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

CONSTANCE. Eighteen, with just » touch of pride, And all of girlish grace beside; And, rich in simple charms a queen, By royal right of sweet eighteen. Oh vain attempt of words to show What you by words can never know; For who would sketch the rose, and see The Jiving blossom on the tree ? But search, and say when you have seen t/ The face most fair of sweec eighteen; t And find therewith the crowning grace, A soul to match the lovely face. And even then, when this is done, You have not seen the sweetest one; And Constance will remain confest The chosen queen of all the rest. —Cassell's Family Magazine.

THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR, TWICE WED. CHAPTER XXI. UTTER PROSTRATION. the transient repose in the little room of the *»lue Moon, and the hospitality of its good-natured hoat, Nelly had been startled by a contentious scene, *nd had fltd like the affrighted deer at sound of horn. The few mouthfuls of food she had swallowed, and the lift upon the road, had so far recruited her that 6 was able to take her wearied child without effort In her arms, as she quitted the house by a back door a.nd set off across the country in the direction, as well as aha could judge, of the market town. Nelly judged wisely, that, in the daylight, two figurts, evon from a distance, would sooner attract the Notice of pursuer, or any to whom description might be given, and, wrapping the child in her dark drapery, Pacified her with tales of all she should sea in the town till she fell asleep and the mother, as the sun rose high, struck into the close and shady lane to Pursue her weary journey. She had spoken at random when she mentioned London to Laxity, yet she pondered, if that goal COuld be reached, what better one could she fix upon ? In a crowd—Nelly said to herself-her safety would lie, and she bad resolved on keeping the road that lay through towns and dwelling. places. Single- handed, she could never cope with her purbuer, and believing the crushing evidence she held against him, she felt that in solitudes that would be little worth, which, among his fellow-men, Saul would less lightly brave. It was a weary journey-footsore and heartsick, friendless, and almost without hope—yet the longing, the urgent, fixed desire to be far away from him, from the place his presence and his acts polluted, gave her strength, at times, almost superhuman. Unacquainted with the country round, the poor Woman had made many mistakes, taken long, cir- cuitous walks, to find herself only where she had started, or calculated to reach a certain town, from which night would find them yet many miles distant. She feared to make inquiries too frequently, or even accept a lift in the passing cart or waggon, often pr, ffered by kindly travellers she knew not whom to trust, nor how far or determinedly Meghorn might pursue his search for them. Some general idea she had gained of the route to London, and, to the best of her ability, made it out, preferring the chance of oc- casional errors on her part to the horrible contingency of being carried back to the dread habitation at Deep- gang. But, powerful as is the human will, and dominant as is the mind over the material humanity, the latter will not be left wholly to inconsideration. Feet will blister, and limbs grow stiff, and nerves relax, be the determination ever so firm, the will as strong. It was evening; the sun had set, and twilight shadows were gathering fast over the wide landscape, in which no sign or sound of humanity was discover- able, save the two tired travellers, woman and child, who rested them on the bank of a small, lazily-creep- ing brooklet that ran beside the narrow country road. Not a dwelling, not a spire, not the most distant inti- mation of town or village within view. The last pennv had been exchanged for a small loaf and a draught of milk, for the child, at the hamlet they passed through that morning. There they told her the town was but seven miles off, and they had walked, at least she had, almost without intermission since. Could she have missed the way ? she asked herself, as she yielded to the child's desire to sit down by the "pretty water." U No, I can't have missed it," she said to herself; "it must be that I am so faint and weak I have not walked so well. Oh God, help me! where will this end ? No money, and no food, and for the last two days only a bit of bread my strength will not hold out much longer. I have strange aches and faintceaa come over me already—what if I should be ill ? what will become of her ? oh! my punishment is heavy, heavy-" The last words she moaned out aloud in the despair of her heart, and the child, who had wan- dered off a few paces after some gleaming object in the water, ran back to her side, and looked up into her face, where, sesing sadness depicted, she l'iid one little hand upon her mother's arm in childish symp .tby. JJon't cry, mother dear, good mother, don't 'ee cry I won't cry, mother, and it's nicer out here by this pretty water than at home; eh, mother dear, eh?" H- r mother kissed the pale cheek and anxious eyes of her darling. Ida's gentle, uncomplaining endur- ance of discomfort had done more to give her strength than all the exhortations of more advanced comforters could have done. "Isha'n't cry, dear pet, while my Idy is so good; but, my darling, I fear we shall get no house to-night to sleep in, and perhaps no supper." "I are hungry," said the little one, plaintively: then quickly added, "but to-morrow, mother, to- morrow us shall, eh ? Oould the most eloquent preacher have painted more forcibly the implicit trust of faith ? Yes, yes, dear," said the poor mother, almost un- consciously, as the child was attracted again by some fresh novelty from her side. She arose, and, calling the little one to her side, resumed her walk forward. But even in that brief interval, she seemed to have lost all the energy which had hithertc inspired her limbs; she dragged on feebly a few steps, then halted, then by dint of lean- ing on the various objects along the hedge-side, reached a corner where a narrow lane, with green banks on either side, intersected the highway. She sank down slowly upon the turf, and, resting her head upon the hawthorn, felt steal over her tnat utter prostration which left her barely the strength to cry, feebly, "Lord, help my child! have mercy upon her! The poor child knelt beside her mother in an agony of grief and terror, and, with her arms about her neck, kissing, crying, and caressing, besought her not to die and leave poor Idy all by herself." Feebly the poor woman returned the caress, and strove to whisper comfort to the baby companion of her Borrows; feebly moaned out a prayer for pardon for the error of her life, that had brought her and the darling of her soul to such a pass. Then, just, as the new sound broke the stillness of coming night, and a child uttered an exclamation, she lost all consciousness, and sank back wholly into the green bosom of the sweet hawthorn thicket. OHAPTER XXII. OVERTAKEN. THE sound was a soft tread of hoofs upon the loose surface of the narrow lane, down which was advancing a sleek and well-conditioned pony, at that easy amble which was evidently his accustomed pace, and which he was, apparently, not to be easily urged or induced to increase to any higher rate, though, at his own pace, he might be safely backed to go any given distance; the meditative mood, too, was habitual to him, his head forward, inclined eyes perusing the quality of the road, or, it might be, engaged in » curious calculation of thø number of inches, rods, perches, &c., according to Walkingame, Upon his back was seated an el ierly woman, dressed in black, a white beaver hat upon her head, a large basket slung before her, and attached to the fore part of the saddle a lantern. She, too, was sunk in thought: the pair, so far, agreed—agreed, too, that, simultaneously with the pony making a sudden halt, the dame cried" what's that ?" and lifted up her lantern the better to answer her own question. The that was a little girl with pale face and stream- ing eyes, and long, black hair hanging wild about her face, her head uncovered, her dress tumbled, her hands stretched out towards the pony, and sobbing out some words, which, if that sagacious animal did comprehend, and had acted on, it was more than his rider did. She was not, good woman, a believer in Pucks or fairies, yet a more complete realisation of one she had never seen spring, as it seemed, lroni the mossy bank of the hawthorn glade. But, fairy or human, the exhortation came natural enough from the amazed traveller of- Whit's the matter ?" ) "My mother! my mother! her's dead, her's dead," sobbed the little apparition, with a voice drowned in tears of genuine humanity, though the com- munication in itself was anything but encourag- ing, and changed the suspicion of pixy to that of a banshee. Where is she ?" came next, naturally, too, from the dame, meanwhile deftly disengaging her-elf from her trappings and wrappings, and approaching the little figure. "Where is she, my dear?" she repeated, as a touch of the cold little hand, and a gleam of the helpless, childish eyes removed the last doubt of the creature's individuality. The pony was left to his mathematical pursuits, apparently to his perfect satisfaction, by the wayside, while the dame followed Ida to wberenelly lay. She stooped over the senseless form a few minutes. She's not dead, my dear, she's only in a faint," said the olct woman: "but, eh, dear! how white she is, and cold, too. What must we do ? let me see!" A very short interval of thought sufficed for decision. The stranger gave a peculiar call, which was in- stantly recognised and obeyed by the pony with deco- rous deliberation he came close to where she stood then his mistress, lifting Nelly in her arms, as easily as if she had been a child, deposited her safely on the seat she had berselr occupied, wrapping the insensible woman round in her own warm overcoat. She then took the animal by the bridle, and, giving the lantern to Ida, bidding her go on in front -for it was now quite dark-the little party set out, at a somewhat quicker pace, which the pony adopted, in compliance with a hint from his mistress, evidently not without compunction at the disarrangement of his yet unsolved problem. So they arrived, in a very short space of time, at what appeared to be a largo mansion, by the glimpse afforded of heavy iron gates and a wide extent of wall, but they passed on, and arrived at a small door in the side of the edifice, at which the pony halted at once, and anticipated his mistress's knock by butting with his head whereupon the door was opened by a pretty young maid, dressed also in black, with snow white-neckerchief and apron. "Eh, Bakes, mistress! whatever have ye there ?" she exclaimed. The dame made no reply, but bade her come and help. Together they carried the still insensible woman into the house, and, while the girl disburdened the pony, and led him to his stable-for a pony of so it editative a turn it should have been a study—the elder woman proceeded to minister to her afflicted charge. In a few minutes Nelly opened her eyes upon a scene of light and warmth, and felt the genial touch of kindly hands she put forth her arm, and raised her head, looking for her child, whom she found close at her side, and who hailed her mother's return to life with a joyful exclamation. Nelly essayed to speak, but her voice failed, her kind benefactress put her face down to her lips, and caught the words, while the poor woman's eyes wan- dered to her child— Pray give her something to eat." Tears stood in the eyes of both the women; the younger bad already set food before the little girl, but she had not even noticed it, had heard nor seen anything, fixed at her mother's side till she beheld her once more restored. Now she could eat, and the eagerness with which she acceded to the request told how sadly she had needed it. Then the two helped Nelly to a warm bed, and ad- ministered such light refreshment as she could take, and, in a very short time, the child was sleeping sweetly by her side. The forlorn woman took the hand of her benefac- tress in her own, and kissed it, while tears poured down-how long it was since last she shed them! From the fulness of her heart she blessed and thanked I her. But you don't know what we are!" she said, feebly. feebly. "Never mind, never mind all that," said the dame. kindly; you are ill and in some trouble, I guess, and isn't that enough ? oh, ay, I shall like to hear all about it, of course, of course! I'm a woman,; you know, and of course I like to bear a tale, but another time, another time; now you go to sleep! i see, the little one's asleep already, bless her! and in the morning you'll be able to talk." I God, bless you!" said the woman, faintly. Am I safe?" she added, fearfully, and still scarce her- self. Safe ? of course you're safe; there's no one but j us women in the place; but then the dogs are as good as a dozen men, and not half the trouble. Now, good night! Go you to sleep, and never fear." S With those last words of comfort sounding in her ear the hunted woman slept. The night lamp burned dimly as she now and then opened her eyes half doz j ing, and thinking it a dream—all was still through the house, and at last she slept. But even in her slumber she was pursued by the waking dread. She was again upon the road-he was there, he had got Ida, was threatening her life, and she on her knees imploring, while he mocked her with that terrible voice. She screamed, and awoke-the tones still sounding in her ears—she started up. it was no dream! that was the voice of Saul Meghorn beneath the window. CHAPTER XXIII. AT FAULT. WHEN good dame Tibbetts again visited her patient, before herself retiring for rest-after the alarm of herself and niece, occasioned by the unusual applica- tion at their door?, had subsided—she found the poor woman in a high fever, and in a state of mind border- ing on delirium. There needed not much consideration on her part to decide on remaining by the bedside of her strangely- found charge, and, dismissing her siece at once to her night's rest, she entered upon the self-imposed duty, like the veritable Samaritan she was. Through a whole week of painful tedious sickness these kind creatures nursed the unhappy Nelly; the dame administering her own simple remedies, soothing her troubled mind, and restoring the fainting and suffering frame. The malady did not take any turn so alarming which the good woman deemed to call for medical aid. She had, through a long life, neither sought it for herself nor others whom she had nursed through far worse affliction; and perhaps she did not err very much in the reliance on Nature, left to herself. The stranger was suffering, in fact, from the re- action consequent upon excessive tension of the powers, bodily and mental; the last stroke of terror had over- come her, and she lay utterly prostrate. For two days and a night she wandered pitifully in her mind at times, talked of things utterly incompre- hensible to her kind watcher, chiefly exhorting her to protect and save her child, of whose welfare she never lost sight, though failing to recognise even her pre- sence. As much as was possible, they kept Ida from her room the pretty niece, Rachael, being quite content to make her her constant care. The child was never happy but by her mother's bed-side, yet she yielded to the young woman's kindly caresses, and was won upon to relate, in her artlass way, many incidents of their weary flight, and of much preceding it, that set Rachael pitying, and filled her with curiosity to know more. Rest and kindness, nouri3hing food, and, more than all, a blessed senaa of safety, gradually re- stored the sufferer, and at the end of the week she had left her bed, and was sitting, with' her child upon her lap, beside her good Samaritan, to whom she had been relating so much of her story as sufficed for the general understanding of her situa- tion. The good woman sat for some minutes in Bilence, then she said, gently- I guessed much of what thee haft told me per- haps it might be from some of what thee hast said in thy sickness, unknowingly. And I am glad thee hast told me truth, else I should have thought worse of thee, judging, as I say, what was thy grief. Young woman, I am sorely grieved for thee indeed, and tby case seems a sad one, yet I cannot approve thy act. Thou say'st thy husband was harsh and unkind, and that thy life was aweary yet thee shouldst re- member that He who lays the burthen upon us will not suffer it to bear us to the earth, and that, though we bend and groan beneath its weight, we have no right to cast it from us, nor to say, It is heavier than I can bear, I will no more of it! She stopped, for Nelly, leaning over her sleeping child, was weeping. "Nay," the kind dame went on, "do not think me harsh nor unkind. Indeed, I am but saying that I believe, and which I deem most wise and prudent, and befitting one who has a Christian part to fill. "God had seen fit thou shouldst be this man's wife, and thou hadst so accepted him. Was it then for thee, after thou hadst so become, to judge him ? to cry, I He ie unworthy of me; I will quit him who is my master and my husband, to whom I have pledged my life and ray troth ?' What wouldat thou say of a servant, even, who should 80 quit thy service unadvised ?—and how much more wert thou to him thou so didst leave ? But my child ? sobbed Nelly. I felt I could not live long—and to leave her to him Has the good Lord not care for the smallest of these ? said the old woman, solemnly. Will He sleep now, dost thou think, that thou shouldst tremble for His charge?" I have not told you all, quite," urged the afflicted woman. I had cause to suspect him of a fearful crime—a crime that would cause his life to be for- feited. I did not wish to be his death; but I could not, could not——" 'Till death do us part," murmured the dame, in ft clear, urgent tone; "it wts so thee didst say, my child, aud has thy oath been kjpt ?" Nt-lly'bethought her that it was indeed by death they had been parted, and of its bony symbol now lying hid awtly in the foils of her dress, wherr, with the ring, ah.- had stitched the skeleton hand, for security. But she said nothing, though she now saw, as in a vision, the fresh obstacles that she trust en- counter in this the rough path she had chosen. A few more daya passed. She gained strength, and urged her wish for departure, Ever since she had began to sit up, she had insisted on employing her hands at some needlework-the only means she pos- sessed of testifying her gratitude; and the unusual skill and beauty of her work had gratified the old woman extremely. From Rachael, Nelly had learned the cause of the disturbance that had so alarmed her, and, to her relief, that Saul had only inquired the road. It might have been a traveller, who had lost his way; or it might have been some evil-disposed fellow," said Rachael. Aunt thinks it was, as the barking of the dogs seemtd to have scared him; for when we got to the upper window, where we answer from. he was gone. It would not do, thee knows, to open the door to all at night, and we but two lone women, though the dogs are a safeguard-that is certain." It was a poor chance—the venturing forth again in uncertainty—and Nelly felt it to be so; but she was greatly restored, and her little dauehter seemed almost to have forgotten her share of their troubles in the pleasant life she now led. Indeed, Nelly dreaded a longer continuance of ease, and determined on at once setting forward. She had already urged bAr wish, and been always induced to delay by the kind persuasion of her "ew triends now she announced her resolution fixed. She was alone with the dame when she said this. It was evening, and little Ida, with the gentle Rachael, was enjoying the delightsof the small garden -th? only cultivated piece of all the vast wilderness that surrounded the house. Nelly, with the mosr fervent expressions of Ilrah- tude for all the kindness she had received, bad told her she should depart with the morrow's dawn. '• And thee hast thought of what I said," asked dame Tibbetts, earnestly thee will return to thine own lawful husband and his home ? or thou wilt tell us where he may be found. and we may send for him to come to thee. It would, indeed, rejoice me to restore thee to him." (7b be continued.)

NEARLY AN ELOPEMENT. MATILDA MURRAY was left an orphan and an heiress at the age ef 16. Jacob Dale, a member of the Society of Friends, was her guardian; and, with him and his wife, an invalid and a great sufferer from nervous attacks, Matilda was to tind a home. She had been a petted and idolised child and the change from the lavish outpourings of parental love to the cool, calm companionship and care of friend Dale and his wife was like coming out of the heated air of a ball-room into the dark and chilling night. They tried to perform the duties that Mr. Murray, in blS confidence and esteem, had devolved upon them but Matilla felt, without knowing exactly how or why, that duty, and not affection, was the motive that influenced her guardian and his wife towards her. She was not a pretty girl; although, through the mistaken fondneda and flattery of her parents, she had learned to think hersel b'auttfu* Neither was she very wise or prudent. She had grown up in such an enervating atmosphere of praise and indulgence, that her mind was almost in a state of lethargy. She could not endure study or books of an7 kind, except the weakest and trashiest of love-Blck romances; and it was so great a mental effort to her to read one of those quite through, that she rarely s[] complished it. The only motive sufficiently strong to arouse her to much exertion was a love for dress. She was quite happy and excited when she was shuppi0^» and, next to-that, she liked to sit at the window aDd criticise the attire,, of the passers bv-a most uncon- genial inmate for the household of a strict and uncom- promising Quaker. It was noL the least of Matilda's troubles that her ribbons and laces had to be laid aside, as friend DBole, though he did not require her to conform exactly to the mode of dress his tenets prescribed, yet Objected decidedly to Allowing a ward of his to deck her9^ out with any superfluous gauds. It cost the yOi° £ girl many a sigh and pang to close the drawer* In which lay her useless finery. She pined, too, for JOTI, and for the flattery and praise of which she had 80 long been the object. Her guardian still allowed her to attend the school which her mother had selected for her—one of the most fashionfble establishments in York. And, although he often shook his head and groaned over the worldly notions and love for display which seemed to be the chief results of this kind of education, yet, as he said, he did not feel free to take the child away for, while Mr. Murray had left him at full libery to act as he thought best with regard to Matilda, Mrs. Murray had made it an especial request that her daughter's education should be finished at Madame constaufs. There Matilda had formed an intimacy with a young girl, named Anna Fleming, who affected to regard her with that exaggerated fondness so comJllon among school-girls. Their homes were in the Same direction, and Anna always seemed to consider it an important part of her duties, as a friend, to accompany Matilda to her own door before she parted from her. One day they were joined in the street by a tall, showily-looking young gentleman, whom Anna intro- duced to Matilda as her brother. After this, bir. Fleming became their constant escort on their way to and from the school, leaving them regularly .b.f'n within a short distance of either place. Mr. Fleming was one of the most fashionable and dashing young men in the city. He lived elegaoly and expensively; yet no one could tell how he con- trived to do so. His way of life was one ef those mysterious secrets that abound in large cities, for he had no apparent means; and yet he vied with the wealthiest around him. Admirer, as he was, of beautyj and spirit, and wit, there must have been some reason for his selecting a plain, uninteresting girl to b$the object of his devoted attention. Probably the eohd charms, in the shape of .£18.000, with which Matilda was endowed, had much to do in gaining her so dbvoted a worshipper. She admired him excessively. He fully realised the beau-idial she had formed from the books in which she delighted. She told Anna ahe thought her brother perfect. This of course, soon found its way to the ears of the gen- tleman, who smiled to think how easily he had won so important a prize. In a few weeks more, he bad obtained Matilda promise to be his wife, and had, at the same time, impressed upon her the necessity of keeping the whole affair a profound secret from friend Dale and his wife. To this Matilda readily consented, as all her preconceived ideas of guardians were that they were a class of people whose only pleasure lay in thwarting the wishes of their wards especial'y in the matrimonial way; and she anticipated no difficulty in thia, as Mr. Dale was too much absorbed in his busi- ness to pay much attention to her • and his wife's attention was almost entirely engrossed by her ail- ments, which developed every day something new and singular. Mrs. Dale had been watching and ponder- ing over her own ill health for ten years and had not yet been able to determine satisfactorily what her dis- ease was, or where it had its stronghold In her per- plexity, she had tried eight different physicians, who each gave her complant a different name; and some were truly frightful, so that the poor lady would keep her bed for weeks after finding out how ill she was; and it would take all her husband's generalship to persuade her that she was able to sit up. Of course Mrs. Dale could do little for Matilda All that she attempted was to urge her to keep her feet well pro- tected from the damp pavements, and be sure'to wear a veil. There was one inmate of the family of whom the young girl stood in a little dread—George Dale, a nephew of Mr. Dale, and a boy of about IS. He was very curious and inquisitive, and Matilda said, had no soul. He called her Miss Fancy and teased ber until her patience was quite exhausted. lately, he had met her several times when she was taking a longer walk than usual with Mr. Fleming, discussing ways and means. Matilda had one fixed idea con- nected with an elopement; and that was a rope-ladder from a chamber window, a carriage underneath, and a moonlight night. Mr. Fleming tried to convince her that this combi- nation, in these days of policemen, would be sufficient to arouse the whole neighbourhood. But hie eloquence was wasted. Matilda would seem to yield to his reasonings every day; but the next morning would fiud her firmly planted on her rope-ladder again. She rejected with scorn Mr. Fleming's proposal to walk to some clergyman's house, and induce him to marry them. It was too much like a servant girl, she said. Fortunately for Matilda, this discussion occupied several days. Meantime, George had used his eyes and his wits to seme purpoae. One day, after Mr. and Mrs. Dale and Matilda had seated themselves at the dinner-table, a singular noise was heard in the hall; and George came in, dragging after him an enormously long rope ladder. "Now, Matty! what on earth do you want with this contrivance ? I saw the man smuggling it into your rocm; and I thought I would bring it down for you to see if he had made it according to orders. You at the window, and Mr. Fleming on the pavement, with this for a passage-way, is to be the order of the day, is it ? It reminds me ot some one'* description of a 6shing-rod->t. worm at one end, and a tool at the otuwr, only I anould put kuave for fool." Thee should not use such language, George," said Mr. Dale What does thee mean by that thee W,\8 saying aoout Mr. Fleming? And, Matilda, for what purpose did thee have that made r' Matilda burst into tears, and ran from the room without replying; but George enlightened his uncle aa far as he could. He knew that Matilda walked every day with Mr. Fleming and the rope-ladder told the rest. Without Mr. Fleming's knowledge, Matilda had obtained it by the help of a servant. That very night, she intended to make use of it, if a favourable opportunity presented. Anna was to spend the evening with her, and help her to arrange t!er plans, and carry the intelligence of them to her brother, who was growing a little impatient at Ma- tilda's delay. Now, all her hopes were blighted, at least for a time. She remained in her room weeping, while her guardian spent a busy afternoon in investigating the doings of his ward. He questioned the servants, who generally know all that is to be known of any matter of that kind, and went to find Mr. Fleming. He expos tulated with him on inducing so young a girl to take such a step without the knowledge of her protectors. Mr. Fleming appeared to be quite affected by Mr. jDkle's arguments; and although the latter was a shrewd man of business, he allowed himself to be en- tirely thrown off his guard by the apparent manli- ness and frankness with which Mr Fleming avowed his own consciousness of his error, and promised that, although he would not be willing to consider the en- gagement between himself and Miss Murray as at an end, still he would wait some years before attempting to carry the matter further. The youne man behaved himself with great pro- priety," said Mr. Dile to his ward. It thee does as well, I shall be quite satisfied. (To be continued.)

A POWER above all human responsibility ought to be above all human attainment. He that is un- willing may do harm, but he that is unable can't. PAT IN THE ORANGE FREE STATE. — At length I struck the trail of a waggon, which, following up, brought me first to a cattle kraal, then through an orchard, and afterwards to two houses, one inhabited, the other going through the course of construction. I went to the door of the former, and there met an old man; I asked for vater, and he shouted to someone within, vater J with stentorian lungs. At length an aged woman came out, looked at me, gave a grunt, and turned on her heel. My appearance, it was quite certain, did not please her. I was satisfied that I should have to go without a drink. I was about to give up the task as hopeless when she came again to the door, took a long stare and snorted, then retired into the interior of her dwelling. She was the most comical-looking old woman I had ever seen her height was equal to her breadth, and round her face hung a fringe of diminu- tiye white curls. For a quarter of an hour I waited, j still neither she nor the water came. In the adjoins Ing tenement I heard hammering, and an occasional | snatch of The Wearing of the Green," then a pause. Soon, in a deep, sonorous voice broke out: And I met with Napper Tandy, And he took by the hand, &c." U Tbat's the place for my money," I inwardly thought. There is no making a mistake. what country owns the possessor of that voice." So I took the pony by the bridle, and looked in through the door; there I saw a man nailing up laths quite after the orthodox pi aster t r fashion. Good morning to You, Pat," said I. Good morning to you kindly," said he. Can I get a drink of water ?" I enquired. Is it water you mane ? lashings and leavings about! here." So he jumped off his perch in search of the liquid I required. Soon he returned with an ample supply. Producing my flask, I took a mild drink— bis eyes were on me all the time. Would you! like a drop ?" I asked. Would a duck swim ?" Was the response. So I poured out a stiff I quantity, and handed it to him. With a Sulp he swallowed it;- then with a grin," That's the illigant stuff; lui thinking you fetched it from i the ould counthry." Of him I made enquiries as to my route, the m03t expeditious way of getting to it; to all of which he gave me satisfactory answers. When about to take my departure he threw down his hammer and nails, put on his coat, and exclaimed, Begorra! that's the last nail I'll drive this blessed day! If the naigurs (meaning the Boers) are in a hurry, they had better do it themselves."—Parker GUlmore's Side through Natal, the Orange Free State, fyc. WHALING IN PLOVER BAY.-—Although Plover Bay is almost in sighi of the Arctic Ocean, very little snow remained on the barren country roucd it, except on the distant mountains, or in deep ravines, where it has lain for ages. That there snow," said one of the sailors, pointing to such a Bpot, "is 300 years old if Its a day. Why, don't you see the wrinkles all over the face of it ?" Wrinkles and ridges are common enough in snow; but the idea of associating age j with them was original. The whalers are often yery successful in and outside Plover Bay in secur- I lng their prey. Each boat u known by its own private mark—a cross, red stripes, or what not—on I Its sail, so that at a distance they can be distinguished from their respective vessels. When the whale is harpooned, after a long and dangerous job, and is floating dead in the water, a small flag is planted In it. After the monster is towed alongside the Vessel, it is cut up into large rectangular chunks, and it is a curious and not altogether pleasant s'ght to winess the deck of a whaling ahip covered with blubber. This can be either bar- relled, or *.he oil "tryedout" on the spot. If the letter, the blubber is cut into mincemeat," and chop- Ping knives, and even mincing machines, are employed. The oil is boiled out on board, and the vessel when seen at a distance looks as if on fire. On these occasions the sailors have a feasi of dough-nuts, which are cooked in boiling whale-oil, frittars of whale brain, and other dishes. The writer has tasted whale in various shapes, but although it is eatable, it is by no means luxurious food. It was In these waters of Bering Sea and the Arctic that the Shenandoah played such havoc during the American war. In 1865 she burned thirty American whalers, taking off the officers and crews, > nd sending them down to San Francisco. The cap- tain of an English whaler, the Robert Tawns, of Sydney, had warned and saved some American vessels, and was in consequence threatened by the pirate captain. The writer was an eye-witness of the results of this wanton destruction of private property. The Coasta were strewed with the remains of the burned vessels, while the natives had boats, spars, &e., in numbers.- The Sea. AFFABILITY OF THE JAPANESE.-The prinoi- pal charm of travel in Japan is due to its human in- habitants, the most affaole and friendly race in the world, so far as I have yet seen. It is indeed a new sensation to the European in Asia, when he finds that his dress and complexion produce an attractive instead of a repellant effect, and that even the women and children neither hate nor fear him- Without being able to speak three words of the language, you cannot help feeling at home in a country where every one seems delignted to see you, where the very dogs are too well-mannered to bark ata stranger, and where you are Welcome with friendly salutations of Ohaio!" by all, from the village patriarch down to the smallest urchin. A ragged neglected child may be looked for vainly in city or in country; plump, rosy, and clean, with ample clothing, and their little heads carefully shaven in a variety of fantastic fashions, th* children afford a sure indication of prosperity among the lower orders in Japan. The rising generation, who in Ohina (and even nearer home) will ridicule and insult a foreigner, display towards him in Japan a dignified courtesy, which is at once ludicrous and charming. Babies, carrying still smaller babies on their backs. greet the passing stranger with a gracious bow, and if he seats himself, collect around, silently surveying him with an intelligent interest. Their gravity, how- ever, is merely on the surface, and if the aspa jt of the "red bristled barbarian" proves, as it occa-j sionally does, too much for the nerves of a girl more timid than the rest, and sends her clattering away in a panic on her wooden pattens, her night is the signal for a peal of derisive merriment from her compa- nions. As soon as they receive a little encourage- ment they become more demonstrative, and are almost equally gratified by a distribution Of small coins or by gestures of simulated wrath. In the latter case they disperse with shouts of laughter, only to collect again in large numbers, until some of the elder chil- dren, usually girls, venture to approach near enough to touch and examine the stranger's coat and buttons, or the contents of his travelling belt. All this ia done in the most gentle and confiding manner, as if certain that there can be no cause fQr fear, and perhaps their trust is seldom misplaced; but certainly their be- haviour towards a stranger is in marked contrast to that of rural youth in other parts of the world, and it is to be hoped that when they know foreigners better they may not like them less. Affection for their children is a distinct characteristic of the Japanese, and their hearts are easily touched by kind- ness shown to the little ones, whose long robes and elaborate coiffure render them the very images of their parents in miniature. It is not too much to say that in Japan the class known as "gamins, "larri- kins," or hoodlums," has no existence at present; even the street bov is a little gentleman, and long may he so continue. On the other hand, if the children resemble grown men and wo-men, these in their turn are eminently childlike in manners and disposition.- fortnightly tUvieWt

LADIES' COLUMN. --+-- THE FASHIONS} The question of ball and concert toilettes, says Myrrtt Journal, is that above all others which at pre- sent engrosses the minds of our coutur.erea. With the profusion of all kinds of charming gauze, lace, and flowers, there is an embarras de richeste from which it is difficult to make a choice, and equally diffi- cult for a modiste possessing taste to do otherwise than succeed in making both artistic and elegant costumes. Gold and silver predominate as ornaments for even- ing as well as for out-door toilettes; even feathers of all kinds are gilded or silvered a very questionable taste. The use of beads is equally in vogue, and many gauzes and tulles, as well as blonds and laces, are em- broidered with gold in different designs black laces treated in this manner make the richest and most superb garnitures. A ball dress recently shown to us is ef Ophelie satin (the colour of peach blossom), in fourreau style, covered with bouillonnea of tulle of the same shade, and wreaths of peach blossom on the skirt. This dress is only suitable for a handsome, stylish wearer, as it will necessarily attract attention by its original style. White barege is very much employed for making diaphanous ball dresses, and as it is stronger and less perishable than gauze and tulle it will be chosen in preference to either of these, by those who study economy, it being easily made to serve on several oc casions by a few slight changes in the trimming. Many dresses display harmonious blending of dif- ferent shades of tba same colour, which has an ad- mirable effect when well carried out; thus a toilette composed of several tints of white is really elegant; seven or eight di:lerent gradations of colour are extremely pretty. A dress of white barege is cleverly drapei under a number of long flat bows of narrow white ribbon the front is ornamented with brilliant yet,oft clenilte feather fringe of snowy whiteness, arranged en ichelle. The habit bodice is of white Genoa velvet, displaying rosebuds on a satin ground, and the open square front is draped with white satin; the sleevta and basques have revers of the same fabric. The hair is worn high on the head very few of our 6i6gantes now appear with it dressed low. The nape of the neck is shaded by tiny curls; at the same time it must be remembered that above all things the coiffure should be arranged to suit the face, and it is always easy to avoid singularity, without eonforming either too closely to the fashion, or ad ,pUng a style utterly at variance with the prevailing mode. Large gold pins are worn, placed according to taste, and imitating various objects, as gold balloons, golden chestnuts, golden mulberries, &s. Gold combs are equally in favour, and are worn with outdoor toilettes, being placed so as to be seen under the ch*peau, which they serve in some measure to keep firmly on the head. Lace mantillas are now par excellence the wrap adopted for ball and theatre costume. Few etegantes are without a black mantilla. For the theatre these are frequently arranged so as to form the coiffure, by the aid of a spray of flowers or of diamonds, or pearl jewels or pins. Amber, it is said, will soon become fashionable again its revival dates from the marriage of the Queen of Spain, on which occasion ornaments of amber were displayed on several elegant toilettes One of these was of Havana satin and velvet, wi h amber agrafes in front of the corsage; the skirt trimmed with silk fringe with amber drops.

USEFUL HINTS. To MAKE TOUGH BEEF TENDER.—The San Fran- cisco Weekly Bulletin says: To those who have worn down their teeth in masticating poor old tough cow- beef, we will say that carbonate of soda will be found a remedy for the evil. Out the steaks the day before using into slices about two inches thick, rub them over with a small quantity of soda, wash off next morning, cut it into suitable thickness, and cook to notion. The same process will answer for fowls, legs of mutton, &e. Try it, all who love delicious tender dishes of meat. THE SKIN or SOLBs.-The practice of flaying off the brown skin of soles deserves reconsideration by cooks. The custom is by no means universal, and we are our- selves more inclined to honour it in the breach than in the observance. At Dunkirk, for instance, where they know what good fish is, we have eaten soles served by an accomplished cook with the skin left on both sides In fact, why remove the "kin from either side? Thorough scaling is sufficient for cleanliness and for appearance, solts can always be served like turbot and brill, with white side uppermost. Even if the brown skin be not liked to eat, it helps to retain the natural juice of the fish, and in boiling it keeps the water out; if it is liked, by all means let it be eaten, beinir not only wholesome but very nutritious.—Cassell's House- hold Guide. MACCARONI A L'lTAHENNE.—Throw lib. of macca- roni into b- iling water with a little salt and an onion with four cloves stuck in it; boil till tender, but not soft; drain the maccaroni well, put it into a stewpan with 8oz. of butter, and mix well by stirring the butter in the warm maccaroni; add six or eight tablespooh- fuls of gravy grate £ lb. of Parmesan and the same of Gruyère cheese, mix it with a pint of tomato sauce, add it to the maccaroni, set it on the fire, stir, add salt and pepper to taste, keep it on the fire for about ten minutes, stirring now and then, and serve warm. JAM.—It is not generally known that boiling fruit a long time aud slamming it well, without the sugar and without a cover to the preserving-pan, is a very economical and excellent way—^economical because the bulk of the scum rises from the fruit and not from the sugar, if the latter is good and boiling it without a cever allows the evaporation of the watery particles therefrom the preserves ke!.p firm and well flavoured. The proportions are fib. of sugar to lib. of fruit. Jam made in this way, of currants, strawberries, rasp- berries, gooseberries, or an equal quantity of goose- berries and raspberries, is excellent. OHIIIDREN'S walks should not be too long, because from the exhaustion produced, growth and nutrition are arrested, and fevers and protracted debility may be the consequence. Perambulators are unhealthy for children unless judiciously used the convenience of them tempts nursemaids to keep their charges out too long. When children are kept in the air for lengthy periods, the stimulus of light and air proves too much for them. Hence they fall into a state of exhaustion and stupor too frequently mistaken for sleep. HOUSEKEEPING is a science, and there is no greater mietake than that of supposing proficiency in it can be gained otherwise that. by patient study and close observation. It is absolutely necessary that a lady who would rule her household well, should have a practical knowledge of all domestic work, that she may be able to judge how much each servant may reasonably be required to don a given time; so that no one shall be idle, no one over-taxed. A knowledge of cookery will enable her to point out to inefficient cooks the cause of mistake and failure; and sheahould not only know how things should look and taste when sent to table, but be able to judge of, and choose well, every kind of provision. It will not be ecsy for cooks to impose on a lady who krows exactly how much of every ingredient is requisite for each dish, and who is able to estimate the quantity of food re- quired daily for her household. It may not, under all circumstances, be necessary for a lady to exercise her knowledge in these important matters; and if she has a cook who has proved herself trustworthy, she will do well to delegate large powers to her. But it is obvious that, to judge the skill and honesty of her cook, the lady must possess the knowledge I have indicated. Nothing, I believe, can be done to make domestic life better, until all women who take the conduct of households are properly educated for their business; nor can any reform in the present sad con- dition of our cooks and cookery be looked for until ladies courageously determine to fit themselves to work this reformation.- Queen.

Talus are moral ballast that often prevents our capsizing. When we have much to carry, Heaven rarely fails to fit the back to the burden where we have nothing to bear, we can seldom bear ourselves. The burdened vessel may be slow in reaching the destined port, but the vessel without ballast is in im- minent danger of not reaching it at all. A SISTER'S LovE—Who can tell the thoughts that cluster around the word sister? How ready she is te forgive the errors, to excuse the foibles of a brother. She never deserts him. In adversity she clings closely to him, and in trial she cheers him. And when the bitter voice of reproach is poured in his ears she is ever ready to hush its harsh tones, and turn his atten tion away from its painful notes. THE CINNAMON CANARY.—What may ha.ve been the origin of this canary, as a variety, we can only surmise; but that it is a distinct variety, its peculiar characteristics not common to other canaries, and certain native properties not elsewhere discover able, and which seem to cling to it in spite of the endless crosses to which it has been subjected, abun- dantly testify. Most prominent among these is the pink eye, which no othercanary,not having cinnamon blood in its veins, possesses. That the bird is traceable to the common stack we must take for granted, and we think its distinctive plumage is referable to the peculiarity many wild birds possess of assuming a cinnamon garb. This is by no means a feature of rare occurrence, with many of our indigenous birds, such as the j ackdaw, starling. blackDird, goldifach, green- finch, redpoll, skylark, saridmartin, and others; and this colour may have been prized and perpetuated in the case of this canary by the selection of those bearing it. —CtMMHtM and Cage-Birds.