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

THE FIRST GRAY HAIRS. A silver tress is 'mid thy hair I never saw before- The first that time hath woven there, To warn thee youth is o'er! But tbirk not I can Inva thee less Because thy youth departs; Ah, no that little silver tress More closely binds our hearts! 11 It is decreed that youth must pass. Wby should i*: be dep!or'd ? For in our child (as in a glass) I see thy charms restored! Thy gentle smilo plays o er her face And nut-brown is her bair- Like thine, sweat love ere I could trace One tress of silver there.

THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; On, TWICE WED. --+-- CHAPTEID. XXIV. „ ADIEU TO DAME TIBBETTS. «HE will go, then ? she is fixed yet on her journey °^rd, Raehael ?" asked the dame, earnestly. aunt; and, indeed, I do pity her—to see how ?e Ambles and quakes at the slightest sound and seems af raid to trust the child out of her sight, Ven with me, to the garden. Oh, the poor thing has hardly used, aunt, it must be Indeed, I doubs it not, Bachasl, child," said the aJQe, with a sigh. I awoke liist night," continued the girl, and I a sobbing voice, as if in prayer. I raised my- just so that I could see her bed. She had arisen, ..nd vaa kneeling1 on the floor by the side where her tie girl was sleeping. Poor thing! she did so weep uioan, and pray, too—though I heard not what he said. Ob, aunt, but it seems a heavy burden on One so ycung and so gentle." There have been as heavy, my child, and laid "Poa as fair, ere this Rachael. I have said all I mind j ,ay. and have told this wife what seems to me her fluty." She will never go back, atfnt, she says so—even "toourth she dropped upon the road." ."Is that a mother's duty, doth thee think, my 8irl ?» • Poor little Ida she seems as terrified, too, at the f or' a return to Deepgang, aunt. He must be a man, whoever he is." "Niece, thee wilt tell this stranger, and not harshly I need not say that to thee—that we have ren- *}er*d her all the aid wa could, as one fallen into sore ^stress: her body is restored to health, and I would have rejoiced in the healing of her spirit like- "18a. But, my child, we can no further meddle in this jitter. It is a grievous sin to come, in any fashion, man and wife, and one in which God forbid or I should have part." "Aunt!" the young woman began, but the elder 01141 stayed her by a movement of her hand, and as she Illoke her face assumed a stern expression, which tattled as unnatural to it as would a steel helmet upon 6,1 Venerable, grey-sprinkled locks. "Thou wilt tell her, then, Raehael, that, since she is continuing her journey from her native home,' j can, neither by counsel nor company, aid her ^ther. It never shall be said that the last remains "Or' of the poor house of Despard did favour an act r^inat G Jd's law and man's, nor helped a woman rebel against her lawful master." j "But, aunt, can it be right—a man that is ao I —how can she bear it ?" "A burthen that is not felt, child, is surely none— J i.«uty that is pleasant there H surely no self-chas- j in fulfilling it. Is this the lesson He came teach, that we shirk from the cross, and rebel fc^inst the thorns ? i The girl bent her head, like a child rebuked. She 5tte'v of old the stern purpose to which her aged bene- *ctrd88 could arouse herself, in the lire of her stlf- zeal. Yea, aunt," was all the answer she made, when J16 dame had concluded with a request that was, in- little needed, that R<*chael would be in no way S^h, but naaure the poor mistaken stranger" of heir earnest prayers in her behalf, that she might be fought to see the right path, and to return, ere it too late. Perhaps the good dame had a shrewd suspicion of far her uncompromising justice was tempered by 'hercy in the administration of it, and by how much, ^8 8he guessed, it would be softened down and cur- tailed in the execution. Certain it is that in Nelly's arewell the following evening there mingled more of erven t blessings and grateful utterances than Dime •libberts could have well looked for, had her words been iterally conveyed. Certain, too, is it that the strangers ,a«t out by no means bare from the gates which opened so providentially to receive them,! it really was a singular coincidence if the small COuntry waggon, which came up with stores once a *ek, only happened to be just quitting the porch, k bere its stout horses and burly young driver had regaling themselves since sunset. At any though he (the driver) could have had no Onecientious scruples against offering the mother her child a lift in his almost empty vehicle, he .jHtht not have done it with so good a grace had old1"8 been no such person in the world as Raehael, dame Tibbett's niece, who had kissed them both Parting, and hung about Ida's throat a tiny string > pearly beads, almost, the only ornament she herself *d -v-r possessed. So once more they started upon journey. JN >*11 y ]jad chosen the evening in which to start, and had, in private, coincided with her. It was Retting dusk, and the child, after prattling of the 'Onderu she had been shown by her kind friend, soon IeIUsleep. Her mother, whom many anxieties forbade to seek relief, sat keenly awake to every sound, or, i^ker, for the sounds which rarely broke the ■Wllneas. Thej were winding their way among green lanes J^*ni then they toiled slowly up a hill, and again as °J»ly descended into a valley. -B^chael had informed her that the waggon would to a town some seven miles distant, as she believed, road to London. ^Nelly had once said, and quiteupon the spur of cir- r^fcatance, that she was going to Londen; and now ♦.P.^ord seemed to .have shaped itself into her inevi- ,Je *°al. I 'And why not?" she thought, as she huddled 3>ong the hay in the bottom of the waggon, and i"Unk, even there, into a small a space as possible. J have heard it is a great place, and that even next- neighbours know nothing of one another; besides, l^Ple who want work go to London, and seem all to j 1 on. Yes, there we can hide ourselves, and there perhaps, get something for us both to live by o~°nly never to meet with him—only to be safe from horrihle-" II Hi", !-Wbo'), !-Gee-whot!" j A loud exclamation from the driver, and a sudden °f the vehicle as it came to a stand-still, broke the Urse of her meditations. ef" Lauk-a-mussy! Phew!" uttering a variety exclamations, the man stooped down to the canvas c,n-jng the waggon. Zey> missus! here be a blaze somewheres!—lookee ef 8ky's all a-flame, like—there it goes, bang! ?•' there'll be gunpowder, surely—eh 1 see there! a bad put forth her head, and beheld far, far gl ay 0T«r the hills inland, towards the coast, a lurid that, reflected from the horizon, spread up- ijj totf e skies above them, and seemed to increase y. jari&er and intenseness every instant, while, at inter- re-,?' a deeper flush,-And the white mass of smoke that 8?e 0u' an<^ partially dimmed the fiery glow, or lIled to announce some sudden impetus or kindling ««r ,rcer combustible. t),8 by the Point, near about," said the man," but ««tr6 beacon fire, not it." s^jj^it dops burn! Ob, it is very dreadful!" Uj Nelly, for the moment excited beyond the 0$naory of her own situation. "But it ia vary far pr H*! what, wi*8 that ?" she cried, a9 a loud ex- liil|31?? burst upon the air, and rolled from hill to t» 'ike thunder. ^ia i 1)6 a UP» that," he said then, slapping e^' he cried, Why, if it bean't over at Deep- 'J 111 a ^uminel • Ay, and for a pot, it be they ,( ed smugglers at their tricks again." teP9an9• She echoed the word, and fell back ( ^'r child, within the corner of their poor CHAPTER XXV. iW LONDON, B C. fc0 'he steeps of Deepeang and its flowery Chine— exp]oded powder magazines, dismembered coast- and doomed pirates, froir the smell and gunpowder, and the dash of the sullen hig^i8 8ff*in8fc the rocks—to the very populous and *^1 quarter of Shuter's Close, E.C., you Jot! w 0sv a very great change, and one for which arJ51" perhaps hardly prepared. Never mind a agreed that change is healthful; and 'tis a WtP)° ^'fitting of a doubt, that the pleasantest of The gS HFe taose rc>ado with least preparation. s'de '8 ^hini- g, I doubt not, out upon the sea- ^^63 oceans of diamonds, and cresting the u ar;H f 8^'Ver • 'n country parks, amid tha long bonej6u 1°xsl0veI and dog rose hedges threaded with nl L briugin? out the sweet scents, and .w beart to the birds, and making shade de- damp, close corners of tiny where mint and macigolds grow r-mk, the glorious sunshine is shedding a thousand bounties, and discovering beauties undreamed of till now. And the sun is shining, too, in Shuter'a Close, with all his might, and though not even his power can make a thing of sweet fancies or pleasant reverie out of the Close, it is wonderful what he can do, and what are his benefits, if it is only as Mrs. Flabley says, that— Drat it! the sun do show up them dirty windows and them old curtains so, they must be cleaned now, and that's all about it, and you must get up in the morning, Flabley-that is, if you can make up your mind to get up till yon smell the breakfast under your very nose-and do it, too. We can't expect to let the place, looking as beastly as it does, and the stairs all the paint off; and I never saw it look so bad in my life." "No, my dear," says the husband. "It's all along of the sun," grumbles she; and "Yes, my dear," says the spouse again, though, poor man, he is glad enough to see the sun in his short walk to and from the cold, shuttsved, blttnk warehouse, where the greater part of his days is passed. It is a email room on the very top of this, one of the tallest houses in Sbuter's Close, of which,'indeed, the varieties are wonderful as to size and pretensions; from the cobbler's stall to the lordly mansion—at least, in appearance-you may suit yourself; and almost as various are the persons who, with a little world of their own, people each of these several habi- tations. Two persons enter this room. A young woman, to judge by her looks, not more than twenty, certainly, and, it may be, less, being poorly dressed, and unseasonably, for it is a warm spring dav, and she wears a dress of black stuff and a winter cloak, both of which are many winters old and these, and a heavy, unbecoming black bonnet, joined to a look of uneasiness and depression that seems habitual, give her the appearance, at first, of an age which she certainly cannot lay claim to. She leads by the arm, carefallj guiding his steps, an old man, who is dressed with considerably more re- gard to comfort, and even appearances, than herself. The old man is nearly blind, and is far from accus- tomed or reconciled to his infirmity, as is soon apparent from the false attempts he makes, and the complaints which follow his failures. The girl is his daughter; the tenant of the small room-the owner of the miserable bed—the cultivator of the geraniums on the parapet. She folded the coat and placed it witk the old man's shoes, and hat, and stick, and her own cloak, all away behind the screen of baize; then she looked to her fire, and made it up, and set on a small saucepan. She moved quickly, yet very softly, about the room, and now, again, would stop and glance at the old man, to ascertain if he still slept. Then she set to dusting the furniture, which was a task necessarily brief; the white toilette cloth, too, was shaken out upon the landing, the grasses pick-id over, and sorted to best advantage. From a shelf in her own peculiar corner came a small looking- glass, a prayer-book, and Bible, quite new, with a few shells, and a pincushion composed of satin atoms of various colours, neatly sewn together—a very singular but not unpleasing pattern. These were placed in due order upon the top of the press, and when the whole was complete, the young girl went backward till she reachtd the fender, to observe the effect. Then, struck by a sudden thought, she tripped to the window, carefully bared a portion of the work-board, steppe i from a chair upon it, and lifting down the balsam, heavy with it* rich salmon-coloured bloom, she placed it in the centre of the little toilette, dis- posing the looking-glass in such a way as to conceal the ungainly receptacle in which the flower stood. The geraniums being shifted a little together, sup- plied the gap, and the clever young manager was full of triumph at the improvement thus effected. It really does look quit* nice," she said, softly, and then-some old memory, perhaps, being stirred—the words ended in a sigh. Finally, the mantel-piec° was set off with a couple of glasses, the chipped sides to the wall, containing a sprig or two of the budding geranium, in the centre a piece of granite stone which sparkled in the sunshine like diamonds, and her arrangements were complete. That no ordinary occasion had called forth these extraordinary preparations was made apparent—at least, to any who might have been acquainted with the girl's daily routine-by the next step. She lifted down the glass to the table, and proceeded to make her toilette, with a care and scrupulosity which was exceptional, though it all resulted only in the more nice adjustment of her hair, in the donning a clean linen collar, and in a vigorous brushing of the poor, black stuff dress, Alas! that such atten- tion served to make but more apparent the shiny pleats and many darned blemishes of that well-worn garment. Having attended once more to the contents of the saucepan simmering on the hob, she washed her hands and seated herself at the board below the window, which she closed before removing the cloth that covered her work. What was her work ? It would have puzzled you, I dare say, or any one uninitiated, to have seen her now snipping, fixing, gumming, attaching net to satin, ribbons to roses, silver twist to the naked little cherubs, wedding rings to paper, and Honiton envelopes to sky-blue satin or crimson silk. Such wonders as seemed to grow beneath her fingers, with such celerity she turned out piece after piece, and laid them aside to dry. At the end of some time she rose, and standing upon her chair she tiptoed, and so obtained a glimpse of a church turret and its clock, which reared its head among the forests of chimneys around. I did not think it was so late," she said to her- self; then she hastily descended, carefully covered with the white cloth her work, and first glancing at the sleeping old man, swiftly quitted the room. Down stairs tc the attic floor, down another flight to the top door, another yet to the second floor, and yet another to the first floor-that aristocratic quarter of the ho se in Shuter's Close, where lodgers trod lightly, and the boy who kept the terrier stifled it under his coat tails past the landing, for fear of dis- turbing the serene respectability of those most esteemed and beet-paying tenants—and where to slop the bucket, or drop the bit of turnip-top from the apron of less fortunate though more lofty tenants, was to incur the wrath of the watchful Mrs. Grejous- jealous to a degree of the consideration due to my first floors." Down yet lower—for the house was full—Mrs. Grejous was in luck, and therefore lived and ate in the kitchen, and would have slept, not improbably, in the dust-bin, had she not been so fortunate as to secure a young compositor to a daily paper for her back kitchen and as he, coming in at 7 am. to btd, invariably found the chill taken comfortably off, it is not uncharitable to suppose that the said article of furniture did double duty. Down to the kitchen, then, did the tenant of the room over the attic find her way, and thence, sum- moned by the voice of her landlady, to Mrs. Grejous' presenc. in the laundry-a covered area five feet by two and a half-soaping stockings into a big sauce- pan, preparatory to setting them on the hob to stew. It was Monday, and Mrs. Grejous' young men did not dine at home that day. After a few words, the landlady said- Yes, I told you I'd no objection to your father sitting with me, as he don't like company, and the child might fidget him and the chairs, too, as you said, it is awkward—drat the men, they do grime their things to that degree! she was rubbing more vigor- ously at the heel of a stocking as she spoke. Oh, I'll be very glad-poor old gentleman! I'll do my beet to amuse him." Agnes returned to her small room, and none too soon; for the old man, having awakened, was begin- ning to bestir himself, and, in his overweening anxiety to prove his independence of all assistance, would inevitably have found his way into the fire, or have ended by committing so-tie irreparable havoc among his daughter's dainty articles of workmanship, had she not juet then entered. Oh! father, are you awake and up ? that's right, for your dinner is just ready, and do you know Mrs. Grejous has asked you to tea with her, and you will hear plenty of the birds you are so fond of listening to they're singing away, with this bit of sunshine; my goodness how they are singing Yes, yes, I'll go; I'm ready, Aggy," cried the old man, with trembling eagerness and childish baste; I'm ready, child." and he began to hurry to the door, before she could be at his side, overturning and stumbling over sundry articles in his way. She said nothing, only guided him the more care- fully down the darkening kitchen stairs, and, when half way down, Agnes called, loftly- We are coming, Mrs. Grejous! The next moment the tall bony figure of the land- lady appeared at the door. Ah, that's right, <ome along mind how you came, old gentleman, for them tiles is as uneven-I tell my Tom of it every day, and every blessed night of his life he's a-goin' to set 'em straight,! busier" when he do come in. it's nothing but, his birds, and his birds, though they do eat their heads off, and nothing for it, as I say, but screamin' and acreechin* till one can't hear oneself speak." Perhaps this might account, to some entent, for the fact that Mrs. Grejous was unceasingly talking, and that so much of her talk consisted of repetition of that which had already been said again and again. Agues then returned to her room, and she waa busy- ing herself in making all tidy. She had put away ? the basin and the Met of her father's toilette, had swept up the hearth, rubbed her grate and fender, and made up the scanty fire with a lavish hand, then set on the hob a small tes.-bt.tle-a recent purchase, apparently, the lid and front were so bright. Then she washed her hands, and it seemed as thongh no more remained to be done, when, all at once, her eye fell on the chair whiah was, in general her own seat. The piece of painted board which formed the seat, and had ence been nailed on, had become loosened, and with a touch was apt to swing round in an unexpected and inconvenient manner; a thought seemed to have come into her mind, and she hastened to put it in practice so eagerly that her pale face flushed, partly, parhaps, lest she should not be able to complete it in time. From the curtained-off corner she fetched a small piece of baize like that which hid the recess with needle, thread, and scissors, she quickly adapted and fitted it to the board, then, with some pieces of twine stitched on at the corners, she tied it firmly to the chair, "nd with a new flush of delight tried and re- joiced in the effect. It was a fair trait of this girl's character that for months she bad used that ill-conditioned seat and made no effort to repair thi discomfort for herself to-day another was to use it, and all her ingenuity was called into request. She had but just put away the cotton bag that did duty for a work-box, when her door being open, she heard the closing of the street door, and immediately after the loud voice of the landlady directing some one. "Right up a-top," she was saying, "the room over the attic, and please go as quiet as you can past the first floor." i r Agnes ran from her room and met her visitors half way, welcoming them in a tone that was of itself a wel- come. She soon returned with a little girl, whom she held by one hand in both of hers, and to whom she was taking cheerily, while the child looked around her in wonder at all she saw. She had long, dark-curling hair, and large deep blue eyes her dress was of the poorest, and the homely pelisse so fashioned th\t one hand was wholly hidden by the long sleeve, gathered together at the end, and tied with a faded ribbon in a bow. "I oughtn't to have come first, ought I ?" said Agnes, as she turned towards the door, but I'm so glad to have you here, I forgot my manners, and everything." You are very kind," said her visitor, pausing just at the door to take breath; how fresh and pleasant your room feels after that close, hot room 1" Come in it is but a poor place, nine, but you're so welcome." Nelly entered, and closed the door of the room. (To be continued.)

NEARLY AN ELOPEMENT. "IT is as well, though, not to trust too much to I, young people," said Mr. Daleto his wife. And, therefore, he kept Matilda at home, employing private teachers for her, to her great vexation and annoyance, and entirely discountenanced any intimacy or intercourse with Anna Fleming. But Matilda's fancy had become too deeply interested for these moderate measures to prove effectual. Mr. Fleming still continued to write to her. The washerwoman was Cupid's messenger in this case; and another attempt at elopement was agreed upon. Mr. Fleming had arranged a plan that he thought would succeed without fail; when Matilda's absurd desires and obstinacy in carry- ing them out made him almost repent having wasted so much time on such a simpleton. If she could net have a rope-ladder, she would have ft bridal wardrobe; and Mr. Fleming was forced to wait several weeks, while she was collecting the various articles she thought necessary. Her supply of pocket- money wa3 ample to meet all her extravagant wishes- Her dressmaker wondered what Miss Murray could want with the magnificent dresses she was having made, and at last surmised somewhat of the truth. But no one else seemed to suspact anything. Once or twice Matilda fancied that George looked a little mys- terious when he saw her take a package from a ser- vant but, in her many occupations, she soon forgot 14 her suspicions. At last, the wardrobe was prepared, and packed in three large trunks. The plan was finally arranged- j Mr. Fleming was by no means satisfied with it; but it was the best he could do with the materials he had to work with. Matilda and Anna were to meet him at a certain hotel at Harrogate, and accompany him to some clergyman's there, where the ceremony could be performed. If Matilda had oheyed implicitly Mr. Fleming's in- struction, all would have succeeded but, after seat- ing herself by the side of Anna, in the carriage that!, hii(i been ordered to m^et them at Taylor's, she in- sisted on returning for her trunks. Anna remou- > strated in vain. Matilda was sure there was no danger. Her guardian waa at his counting-house, which he would not leave for several hours. His wife was in her bed, with one of her nervous attacks. George was at school; and the servants were busy in another part of the house; and, as for returning for them afterwards, as Mr. Flensing wished, that she would never dare to do. So Anna was obliged to yield. Now, it happened that that day, of all the days of the year, George was seized with so severe a headache that he fotfnd himself obliged. to leave the sihool- room. Hurrying home, he was surprised to see three trunks, evidently prepared for some traveller, standing in the hall. He forgot at once his headache, and proceeded to investigate the cause of this phenomenon, j He had his own suspicions, and they guided him on the right track. Finding Matilda's room empty, he sought the servant. Are those Mia Matilda's trunks in the hall ?" asked he. Miss Matilda's trunks ? Ye want to know if they was Miss Mbtilda's trunks, do ye ?" returned the Irish- man, with a look of stupid wonder. Yes are they ?" Sure, and how should I know whose trunks they are ?" Where did they come from ?" "And it's where they come from ye want to know?" "Yes." Sure, and how should I know where they come from ? Did you bring them down from Miss Matilda's room ? Tell me; yes or no.' And was it I that brought them, do ye want to know?" The man was evidently pledged to secrecy; but, can- vince* by his evasive answers, George ran down to his uncle's place of business wi".h the intelligence, in a state of as great excitement as a young sportsman when he shoots his first woodcock. Mr. Dale came hurrying up the street under the warm rays of the morning sun, and reached his own door just as the driver was strapping on the last trunk. You may take that luggage off again," said an authoritative voicb; and Matilda glanced out of the carriage-window in dism&y, as she heard it, and saw her guardian standing at the door, somewhat heated and flushed wich his long walk, but otherwise as calm and composed as ever. He threw open the carriage door, and assisted, with his usual courtesy the frightened girls to alight. Without a word, Anna walked away in the direction of her own home. Mr. Dale had a short conversation with Matilda and easily drew from her the particulars of her projected elopement. Then, taking her place in the carriage, he ordered the driver to proceed. It was not long before the panting horses stopped at the appointed place of meeting; and Mr Fleming sprang down from the steps of the hotel, where he had been standing on the alert, saying, as he drew near—"Ob, dearest, how long you have kept me waiting! I have been wishing for wings, that I might fly to hasten you. And he threw open the carriage door. I am sorry thee has been wasting thy time te so little purpose," said the stout old gentleman, as he alighted slowly and carafully. "It seemed to me we came with great speed. The driver told me, when I cautioned him about it, that he was to have double fare if he were here before twelve. Will thee see that he gets his pay, as he surely deserves it ?" When Mr. Dale had seen the man's demand satis- fied, he requested Mr. Fleming to allow him a short conversation with him; and together they sought the drawing-room of the hotel. "Before thee goes further with thy purpose, I thought I would let thee know one clause of James Murray's will—the most sensible thing he did," said the old gentleman, as if to himself. By it I have full power to withb«ld*all the income of her estate from his daughter, if she marries without my consent, until she is 21. She is now 16 and I assure thee, friend Fleming, if thee marries her, thee shall not have one penny of hers as long as I can help it. Thee is falsa to thy promise; and I do not longer feel bound to act towards thee as a gentleman." Mr. Fleming attempted to excuse his conduct by saying that his felings were too much interested for him to consider calmly what he did. Mr Dale listened to him patiently and politely, but seemed in no way softened by Mr. Fleming's appeal. A few days after, Matilda was sent to a school in the country, under the control of a lady, one of Mr. Dale's personal friends. Mr. Fleming made several attempts to renew his intercourse with her there but at last gave up in despair. For three years Matilda remained in this seclusion and although she at first spent the greater portion of her time in lamenting over the cheerless home to which her severe guardian had consigned her, the Mote allied herself to be consoled and, removed from all disturb- ing influences, she began at last to find some pleasure in study ana useful occupation. Mr. Dale, when he placed her there, bad een quite hopeless about her, and bad adopted that course as the bnsfc one to keep the foolish g'rl from falling a victim to the arts of same fortune- hunter, while she was still under his care. But now," said he to his wife, Matilda has become really a tolerably sensible and right-minded young woman. I think I might venture to bring her home again, especially since Mr. Fleming is out of the city." Where is he ?" asked Mrs. Dale. "In California. When he was last heard of, he was employed in a boat, on one of the rivers there. He had been trying to work at the mines, but had not succeeded. There is no prospect of his returning." Matilda came home soon after tbis conversation; md Mr. Dale, with some formality, gave htr the latest intelligence with regard to Mr. Fleming. All poets-and they surely t.re the oracles on such points—agree in saying that Love is love for ever- more;" so that, as Matilda felt her earlv preference for Mr. Fleming fading from her mind, from the mo- ment she began to thick of him as a boatman, sha con- cludtd that she never had loved him. It was only the fancy of a foolish girl," said she to Robert Dale, Gesrge's fider brother, with whom, as her affianced lover, she W8.3 talking over the one great episode in her early life. If I bad succeeded, how unhappy I should naw have been! But I never can help smiling when I think of Mr. Fleming's rushing for- ward to greet me, and seeing uncle's portly figure seated inside the carriage. I laughed, that day, whenever I thought of it. It seemed such a ridiculous I ending-not at all like a novel. So, you see, I was not very much in love." THE END.

WHEN does a man's right leg become his left leg ?—When the other is cut off. THE BUSH VBTCH.—The bush vetch, though not so conspicuous as many other plants, is of very common occurrence. It will ordinarily be found in woods and thickets and shady hedgerows, though it is by no means confined to these localities. The plant is commonly distributed throughout the whole of Briton, and may be found in blossom all through the summer months. We see from the records of a local natural history society that its average first appearance in flower, calculated from observations extending over nine years, is the 22nd of April, the earliest date at which it hl\& been observed being April 14th, and the latest Mav 5th. Once in flower, it may be met with all through June, July, August, September, and October, and occasional specimens have been met with even so late in the year as the middle of November. All these dates are, we need scarcely say, open to correction, according to locality. Marlborough, in Wiltshire, where these observations were made, Btands on an elevated plateau of chalk, and suffers, therefore, both from the drought and glare cf summer, and the chill winds of winter, more than many other plaoes; and in a sheltered valley not more than seven miles away, Pewsey Yale, almost all eur wild plants are a '«k earlier in their appearance than on the higher ground The botanical name is Vtoii nep'um. iho generic name is, according to some authorities, derived from the Celtic ffWig, the name of this or some kindred plant; though its Latin name being vicia, this derivation seams somewhat Decdl^ssly far-fetched. The English name vetch, like the French vesce, and .Pman Ziehen, is but a corruption of this. The plant is al8o sometimes called the and in some of the early English writers we meet with a combination ^V^fclgamation of its two familiar names, as it ia in rir i, °^a oftentimes called the tarefitch.—Familiar Wild Flowers. LEADERS OF SOCIETY IN NEW YORK.—My mother was a woman exceptionally well qualified to launch a girl in the society of New York she had made it her study, and I felt I was in good hands. before I went to my first ball she gave a series of dinner-parties. To these she especially asked all the young married men who have it in their power to make 01' mar the debutante in her first season. It is they, not their wives, who are the leaders of fashion and it is to them that the wauld-be belle must pay her court if she wishes to succeed. Of course the unm&rried men are important; but they f K Queue froin the olde* hands, who in spite of having wives, are still the most indefatigable ball-goers- the recognised leaders oi the" Germfin." ftKi 6 .es^ablished authorities on matters of fashion- able etiquette. Where society has no regular hierarchy, as it has in England, its leaders are self- constituted or tacitly acknowledged. The men, as a rule, marry so young that they have not had time to become biases; and the consequence is, that tbey 'r 88 actively with unmarried girls and flutter about as flip .ant] j es if they ere still single. In some easea they keep this up until their own daughters come out, overwhelming the girls of their choice with bouquets bonbonnibres, and trifling pressnts, taking them solitary drives, giving them dinners, boxes at the ^pera, and distinguishing them by such marks of delicate attention as are alwaya grateful to the female mind. Occasionally these are pushed to such a point that they give rise to unpleasant gossip, but I have never known any real harm come of them. The girls are always thoroughly well able to take care of themselves; and upon the occa- sions, which sometimes happen, of a man becom- ing so desperately in love as to forget bis conjugal duties and propose an elopement, he invariably meets witn a positive and decided refusal. In this retpec; f show a sagacity and sense of propriety to which a"sto«ratic mothers of young families in London, f nothing of running away with the husbands fit their lady friends, would do well to imitate. Of course an exclusive devotion of this sort has a tendency to injure a girl, because it keeps off the young men while it lasts but perhaps on the whole she gains a sort of prestige by it, which renders her more attrac. tive to them when it is over.—Blackwood Magazine. How To SING A SONG.-N ot the least important rfquisite of How to sing a soog is nerve. If the singer allow nervousness to get the mastery, it is impossible that the eong can be well sung. Of course, some degree of nervousness is natural and desirable, as evidence that the vocalist possesses both soul and sensibilit,. but nervousness must be controlled, and the beat antidote against it is the consciousness that the singer has well studied the song, and knows that k0j°T 8 can render it competently and correctly and 1 may add that the singer must not be discouraged J attempt at singing a well-studied song should not prove as successful as it ought to have done. The second trial will probably right matters the old mottoes, perseverance," and try, try again," are as applicable to singing as to all undertakings. I cannot better conclude than by recording a tradition of John Bartleman, the most celebrated singer of the last century. He was described as small of stature, but a leviathan in intellect," and, it is said, used to declare that he "never sang a song in his life before the public until he had studied it, the words more especially, for twelve months." We may allow for the gradual ex, ggeration of the storv by passing from one narration to another, and also something for the slow pace of olden days; but even then the anecdote gives us a hint which we ought not to be too dull to profit by.—Cassell's family Magazine. SHELLEY.—There is one account of Shelley's appearance and manner which has been very fre quently quoted but it is so highly characteristic that I must reintroduce it here. I mean the narrative which Trelawny has given of his first meeting with the poet in Pisa. The Williaroses," he says re- ceived me in their earnest cordial manner. We had a great deal to communicate to each other, and were in loud and animated conversation when I was rather put out by observing in the passage near the open door, opposite to where I sat, a pair of glittering eyes Steadily fixed on mine: it was too dark to make out whom they belonged to. With the acuteness of a woman, Mrs. Williams's eyes followed the direction of mine, and, going to the doorway, she laughingly said, Come in, Shelley, it'g only our friend Tre just arrived." Swiftly gliding In, blushing like a girl, a tall thin stripling held out both his hands; and, although I could hardly believe—as I looked at his flushed, feminine, and artless face-that it could be the poet, I returned his warm pressure. After the ordinary greetings and courtesies, he sat, down and listened. I was silent from astonishment. Was it possible this mild-looking, beardless boy could be the veritable monster at war with all the world ? excommunicated by the Fathers of the Church, deprived of his civil rights by the fial of a grim Lord Chancellor, discarded by every member of his family, and denounced by the rival sages of our literature u the founder of a Satanic school ? I could not believe it; it must be a hoax. He was habited like a boy, in a black jacket and trousers which he seemed to have outgrown; or his tailor, as is the custom, had most shamefully stinted him in hia aizinga.' Mrs. Williams saw my embarrass- ment, and, to relieve me, asked Sbelley what book he had in his hand. « Oalderon's Magico Prodigioso." I am translating some passages in it.' Oh, read it to us!' Shoved off from the shore of commonplace in- cidents that could not interest him. and fairly launched on a theme that did, he instantly became oblivious of everything but the book in his hand. The masterly manner in which he analysed the genius of tho author, his lucid interpretation of the story, and the ease witn which be translated into our language the most subtle and imaginative passages of the Spanish poet, were marvellous, as was his com- mand of the two languages. After this touch of his quality, I no longer doubted his identity. A dead silence ensued. Looking up. I mked, I Where is he ? Mrs. Williams said,' Who ? Shelley ? Oh, he comes and goes like a spirit, no one knowa when or where. —Uniitertity Ma&pw,

LADIES' COLUMN. THE FASHIONS. In the matter of materials, says the Qwotm, tartans, which hnve b en abandoned for many years, appwar suddenly to have become necessary to our eUgante*. They now rt gard a plaid costume in the same light aa a black dress—impossible to be dispensed with. It will be the Exhibition costume par excellence. Costumes of thick silk armure in amall checks of two colours will also be most popular. Costumes of checked mousseline de laine will also be popular for negligi. The skirts are short, the bodices cut with yokes; and a small casaque to match, with large collar, is added for outdoor wear — all simply made. For after- noon promenades and visits, vicuna (or vigogne, as we call the soft material) will still take the fore most place, but with few trimmings. These are bands of soft, cotton in the Persian style, covered with palms and flowers embroidered or braided in gold, and so thiokly that no ground is visible. They look specially stylish on carmelite, prune do Monsieur, navy-blue, and iron-grey vicunas, as they produce the rich effect of the borderings of old cashmere shawls. In my opinioa, the vicunas which these gold bordered Indienne bunds to trim should be dark, as they are less original and notscpleasingon pale-blueor pearl grey grounds. This embroidered Indienne is also made into waistcoats, and into cuirass bodices for evening dresses. For example, a well-draped skirt of white barege will have a double band of embroidered Indienne at the sides; the cuirass will ba entirely of embroidered Indienne, the sleeves white lace, with an Indionne hand above the lace ruffles. The Balsamo redmgote is destined to b" one of the favourites of the future. It is worn both as a confection above its costume, and as a bodice accompanying the costume. As a confec- tion, it is made in black, iron grey, and dark blue, both in fine and fancy cloths. In form it is like the Louis XVI. tasaque, with large rovers it is not very long, and it has likewise revers on the hips. With pilot blue cloth the revers are white, em- broidered, in blue, or simply striped with narrow gold and silver braid. With black the revers are dead- black faille, embroidered with rainbow jet. With grey, gold, steel, and silver are mixed on the revers but should a quieter style be desired, the revers are of silk, the same colour as the loth, ani fastened back with a large pebble button. Upon the redingote the buttons are selected to match the ornaments on the revers. There is very little new in gloves; undressed kid, with a soft yet rough surface inside, remain the favourites for outdoor wear; begt and tmstic tints look best when the gloves do not match the costume I in colour. There is no change in the style of dressed kid gloves; the fashionable colours are wood, tan, bège, I mastic, and other kindred hues. For lawn tennis dresses thin serge is to be worn, made with a plain skirt, leoped up just to show a white or coloured flannel or serge petticoat below the bodices are to be full, with waistbands. A pretty one in course of preparation is of white, thin, light s«rge, worked round tbe neck and sleeves with cherries and leaves in crewel wools. Tbe pattern is so arranged round the neck that the cherries look as if they are hanging from the stalks downwards, and are falling l on to the shoulders. The cherry pattern borders the skirt,at a dis'anceof about three inches from tbe edge. Toe skirt is to be looped up slightly over a pet icoat of calico, with abroad band of cherry-coloured serge, having thi effect of an underskirt. It clears the ground well. The stockings are to be cherry- i coloured the shoes black; a white Btraw hat, turning down (the shape so much worn now), with white trim- ming, and a bunch of cherries in front. This costume might be carried out in any light colour. Gold braid always looks well on white serge, &Ld is pretty and j smart, looking. If a band is worn round the waist, it should be a broad one, a small pu £ { at the top of the sleeve at the shoulder, and another at the elbow, looks stylish. The sleeve must be tight, and have a frill of lace round the cuff, falling on the hand, or else just tacked back on the sleeve, according to the! fancy of the wearer. A great many ladies j have a pouch, made of the same material as their dresses, h >nging down at the side, attached by a band round the waist. This pouch is for the balls, and must be at some little distance from the waist. It' should be a good-sized one, and bound with a colour. The band is loose reund the waist, and fastens on one hip. A club costume in a great lawn tennis district consists of a blue underskirt, and a white tunic and bat que bodice, with waistcoat and cuffs of blue. The distinguishing mark is a spray of forget-me-nots em- broidered in crewels on the left shoulder and round the equare pouch pocket on the left side.

USEFUL HINTS. FORCE-MEAT BALLS FOR LUNCH —Chop two pounds of veal very fine, one onion, add parsley, a quarter of a pound of suet, or salt pork, season with cayenne pepper, suet, sweet marjorum, and thyme mix all well together, make into small balls, and fry in drip- ping. Balls of a smaller size could be put into s )UP before sending it to table, and would be found a very desirable addition. INTRODUCTIONS—At the outset the custom of being introduced by a mutual acquaintance is the first canon to be observed in making the acquaintance of a stranger. As a general rule no one is supposed to be conscious of the presence of any person without having been previously introduced, or "presented," as the more modern term is. The merest mention of th3 names of the assembled individuals is sufficient if the occasion on which they meet be of a casual nature, Per example, on a lady entering an apartment where several persons are assembled, if strangers to her, the host or hostess need simply mention the name of the new comer, and indicate by a sloght sign the persons whose acquaintance the guest might wish to make, to have complied with the required form. In a large party this step is unnecessary. The duty of the person who re«eives the gueet is then confined to j introducing the different members of the company with whom the greatest stranger is likely to be thrown into immediate contact, Catsell's Household. Guide. ETIQUETTE AT DINNER PARTIEd. When dinner is annouaced, the master of the house offers his arm to the lady of the highest rank (unless there is a bride present), and conducts her to the dining-room, placing her on his right hand at the table. The other gentle- men then follow, each conducting a lady, according to directions previously given by the master of the house, or sometimes by cards given to each gentleman as he enters the ante-room by the house steward or butler. As soon as all have gone down, the lady follows with the gentleman cf highest rank, who sits at her right band. When the lady wishes to retire, she glances at the lady whom her husband took down, then rises. The lady who went in first goes out first; the other ladies always stand aside till she has passed. The lady of the house goes out—as she went in-last. HIGH HEELS.—The unnatural character impressed on the gait of women by the prevalent fashion of high and narrow heels to the boota is, says the Lancet, the expression of a perversion of the natural relation of the articulations and muscular action such as cannot but result in serious and permanent damage. The character of the injury which they produce, and the symptoms by which it is expressed, are well described by Dr. Onimus, in a communication to the Societe de M.t-decine of Paris. The heel of the boot is not only high, but narrow and inclined forwards, so that the distance between the heel and the aoint of the foot appears smaller than it really is. This. absurd as it is, appears to be their chief recommendation in the eyes of their wearers. The forced depression of the anterior part of the foot determines a painful dis- placement of the articular surfaces. The toes, instead of the heel, first touch the ground, and the walk is clumsy and heavy, instead of light and undulating, The toes become permanently flexed and pressed together. In cases of nervous temperaments the pain and irritation have produced general nervoua symptoms of hysterical character.

A HEART MEMORY is better than a mere head- memory. It is better to carry away a little of the life of God in our souls than to be able to repeat every word of every sermon we have heard. THE most precious of all possessions is power over ourselves—power tu withstand trial, to bear suffering, to front danger; power over pleasure and pain; power to follow our convictions, however resisted by menace and scorn the power of calm resistance in scenes of darkness and storm. How TO POT PLANTS.—A few words on pot- ting may not be amiss to young beginners, whe will perhaps think that nothing is easier than to get a pot, fill it with mould, and stick a plant or cutting in it. But there is a right as well as a wrong way of doing everything, and the proper method of potting is to imitate on a small scale the formation of the earth on which we and all creation dwell. The mould, or surface soil, does not extend many feet, and underneath it are beds of clay, gravel, or sand, and rocks of various kinds which form the natural drain- age of the ground. If you remember this you will be able tt see the sense of the following directions. First cover the hole at the bottom of your pot, not with any- thing flat, but with a concave bit of crockery or hollow shell, then add smaller pieces of broken, brick, or fat one, er crockery, till it is a third or even half full. Let your mould be nice ani fine, but neither too wet nor too dry, and when you have put in a little, hold your plant between the finger and the thumb of the left hand, and fill in the remainder of the soil around it with the right. When q'.ite full, give the pot a smart tap or two on the ground to shake the earth down among the roots, and press it firmly close round the ltem.- Littll Iblltl MagasiK*.