea, and can depart again only a few pence the poorer. Numbers of cockneys, however, come to the park already well provided and you may see pater and mateifamilias and half a dozen of their hopeful progeny all munching bread-and-butter, and drinking cold tea, in one group beneath the chest- nute.- Old and New London. THE PERIWINKLE.—The periwinkle is very commonly met with in woods and hedgerows, and when found at all, is generally in great profusion; and we can readily call to mind an embankment not half a mile from where we are now writing where a space some ten <:r twelve yards long and five or six yards broad seems to be the exclusive property of this striking plant, its hundreds of expanded blossoms making quite a grand display in the spring and early summer. The plant is a perennial on-, and retains its leaves throughout the winter hence, if a locality for it be once known, it may at any time be discovered. The leaves are sometimes met with having streaks of lighter green upon the dark rich colour that is characteristic of the foliage. Such varieties are, however, accidental, and comparatively rare. The plant seldom, if ever, ripens its seed-a fact that the opponents of its claim to be indigenous point to in confirmation of their opinion and, as in other and more southern countries it does oo, they have so far a point in their favour, though the fact is by no means a conclusive one. The plant propagates itself by its long trailing and rooting stems, and by their means not only extends itself rapidly in every direction, but manages to gain an almost exclusive possession of the soil, since little or nothing else can maintain its ground against the denso mass of matted stems that deprive all weaker plants of light and air. The leaves, as will be noticed in our plate, are always placed in pairs upon the stem, while the flowers grow singly from their axils, The calyx is deeply out.-Familar Wild Flowers.

J VARIETIES WI8DOK.—It is much more easy to be wise for others than for ourselves. CHABJTT.—-When .Charity walks into the lower places of Want, we most distinctly see the purity of her robes. ENVY.—Every other sin hath some pleasure annexed to it, or will admit of some excuse; but envy wants both. We should strive against it, for if indulged in it will be to us a foretaste of Hades. FRIENDSHIP.—One day you will be pleased with a friend, and the next day disappointed in him. It will be so to the end, and you must make up your mind to it, and not quarrel, unless for very grave causes, for neither of you is perfect. Science teaches us our ignorance, as well as the elevation of nature. Those misrepresent it much who describe it in other terms; for the lessons of science implant reverence and gratitude for the past, hope for the future, and humility in our own estima- tion.- Whetcell. HAPPINESS IN MARRIAGE.—Harmony in a married state is the very first thing to be aimed at. Nothing can preserve affection uninterrupted but a firm resolu tion never to differ in will, and the determination of each to consider the love of the other of more value thai any other earthly object what on which a wish can be fixed. Beds- are quite a modern innovation in Russia, and any well-to-do houses are still unprovided with them. Peasants sleep on the tops of their ovens; middle-class people and servants roll themselves up in sheepskins and lie down near stoves; soldiers rest upon wooden cots without bedding; and it is only within the last ten years that students in State schools have been allowed beds. FASHION.—Without depth of thought or earnestness of feeling or strength of purpose, living an unreal life, sacrificing substance to show, substituting the fictitious for the natural, mistaking a crowd for society, finding its chief pleasure in ridicule, and exhausting its inge- unity in expedients for killing time, fashion is among the last influences under which a human being who- respects himself, or who comprehends the great end of life, would desire to be placed. Most men remember obligations, but not often to be grateful for them. The proud are made sour by the remembrance, and the vain silent. TRUTH AND ERROR.-As great ability may be dissi- pated in the elaboration of error as would, by more for- tunate direction, have enunciated the truth. TASTE AND UNDERSTANDING.—You may take the altitude of a man's tastes by his stories and his wit, and of his understanding by the remarks which he repeats. FASTIDIOUSNESS.—Like other things spurious, fas- tidiousness is frequently inconsistent with itself;- the coarsest things are done, the cruellest things said, by the most fastidious neople. NAPOLEON THE FIRST UNDER FIRE."—There are many stories told of the great Napoleon's coolness "under fire." At Hanau, while he was giving some directions, a shell fell quite close to him. He paid no attention to it, and no one dared to interrupt hit speech; but those about him hardly breathed while they awaited the explosion. The missile penetrated so far into the ground that its bursting was harmless, Napoleon does not seem to have been aware that there ever had been any danger. At the passage of the, Elbe, when a ball struck aome wood close to him, and lent a splinter on to his neck, he so far recognised the danger as to say, "If it had struck me on the breast, all would have been over." When he was suddenly recalled to Dresden by the unexpected attack of the Allies, their Are was very hot over a spaoe of which he had to pass, and he crawled along on his hands and knees, but never thought of waiting, or seeking another path. LITTLE CHUMP."—A correspondent, writing from! Mansfield, Ohio, tells this anecdote. In the Sherman family, there were eleven children, who were depen- dent upon the meagre income of their father's legal practice. A young man named Ewing, who had worked his way through college, and had come from the salt-works, where some money had been earned, settled in Mansfield to practise law. His ability was recognised by Mr. Sherman, who assisted him materi- ally, and when upon the bench turned over much em- ployment to Ewing. Upon the death of the father the young lawyer had become Hon. Thomas Ewing, and in return for kindness received wished to make some substantial return. He resolved to take one of the boys and give him a thorough education. At a stated time he visited the family, when the five lads were brought before him. Uncertain as to choice, he turned to the elder sister, saying, Which one had I better take?" She replied, "There's 'Chump'; he's the smartest." The suggestion was received, and j the boy "Chump" has become the General of the. United States' Army. I COBBSTT'S LOTS OP AGE.—Among Cobbett's weak- nesses seems to have been a love of ale; or, perhaps it; would be more correct to say, a belief that ale was pre-ordained by the celestial powers as the natural and fit liquor for Britons to quaff. The drinking of tea, which was becoming common with every order of society in his time, moved him to the fiercest indig-; nation; as it had in a former generation excited the fears of Duncan Forbes, who conceived that the brew- ing interest would be ruined by the general adoption of the new beverage. The Lord President of the Court of Session is reported to have rigorously for-, bidden the consumption of tea by his own servants—» even to have dismissed a housemaid who was taken pot-handed in the act. Duncan Forbes little dreamed that the day would come when statesmen would be loudly urged to support the tea interest and discourage, the beer interest. To return for a moment to Cobbett, it would be unjust not to acknowledge that he was himself of exemplary sobriety in an exceedingly tipsy age. Indeed, he recommends pure water as well as ale. But these two were, he thought, the only rational drinks. His opinion may remind some of Sydney Smith's statement that, when he went to reside in Somersetshire, the servants he had brought, "With him from Yorkshire, seemed to think the making; of cider a tempting of Providence, which had clearly intended malt, and not apples, as the legitimate pro- duce out of which man should find the means oi intoxication.- Weaknesses of Great Men. I Two NEW ANECDOTES or TURNER.—Hie Portfolio for January contains two curious anecdotes communi. cated to Mr. Hamerton by Mr. Samuel Palmer, of the Water-Colour Society. Turner was staying once in a friend's house at Knockholt, where there were three children. The late Mr. Cristall, a friend of Mr. Samuel Palmer, was also a guest at Knockholt at the same time, and he witnessed the following incident, which he afterwards narrated to Mr. Palmer. Turner had brought a drawing with him of which the dis- tance was already carefully outlined, but there was no material for the nearer parts. One morning, when about to proceed with this drawing, he called in the children as eollaborateurs for the rest, in the following manner. He rubbed three cakes of water-oolour- red, blue, and yellow—in three separate saucers, gave one to each child, and told the children to dabble in the saucers and then play together with their coloured fingers on his paper. These directions were gleefully obeyed, as the reader may well imagine. Turner ¡ watched the work of the thirty little fingers with serious attention, and after the dabbling had gone on for some time, suddenly called out, Stop!" He then took the drawing into his own hands, added imaginary landscape forms, suggested by the acci- dental colouring, and the work was finished. On another occasion, after dinner, he amused himself in arranging some many-coloured sugar-plums on a dessert jjate, and when disturbed in the operation by a question, said to the questioner, There you have made me lose fifty guineas!" FAMILY OF THE CAVE.—Julius Sabinua having en- gaged the interest of the Gauls, caused himself to be proclaimed Emperor of Rome; but being defeated, he fled to his country house and set it on flre, in order to raise a report that he had perished. The scheme suc- ceeded, for he was believed to have suffered a volun- tary death in the flames. But in the meantime, he lay concealed with his treasures, which were immense, in a cave which he had caused to be dug in a solitary place, and which was known only to two of his freed- men, on whose fidelity he could depend. He might easily have withdrawn into Germany, but he could not prevail on himself to abandon his wife, whom he passionately loved. Sabinus, that no one might doubt of his death, did not for some time undeceive his wife, who solemnized his obsequies with great pomp, be- wailed him with many tears, and at last, no longer able to bear the loss of a husband, for whom she had the sincerest affection, resolved not to outlive him, and began to abstain from food. This news alarmed Sabinus; and, therefore, by means of Martialis, one of his freedmen, he informed her that he was still alive, and acquainted her with the place where he lay concealed, desiring her at the same time to suppress her joy, lest the secret might thence be betrayed. Empona heard the relation with rapture, and pretend- ing business in the country, flew to her husband. The cave to her was then preferable to a palace, for there only was she happy. She went frequently to see him, and sometimes contrived to stay whole weeks unsus- pected. Two children born and brought up in the cave tended still more to endear this faithful pair to each other. When at Rome, Empona continued to bewail her husband as dead, and concealed the whole with singular fidelity and address. After Sabinus had passed nine years in this manner, he was at length discovered by some persons who narrowly watched' his wife, upon her frequently absenting herself from her own house, and followed her to the cave without being discovered. Sabinus was immediately seized, and sent to Rome loaded with chains, together with his wife, who throwing herself at the Emperor's feet, and presenting to him her two tender infants, en- deavoured with her tears and entreaties to move him to compassion. Vespasian, although it is related that he wept at so affecting a spectacle, condemned both Empona and her husband, and they were soon aftec- wards executed. OLDEN TIME MANNERS.—Lady Holland once sent her page round the table to Macaulay to tell him to atop talking, She told Rogers, Your poetry it bad enough, so pray be sparing of your prose." At a dinner in South-street, she fidgeted Lord Melbourne So much by making him shift his place when he was seated to his liking, that he rose, exclaiming. 41 I'll b0 if I dme with you at all!" and walked off to his own house, fortunately at hand. She requested celebrated dandy to move a little further off, on the ground that her olfactory nerves were offended by hia lacking the blacking which he vowed was diluted frith champagne. Shortly after M. Van de Weyer'a arrival in England as the Belgian Minister, he was lining with a distinguished party at Holland Houae, When Lady Holland suddenly turned to him and wked, How is Leopold ?" Does your ladyship mean the King of the Belgians ?" I have heard," fhe rejoined, of Flemings, Hainaulters, and Bra- banters; but Belgians are new to me." Hia reply was, My lady, before I had the honour to be pre- sented to you, I had often heard you spoken of not only as a woman of intelligence and wit, but as a woman who had read much. Well, is it possible that vou in your many readings have never met the book by a person named Julius Caesar, who, in his Com- wrfaries, gives to our nation the name of the Belgians, uid this name we have preserved till our days ? RECOMPENSE. —• Every duty is "foujjdfrd op. soma natural law which finds a ready response in human heart. The duty of recompense is based upon the law of justice, and were it not for the inroads that selfish- ness makes upon our moral nature, it would need neither legal enactments nor personal exhortation to enforce it. A RomscxnVs HOSPITAL AT GzNBVA.—Baron ASolphe de Rothschild, who lives occasionally in a villa near Geneva, intends to endow and build there, at his own expense, a hospital for diseases of the eye. He will give about £ 20,000, j68,000 for the ground, buildings, and fittings, and the revenue of the remain- ing J612,000 for its yearly support. Suitable grounds have been purchased, and the new building will be completed and opened in the middle of next summer. The hospital is to be fitted for twenty indoor patients, with rooms for out-patients, and for clinical demonstration. THREE FAXOUI ADMIRALS COMPARED. — Lord Howe, by his forbearance, failed in obtaining that dis- cipline, that perfection of manoeuvre which the fleet ought to have attained; Lord St. Vincent obtained a strict and ready obedience by a severity which nobody could venture to resist. Lord Nelson obtained a greater perfection than either, by the example of his own per- sonal sacrifices, by the pains he took to keep the fleet in health and efficiency in every respect, and by his kindness and attention to the wants, wishes, and com- forts of those under his command. The predominant feeling was not fear of his censure, but apprehension of not gaining his approbation." -Memoir, of Admiral Sir B. Codrington. REVELATION AND REASON.—If we admit the agree- ment of revelation with conscience to be an evidence of divinity in the Bible, do we thereby make con- science the criterion of what is divine in it P Some say so, and make this the door to rationalism. But it is surely possible to make conscience a witness, with- out exalting it into a judge. There are two safeguards against rationalism. First, there are other witnesses. Second, the conscience in the enlightening, purifying peocess which it undergoes, through contact with the Bible, feels its own incompetency to be a judge. In other words, it becomes aware that sin has darkened it, not so much as to unfit it for the recognition of the teacher, but enough to unfit it for dictating to Him.— Sunday Magazine. PERSONATING MADAME DB STAEL. — Augustus Hare assisted in playing a practical joke upon the University of Oxford at the time when Madame de Stael was at the height of her celebrity. It was announced that she was in England, and was about to visit Oxford, where she had an undergraduate friend. For a few weeks the undergraduate who was to be so highly honoured became an object of general interest. At length it was noised abroad that the great lady had arrived, and under the extraordinary circumstances, and to meet so illustrious a guest, the undergraduate ventured to invite several of the heads of houses, and even the Vice-Chancellor himself, to meet her at breakfast. The party assembled, Madame de Stael was there, and so charmed everybody by her grace, wit, and brillianay that they all went away feeling that they had found her more than they anticipated. It was not till many weeks after that it was discovered that she had never been in Oxford at all, and that she had been represented by a clever undergraduate, who had resided for many years in France.—Memorials of a Quiet Life. MOLTXES EARLY LIFB.-That a happy youth is the best preparation for an active and vigorous maturity seems natural, yet a large proportion of the best workers in every age have been those whose spring- time was chill and wintry. A sketch, by Count von Moltke himself, of his own early life appears in a German paper, and shows that his training for his future career was of this character. He was born in 1800, and was with his parents at Lubeck in 1806, when their house was sacked by the French. "In the meantime," says the general, "my father had bought the property of Augustenhof, in Holstein. A year after it was burned down with the whole harvest. Soon after my grandfather, who disposed of a large fortune, died. His will contained numerous and large legacies. He had not considered the very numerous losses which the war had caused to him. My mother, as universal legatee, had to bear them, and therefore the inheritance was reduced to almost nothing. The property had to be sold. In the meantime I had been sent with my elder brother to the Land Cadets' Academy in Copenhagen. As alumni we passed there a joyless youth. At the age of eighteen I became an officer. The small prospects which the Danish military service offered made me desire to enter into the Prussian Army, where my father and several of his brothers had also served. With good recom- mendation from the chief of my regiment, the Duke of Holstein, the father of the present King of Den- mark, I went to Berlin,{passed the officer's examination, and was immediately appointed to the Body-Infantry. From thence begins my sufficiently-known military career."—German Journal. SELF-INDEPENDENCE.—"Whatever he earned was his own; he never sought or took at the expense of others," was the striking remark made by General Sherman, at the funeral of the late General Thomas. When we look back upon the history of most great men, we are quite sure to find that, even in early life. Boys learn to swim a great deal sooner, and much better, without life-preservers than with them, and the same principle applies to all the experiences of men. It may be a -little more comfortable to enjoy the pleasant sensation of being buoyed up, and to escape the immediate necessity of striking out with all one's might, or else going to the bottom. But by- and-bye, in the history of almost every man, the time comes when the life-preserver is taken away, and it is bad indeed if he has not learned to swim. The case is actually worse in the affairs of life. Suppose a child has been born with a gold spoon in its mouth- suppose he has been rocked in a silver cradle-suppose he has been carried and dandled, so there was no need to tumble on the floor-suppose he has never known what it was to hunger, to shiver, or to kindle his own- fire, or to black his boots, or ever to cook his own food, or to put a stich in his torn pantaloons, or never known what it was to put on a pair which had been compromised by a patch, and never knew what it was to count over ten or fifteen coppers to see if he could not make them twenty-flve nd then suppose, after having had plenty of tutors to carry him on their shoulders through his education, he has arrived at that age when he presumed to be a mam, he has a fortune put into his hand, and all that a man could I. ask-we will suppose all this. And after all, if the old adage of the world has as much wisdom and experience compressed in it as these old time adages generally have, he will finda heavy truth in the pro- verb that a fool can make money, but it takes a wise man to keep it." SOMETHING OF THE PREMIER.—The general result is that he (Mr. Gladstone) makes a bad leader. In- deed, it would be safer to say that he does not lead at all, in the common sense of the world; others lead for him. He has another weakness, which is strangely irritating—not, perhaps, to the majority-but at any rate to a very considerable abhorrence of such a thing as humour. He makes jests himself at times, and occasionally they are good ones; but they are grim and ponderous jokes, such as one might expect to circle round the board of a funeral feast rather than in any livelier assemblage; and the fierceness of manner with which they are delivered, and the supernatural solemnity of his countenance, as he makes them, render it necessary that the man who ventures to laugh,at them should have a bold heart. As to such a thing as humour in others, he cannot see it. Moro than once, when the House has been convulsed with laughter at some exquisite bit of ehaffl-to use a slang phrase—on the part of Mr. Disraeli, ho has risen, and, in the most grave and emphatic manner, replied seriously to the lively sarcasm of his foe. Than there is his temper. We hear a great deal—as it seems to us, a great deal more than we ought to hear-r-about 'Gladstone's temper.' Even Liberal journals and Liberal members are fond of dwelling upon his hasty temper, and it seems to be taken for granted that the Prime Minister is one of those peevish and passionate men who make life a misery to • those around thom. The clubs dwell with much emphasis on his arrogance and his domineering dig. position; and very little outburst of strong feeling which he displays is spoken of as though it were nothing more than that very contemptible thing-a fit of anger. As we have already said, it ought, it appears to us, to be Mr. Gladstone's temperament, rather than his temper, which should be held account- able for these occasional outbursts, of which so much in made by thow around him,"—" Qabinet fortmu"