the Mediterranean.

Before daybreak, we reached a contrabandista in the offing; and when the sun shone in full lustre on the city of Naples, we were many leagues distant down My part in this adventure of course exiled me from the Neapolitan metropolis for a time. As the excitement of the crisis died away, Father Don Alvez found more difficulty in procuring victims. Ilis zeal could not be satisfied with a solitary delinquent or two; so he retired to Rome in a pique at the aversion of the Neapolitans to undergo martyrdom. When he was gone, I had less difficulty in negotiating an indemnity. I was attached to the locality, or I should not have troubled myself to return. But now I regard Naples as the scene of the action which of all others of my life I have most occasion to look back upon with pleasure.

Adela, I heard many years after from an English captain, was the mother of a numerous family. My informant had visited her home; and because he was my countryman, had been treated with the most distinguished respect.

HISTORY OF A BENEVOLENT EXPERIMENT.

There is no more fertile source of evil than ignorant good intention. Nations, as well as individuals, are perpetually mistaking the road to a good object, and overestimating their power to benefit mankind even where the right means are pursued. We who now write have erred on this head---let others profit by our mistake. Not many years since, we witnessed and took an active part in an experiment commenced with a view of ascertaining how far it was possible to improve the physical condition and moral habits of London artisans, by removing them from unwholesome apartments in crowded courts, into convenient and roomy cottages, surrounded with gardens, in the country. A freehold estate, in short, was purchased with this view. Cottages were built, and a number of families were removed from the metropolis to occupy them. The design was not to convert London workmen into agricultural labourers, but to superadd to town employments the agreeable labour and amusement of gardening. Each family was employed, as before, from the same manufactory in London, and each was furnished with half an acre of garden ground, and with cottages of from four to six rooms. The rent charged for the cottages, including the land, was from 2s. 6d. to 3s. 6d. per week. These families were placed where milk cost a halfpenny per quart, potatoes 1s. 6d. per bushel; and land enough being given them to keep a pig, besides supplying themselves with vegetables, it was calculated that each family would be enabled to save at least 10s. 6d. per week, and would gradually accumulate furniture, crockery ware, and other articles of domestic comfort. The experiment failed---not so entirely as to cause the colony to be abandoned, for it lives and flourishes now--but it failed so far as to decide the question in our minds of the inexpediency of attempting to carry out the principle of home colonisation upon a large scale. What was the cause of the failure? Not the want of money, energy, or will, on the part of those who directed the experiment, but moral energy was wanting on the part of those who were to be benefited. The more assistance was given them, the more they required; and instead of saving, as was expected, and as each might have done, 10s. 6d. per week, they preferred to earn 10s. 6d. less per week than before, seeing that they could support themselves from hand to mouth, as they had been wont to do, upon comparatively little. Connected with the experiment was an attempt to introduce several of the economical methods of co-operation. A co-operative bakehouse was built, but no one succeeded for any length of time in making bread which was approved of except the baker. A cooperative storehouse was erected. Goods were purchased at first hand, and sold at a small profit for their joint benefit. Some quarrelled with the bacon that was bought, others with the cheese. The wives said there was not a sufficient choice, and they liked shopping better. Presently, two shopkeepers of a neighbouring village, to ruin each other, began selling flour at 3d. per gallon under cost price, and the store was deserted. A co-operative wash-house was added, with a boiler, and every thing that a laundry-maid would require; but somehow the cottagers, for whose use it was especially designed, seemed to prefer their old stupid process in their own rooms, although the consequence was, that a decent person could scarcely enter them.

We call to mind, in writing, two families to which the description we have given in no respect applies. They were cleanly in their habits, steady, prudent, industrious, and saving. They were benefited by the change, and so remain. It will be asked, Why not select men for your home colony exclusively of this class? Simply because these are not the men who require to be benefited, nor are even always willing to accept your assistance. Compassion is excited by the destitute. The heads of these

kind.

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consist of those whom it is most of all difficult to induce to help themselves. The conviction has not been sought ---it has been forced upon us--that with the latter class it is necessary often to appear cruel in order to be really The only part of the experiment which completely succeeded was that which related to the improvement of the children. The school produced the effects which it was anticipated must result from improved methods of mental cultivation. It demonstrated that there is, after all, no mode either more rapid or certain of improving the condition of the working classes in this country than a sound system (not that of either Bell or Lancaster) of national education.-National Education; London and Westminster Review.

GEMS FROM THE OLDER POETS.

PART OF DRYDEN'S TRANSLATION OF THE TWENTY

NINTH ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

[The philosophy of the following stanzas is not beyond question; but while this may be kept in mind, and only a due portion of moral assent is yielded, how admirable the masculine energy which the English has lent to the Roman poet !]

Sometimes 'tis grateful to the rich to try
A short vicissitude, and fit of poverty.
A savoury dish, a homely treat,
Where all is plain, where all is neat,
Without the stately spacious room,
The Persian carpet, or the Tyrian loom,
Clear up the cloudy foreheads of the great.
Enjoy the present smiling hour,

And put it out of fortune's power:
The tide of business, like the running stream,
Is sometimes high and sometimes low,
A quiet ebb or a tempestuous flow,
And always in extreme.
Now with a noiseless gentle course
It keeps within the middle bed;
Anon it lifts aloft the head,

And bears down all before it with impetuous force;
And trunks of trees come rolling down,
Sheep and their folds together drown:
Both house and homestead into seas are borne ;
And rocks are from their old foundations torn,
And woods, made thin with winds, their scatter'd honours

mourn.

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call to-day his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.
Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine,
The joys I have possess'd, in spite of fate are mine;
Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
Fortune, that, with malicious joy,

Does man her slave oppress,
Proud of her office to destroy,

Is seldom pleased to bless :
Still various and inconstant still,
But with an inclination to be ill,
Promotes, degrades, delights in strife,
And makes a lottery of life.

I can enjoy her while she's kind;
But when she dances in the wind,
And shakes her wings, and will not stay,
I puff the prostitute away:

The little or the much she gave, is quietly resign'd;
Content with poverty, my soul I arm;
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
What is't to me,

Who never sail in her unfaithful sea,

If storms arise, and clouds grow black;
If the mast split, and threaten wreck?
Then let the greedy merchant fear
For his ill-gotten gain;
And pray to gods that will not hear,
While the debating winds and billows bear
His wealth into the main.
For me, secure from fortune's blows,
Secure of what I cannot lose,
In my small pinnace I can sail,
Contemning all the blustering roar;

And, running with a merry gale,
With friendly stars my safety seek,
Within some little winding creek,
And see the storm ashore.

"1. Present mode. Nets are at present preserved by boiling them in oak bark, and it has been observed that they last better if a good take of fish follows immediately after they are tanned. It has been suggested

1st, That after the nets are tanned, they should be dipped in a weak solution of glue, and dried before they

are used.

II. Various new methods have been suggested, instead

of barking nets, particularly the use of Kyan's patent. A gentleman of great science has suggested

and laid by.

Ist, The use of the pyroliguite of iron, which is em ployed by calico-printers. It is a solution of iren in wood vinegar (pyroligneous acid), and is sold under the name of iron liquor at a low price [1s. per gallon], in the state of a liquid. A quart of the liquid may be mixed with two gallons of water, and the nets steeped in it over night. Let them be dried in the shade, and drawn through fresh water, and again dried in the shade, Or, 2d, Digest diluted muriatic acid and small pieces of zinc with a gentle heat in a pot of earthenware, as long as any of the metal dissolves, adding pieces of zinc to saturate the acid completely. The substance thus formed is known by the name of chloride of zine. If the acid is not perfectly saturated, it will injure the nets. To be sure that this is done, boil the apparently saturated solution with pieces of zinc for a few minutes in an iron pot, or dissolve the common soda of the shops in water, and add it to the solution by little and little, stirring at the same time, till the whole becomes slightly milky. Then, for every pound of zinc dissolved [which may be had at 6d. per lb.], add two or three gallons of water to reduce it to the proper strength, or, if the preparation (chloride of zinc) be bought in the dry state, dissolve each pound of it in one or two gallons of water.

3d, It has been suggested that sulphate of copper (blue vitriol), one pound dissolved in two or three gallons of water, may be found to preserve nets.

Fishermen ought to be aware that it is when laid up for the season that there is most danger of nets being rotted. Before they are packed up, they ought to be washed in fresh water to remove the salt, which is apt to rot nets in cold and damp winters. The nets ought to be perfectly dry when laid away, and kept in a dry place. They should be occasionally taken out and redried. Kyan's patent is said to have been used for preserving nets with success."

We may add, that the iron liquor and chloride of zinc, above alluded to, may be had from any manufacturing chemist.

MECHANICS' WIVES.

Speaking of the middle ranks of life, a good writer observes:

"There we behold woman in all her glory-not a doll to carry silks and jewels; not a puppet to be flattered by profane adoration; reverenced to-day, dis carded to-morrow; always jostled out of the place which nature and society would assign her, by sensuality or contempt; admired, but not esteemed; ruling by pas sion, not affection; imparting her weakness, not her constancy, to the sex she would exalt; the source and mirror of vanity-we see her as a wife, partaking the cares and cheering the anxiety of a husband; dividing his toils, by her domestic diligence; spreading cheerfulness around her, for his sake; sharing the decent refinements of the world, without being vain of them; placing all her joys and her happiness in the man she loves. As a mother, we find her the affectionate, the ardent instructress of the children whom she has tended from their infancy; training them up to thought and virtue, to piety and benevolence; addressing them as rational beings, and preparing them to become men and women in their turn. Mechanics' daughters should make the best wives in the world."

VARIOUS KINDS OF ACTIVITY.

There is a very important difference between being active in the diffusion of Christianity, and active in the diffusion of peculiar views of Christianity. The latter is both the more common and the more energetic; for, in addition to the ordinary aliments of zeal, it is fed by pride, self-sufficiency, the desire of being better than one's neighbours, and the pleasure of finding fault, one of the most precious luxuries to many good kind of people. Activity, like zeal, is only valuable as it is applied; but most people bestow their praise on the quality, and give little heed to the purposes to which it is directed. The Bishop.

GOLD DUST AND DIAMONDS.

I visited the Heera Khoond, and saw the process of washing for gold dust and diamonds. A set of fishermen have villages free from rent; on this service men, women, and children are employed. The women alone wash; the men and children bring the gravel and sand in wooden trays, and place it in the trough, which is open at one edge of which the women sit. With their left hands end, with a gentle inclination towards the river, on the they stir up the gravel, and with the right pour water out of a wooden basket-looking bucket gently over the upper end; it runs out into the river, the larger pebbles and gravel are thrown over, and the finer sand, on the trough being full, re-washed until little remains, when it is removed into the wooden trays, and, by dipping them under water, and shaking them about, the gravel gra dually falls over, leaving only gold dust. They detect the diamonds at a glance, as they wash. One I saw but these are not to be purchased, as they are the rajah's about the size of a large grain of wheat, clear and bright;

property.

The gold they are allowed to dispose of, which they do at 12 or 15 rupees per tola. The veins gold appear flattened by collision, in rolling among are, I am convinced, some distance off, as the grains of pebbles. The season for washing is after the river sube sides, on the rains ceasing; but they occasionally contine until the rains again interrupt their labours.-Major Ouseley, J. A. S., Bengal.

Printed and Published by W. and R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh. Sold by W. S. ORR, Amen Corner, London; J. MACLEOD. Glasgow; and all booksellers.

NUMBER 504.

streets by teams of short-necked oxen, creeping

BY CAPTAIN BASIL HALL, R.N., F. R.S.

TENERIFFE.

WE anchored in Santa Cruz roads, Teneriffe, about nine in the morning of Wednesday the 23d of August 1820, in thirty fathoms water, though quite close to the shore. The anchor was hardly down before a Spanish boat came off to us, with the captain of the port, accompanied by a young English gentleman, who translated their interrogatories touching our state and condition. On finding that we had not a sick person on board, they gave us pratique, as it is called; that is, permitted us to hold intercourse with the shore.

I could not prevail upon any of the Spaniards to come on board; but the interpreter readily stepped up the side to learn the news from England, and likewise to offer his assistance in forwarding any of our views in coming to Teneriffe. He was just the man we wanted, for he was not only intelligent and communicative, but he readily entered into our plan of seeing the Peak, and instead of making difficulties, spoke only of the facilities. It is wonderful how sensible most persons appear when they minister to our wishes, and how stupid and prejudiced when they thwart us. This is no new remark, but it was never more strongly exemplified than upon this occasion, when our heads were half turned with the thoughts of the trip to the top of the Peak, that any thing like an obstacle would have met us like an insult, or, at all events, like an injury. Our young and obliging friend merely said it would require some labour, some patience, and some dollars. The labour was nothing; and though we were then, I suppose, about the most impatient of mortals, we professed to be as cool as cucumbers. But there was an awful pause between the question and answer touching the expenditure. Fortunately the sum fell short of what we had scourged ourselves up to submitting to; and thus, all the important preliminaries being adjusted, we set instantly about putting our scheme in execution. The time necessary to get fresh beef, and other supplies for the ship, was just as long, our young friend explained to me, as it would cost us to visit the Peak and return; so that my professional or official conscience being clear on the score of duty, I could set off without scruple. And having already prepared all things necessary for the journey, we landed forthwith.

Santa Cruz is the place where Lord Nelson lost his arm, in the only enterprise in which he was not completely successful-a circumstance which entitles as contemptible a looking spot as ever was seen to no small distinction, and might well justify a much more minute description than I have time for. But there is always great difficulty in this apparently simple act of describing what we see. The critics tell us to describe just what we see-but they might as well tell us, in describing a concert, to set down just what we hear. If we hope to give the slightest conception of a foreign place, we can do it only by help of the imagination. If I were to describe Santa Cruz in the mechanical style, I might say that the houses are built of the dark blue, almost black, rock of the island, quarried from streams of lava that have flowed long before the period of history-that the windows are cased in white frames, and intermixed with curious openings or loopholes, screened by a tracery carved in wood, through which we could detect many a peeping eye taking an insidious observation of the passing strangers. Instead of the carts we had been accustomed to, we remarked only flat, slipper-shaped sledges, drawn about the

up as beggarly a regiment of ragged soldiery as ever did no service in war. These were surrounded by groups of idle gazers-tall, strongly-built, taciturn, deeply-tanned Spaniards-smoking their cigars, and bowing from time to time to the dark-eyed damsels, tripping and wriggling by in their peculiar fashion, under the mantilla, worn not exactly as in the Peninsula, but made to cover the head, shoulders, and back, and surmounted by a man's hat. To these we might add many noisy parties of half-naked urchins flying kites and sporting about in the sun, barefooted and lighthearted, over the burning hot pavement, polished by the friction of wine-sledges. Or, if scenery were required, the neighbouring high, rugged, and utterly barren cliffs of shattered strata might be described. These appear to be composed of the "ribs and trucks" of ancient volcanoes, ranged in cliffs nearly perpendicular, and fencing in the town like a huge wallforming not a bad foreground to the greater mountains, swelling above one another in numberless ranges, far beyond, till they reach the sides of the gigantic Peak, then, as it almost always is, completely hid in

the clouds.

These, and any given number of other characteristic objects, might all be minutely and quite correctly described, without there being, after all, any very just, or at least any vivid, picture on the mind of a reader, to whom similar scenes were equally unknown. But by calling in the imagination to assist the description, it is not impossible that something might be accomplished.

The actual spectator of a distant scene might, perhaps, not be inaptly likened to a pair of spectacles, wherewith we are to have our vision assisted; or, if that be too homely a simile for the dignity of a traveller, we may compare him to a telescope, through which we may peer into distant worlds-unseen and almost unknown to our "widowed sight," as Dante calls that which has never looked upon the beautiful constellation called the Southern Cross. According to the taste, knowledge, powers of observation, experience, and talents of the person who places his eye at the glass, so will the resulting impression be upon his mind. It is with the descriptions of a voyager as it is with the inspection of the heavens. I remember directing a powerful achromatic to Saturn, and showing it to two different persons. This wonderful sight filled the mind of the first person with such astonishment, that she could not speak for some minutes. At length she broke forth in a fine speculative dream as to the possible purposes of such a singular arrangement of matter; and it was interesting to trace on so vigorous an imagination the effects of a cause so highly exciting. When, however, the same glass was readjusted for the second observer, his only exclamation, on seeing Saturn and his ring, was-"Bless me! how very like a cocked hat it is!"

In order to push this comparative experiment to the utmost, a look through the glass was offered to an old Scotch wifie, who chanced to be standing by. "Na! na!" she cried; "I'll no look intil't; it would be a mere spying into Providence!"

Now, as it is within this almost boundless range of intellects and of knowledge, to say nothing of diversified tastes and habits, that a narrator of distant scenes has to look for his audience, what has he for it but to endeavour to depict to us his own impressions? As for me, Santa Cruz brought to my mind first Corunna, then Vigo, both Spanish ports; but the differences were so great, in spite of the same language,

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

and very much of the same manners, that these places faded from my thoughts, and Madeira rose up, and then, for a minute or two, I cannot conjecture why or wherefore, Lisbon was vividly presented to my thoughts. As I walked along, there occurred several things, connected, if I mistake not, with the sense of heat, that carried my associations away to India, and from thence, by a transition quite easy to the imagination, I was naturally transported across the Bay of Bengal, the Malay peninsula, and China Sea, to Manilla-where the dialect and dress of old Spain are still preserved with laudable pertinacity. The aspect of the houses, however, rattled me back again to the Atlantic, and I felt as if I were on one of the Azores ; till, on turning the corner of a street, I caught a glimpse of a date tree, and, in less than the twinkling of an eye, could imagine myself alongside the equator, somewhere in the Straits of Banca. In short, by merely walking through a miserable town in the Canary Islands, I might be said to have circumnavigated a world of brilliant remembrance, and to have roved easily, or almost without effort, over a multitude of countries, so perfectly familiar to my own thoughts, that there wanted but the slightest hint to kindle the imagination, and crowd the mental field of view with images suitable to the purposes of illustration.

After a great many delays and difficulties, which would have irritated us beyond endurance, had we not been fully prepared for such things in any kind of intercourse with Spaniards, we fairly got under weigh. The chief puzzle had been to tie the baggage to the back of a most uncommonly miserable jackass, apparently not strong enough to carry half the load. But "patience is the badge of all their tribe;" so off we set, after repeatedly adjusting and readjusting our comical saddles and still more comical bridles. The party consisted of Captain Elliot, Lieutenant (now Captain) William Robertson, and myself. The lieutenant's horse commenced the march by kicking in the most furious style; and as the officer was not many degrees a better horseman than his captain, he would have infallibly been pitched over the bows of his horse, as he named its shoulders, had it not been for the shape of the saddle, which rose in a high wall both before and behind. The bridles had mighty little effect-for in place of having bits, passing, as all honest bits ought to do, through the animal's mouth, they were furnished with a flat plate, resting on the horse's nose, about one-third of the distance between the line joining the nostrils and that drawn across the eyes. To this hour I have some suspicion that the rogues were quizzing us, by rigging their horses in this queer fashion; but we knew no more of a horse than they did of a ship, and were as submissive as we should have soon made them had we once got them on board the Conway. Be it quiz, or be it earnest, the fact is as I relate it; and what was fantastic, too, the bridle, after being made fast to the ends of this bit, or nose-plate, was led crosswise under the horse's neck, exactly like the crossjack-braces of a ship. In seamanship there is a reason for this, as every one of course knows; but what are its advantages in navigating on horseback, I have yet to learn.

It was not till two o'clock that we fairly got away, after having been more than a couple of hours in making our start, to the infinite admiration, no doubt, of the inhabitants, who were assembled in great force to watch the cavalcade. Our object was to reach a town on the western side of the island, called Port Orotava, which lies exactly at the foot of the Peak. We were bound for the house of the consul, Mr Stuart Bruce, of whose hospitality we had already heard much, and whose assistance in our expedition we

to a sober-looking dame whom this unusual serenade had brought to her balcony. She pointed to the consul's house; and right happy I was when I succeeded in catching this most hospitable of diplomatic functionaries, just as he had given us up, and was retiring to bed. Before midnight, the poor donkey, and the other way-worn stragglers of the convoy, also arrived, and we soon forgot the cares of the road in one of those jolly, extemporaneous, but festive suppers, which your inhabitants of hot climates know so well how to get up. All things, we found, had been arranged for the Peak, as far as possible, by our excellent host, and we tumbled into bed, refreshed and light-hearted, in joyful trim for the grand expedition of the next day.

"PUT YOUR SHOULDER TO THE WHEEL." NOTHING could be much less picturesque than the tall red brick house, situated about two miles from the dirty smoky town of N-, and inhabited by Mr James Brandon. He was a gentleman enjoying a thriving practice as a solicitor, the father of a numerous, and, as it was called, "fine" family, and a man not of enlarged mind certainly, yet altogether rather a good sort of person in his way. It was on a lovely summer evening, not a dozen years ago, that at the highest window of that tall house, a young girl stood anxiously watching a turn of the high road, which from that height was visible at the distance of about a quarter of a mile. She was dressed in faded mourning, which she seemed partly to have outgrown, for she was just at that threshold of life where the next step leaves childhood behind. Though fair and delicate, her face was not strictly beautiful; yet its expression was so earnest and intelligent, that many would have deemed it more worthy of admiration than mere regularity of features. For full half an hour did she anxiously and intently watch that piece of narrow dusty road, though it appeared she was but little interested in the different vehicles which passed. At last, however, a stage-coach was seen, glaring in its bright colours of red and orange, swinging beneath the burden of its loaded roof, and impelled forward by the speed of four galloping horses. For this it seemed Edith Marsden had waited; for on the instant she turned from the window and rapidly descended the stairs, passing on the ground floor the open door of a dining-room, where, seated at dessert, were Mr and

Mrs Brandon, with their offspring, varying in age from ten to twenty years inclusive. Then opening a half-glass door, she stepped upon a piece of grass at the back of the house, which was by courtesy called the lawn, crossed it rapidly, nor paused a moment till, nearly out of breath, she had reached a gate, which, at the extremity of a long strip of garden, opened near the road. About the same time the stage-coach stopped within a few yards of the spot; a light figure descended, as it seemed almost by one bound, from the roof, and in another moment Edith was in her brother's

arms.

They were orphans, poor and dependent, but bound together by even stronger ties than those of habit and the nearest kindred. Never did a truer, nobler heart beat, than in the breast of Robert Marsden; and perhaps there never was a moment when he more completely felt himself the protector of that dear sister, than when he was about to leave her for an indefinite period. There was a brief silence, for Edith dared not ask what she yet longed to hear; and Robert had led her to a garden seat before she said, half choked by tears she did not wish to start

"You go I know it is decided." "Yes, dear Edith, and I must teach you to thank God as I do for it."

"But will they treat you kindly, and shall you be happy?" exclaimed the sobbing girl, unable longer to conceal her emotions, and clasping her arms tightly

round her brother's neck.

"There are degrees of happiness, my Edith; and believe that the step I am about to take is one dictated by my reason. Whichever way I look, toil and uncertainty are before me; but I have youth and health, and few artificial wants, unless the ambition I feel to be independent, and to achieve one great object, be classed as such. You, dear girl, know all my hopes and aspirations, for I forget, when pouring out my heart to you, that it was but the other day you were a very child, with all the mirth and thoughtlessness of childhood."

"Then tell me all-every thing." "The advertisement, you will remember, was rather vague, but on making inquiries by letter, an interview was appointed for yesterday; and it was fortunate that, arriving in London the night before, I had leisure to collect my thoughts. It seems that a tutor is less required than a friend and companion, for this young Lord D. is too great an invalid to study very attentively. Lady D, his mother, will accompany him to Italy; and both being enthusiasts in the arts, the little talent I possess has been my best letter of introduction."

"Did you show them the drawings you made in the Highlands?" said Edith, eagerly, "and your little gipsy--and your Jeanie Deans ?-and-and""Yes, I did," replied Robert Marsden, with a smile, at their request, and forewarning them of the many faults they would discover. I told them how earnestly I desired to make painting my profession, and how truly I believed it was the one for which I was most fitted. Lady D- entered with much kindness into my feelings, and seemed to think it very natural that I should wish to continue a pursuit to which I had already devoted so much time, and of which my dear father so entirely approved. I described with perfect candour the circumstances in which his death placed us, the pressing necessity for exertion on my part, and my inability to command the means of prosecuting my studies. Think, dear Edith, I shall now have the opportunity of beholding the rare creations of which I have dreamt-and why not of profiting by them? Trust me, dear sister, there are bright and happy days in store for us-although this separation is a bitter trial. But I hope and try to think you will be happy during my absence, for our cousin Mrs Brandon, though not very refined, is a kind-hearted woman. Indeed, we owe both her and her husband much gratitude for the home they have so long given us; and though, from the salary I am to receive, I shall be able to remunerate them in some slight degree, I shall still feel a deep obligation for their protection of you. And, dear Edith, should we not hasten to tell them what has taken place?"

"We should indeed. But they are not alone-that foolish Leonard Brandon has been dining here." "Not foolish, Edith."

"What, then, makes him so tiresome and disagreeable?"

"I think, in the first place, his conceit, and secondly, or perhaps mingling with it, is a certain want of energy, which, precluding any great success, fosters, I am afraid, some degree of envy." While he spoke they drew near the house; but Edith had still one, to her dreadful, question to ask. Her brother guessed her thought, and tried to paint the future yet more brightly before he owned that in two days they must part.

It would not be worth while to describe very minutely all that passed that evening, Enough that Mr and Mrs Brandon were really glad to find that their young kinsman had made an arrangement which seemed to give himself so much satisfaction. True, Mr Brandon would miss him, for while an inmate of his family, Robert had endeavoured to make himself as useful as possible in that gentleman's office; but he had higher duties to perform than the achievement of mere personal independence, and though, as loftier aspirations, his friends now contented themthe phrase is, "cold water" had been thrown on his selves with offering faint encouragement instead of terms of dissuasion. It must be confessed, Mr Brandon would have thought Robert Marsden wiser had he chosen some more plodding employment, though his argument was based on rather a narrow foundation. half-brother, and more than twenty years younger The Leonard before alluded to was Mr Brandon's than himself. Being a little of a painter, and a little of a poet, he had once been looked on as a rising genius; but some way or another his reputation had latterly declined, for certain it is that he had not contrived to make his talents very available. His own favourite quotation was, "Success is virtue and misfortune blame," an adage that is only too often applicable; but still in his case there was always some particular reason why such and such a path should not be chosen as the road to "success ;" and, not being driven by absolute necessity to exertion, he seemed to be waiting for good fortune to be thrust upon him. But Mr Brandon was not a very shrewd observer of cause and effect, and, really ranking his brother's talents more highly than they deserved, he rested his argument upon this question-" If he fails, how can Robert expect to succeed?" When Leonard heard of Robert Marsden's plans, his exclamation was-"Ah! you are a lucky fellow to fall into so pleasant a berth!"

"But, my dear Leonard," replied young Marsden, "I showed you the advertisement, really believing the situation was one better adapted to you than my self; but you did not think it worth noticing."

"How could I tell it would offer the advantages you describe? and it is so mortifying to have one's services rejected; but I don't think you mind that sort of thing."

"Indeed I do, but I look upon such things as inevitable in the upward career of life. We must strive to take advantage of circumstances, before we can learn to control them."

With the privilege of a tale-teller, we will throw, as it were, a bridge across the gulf of time, and pass rapidly over the next three years. Edith was now nineteen, and her brother four-and-twenty. Only once had they met during that long period, and that was immediately on Robert's return to England; but their letters had been long and frequent, and the orphans were all in this world to each other. It was not that Edith intended to conceal the wishes and hopes of her brother, the progress he had made in painting, or the new friends who had encouraged his undertakings; but her warm heart felt that he was so entirely unappreciated by those around her, that almost imperceptibly she every month spoke of him less and less. Besides, she was almost as weary as in

dignant at the unvarying observations of Leonard Brandon. If Robert was successful, he was only called "lucky" instead of deserving; and if disappointment or failure came, she heard the crushing phrase"Of course, I told you how it would be."

His path, indeed, had not been all sunshine, for the friends he had been so "lucky" as to make, and to whom he had confidently looked for patronage and encouragement, were taken from him. The young Lord D- died in Italy, of the malady which made him an exile, and his mother, weighed down by grief and anxious watching, followed him in a few months to the grave. Again was Robert Marsden adrift on the world, dependent on most precarious exertions. But he had profited by circumstance and opportunity, and his mind had taken one of those springs which the thoughtful are conscious of at intervals through life. Cheeringly did he write to that beloved sister, and rarely did he tell her of his trials till they were overcome. The next fortunate step in his career was the acceptance by a liberal publisher of a series of drawings he had made while abroad; and when beautiful engravings from them were given to the world, the young artist began to be sought for, instead of being the seeker of employment. But he did not forget those long days, when, with his portfolio containing those very drawings beneath his arm, he journeyed with weary limbs from one end of the metropolis to the other; till "hope deferred" had indeed almost made his "heart sick." If he did mention these things to Edith, he dwelt on them but lightly; yet, when the heart helps the mind, it is doubly quick at understanding. The first steps on fortune's ladder are the steepest and roughest to ascend; and had he shrunk from every mortification as Leonard Brandon appeared to do, his name would have been unknown, and this memoir unwritten.

Meanwhile Edith had been guilty of a generous and pardonable deception. To herself she could not but own that her home was not a very happy one, but to her adored brother she made no such confession; and perhaps her discomfort consisted in shades of feeling which could not be easily analysed. She certainly should not have been considered quite as a dependant in her cousin's family, for latterly her brother's generous allowance had prevented this, and she still continued the partial instruction of the younger children, and many little services, which she had felt it at first her duty to fulfil. But from habit, perhaps, more than thought, she was little heeded by those around her; and, surrounded as she had been by a halo of refinement and affection in those early years when the character takes its most enduring mould, she now keenly felt the want of real companionship. A trifling incident, quite unimportant save that it formed one of chronicle, had also yet more assured Edith that her those epochs of the feelings which we all are apt to darling brother was little thought of, and still less loved or understood. At his sister's carnest request, Robert had sent her a faithful though miniature likeness of himself, which on its arrival had been suspended in the drawing-room. In a few weeks, however, some to be removed, and Edith's eye was the only one that change in the arrangement of the furniture caused it seemed to miss it from the accustomed place. She found it, after a diligent search, in an old lumber closet, into which it had been hastily thrust, and without comment placed it in her own little bed-chamber, that very room from the high window of which she had watched that dear brother's arrival on a certain eventful evening. There it was, with the lofty brow, and thoughtful eye, and calm yet earnest and benevolent expression, and it seemed the presiding deity of the place. There it was she penned those long and frequent outpourings of her heart, and thither she retired to dwell upon the cherished pages for which they were exchanged.

No wonder that she grew more thoughtful and less communicative, and yet a quiet and very happy smile often played upon her lips, for a star shone brightly before her-hope that had almost melted into reality. She grew even more tolerant of Leonard Brandon, and often gave him very good advice; but he who considered himself quite beyond the need of advice from any one, was little likely to take it from a young lady. Sometimes, indeed, he asked what Robert was doing; and when Edith gave him a true, though perhaps not very circumstantial answer, he seldom made further comment than calling him a "lucky dog." It really was often from a kindly feeling that Edith refrained from dwelling on her brother's success, for she saw that the demon of envy rankled in Leonard's breast, and she was above seeking the mean triumph of rousing it. Meanwhile this same Leonard Brandon, though two or three years older than Robert, remained to all appearance in nearly the same circumstances as when we first introduced him to the reader; but in truth, while waiting for good fortune, he had nearly consumed the small property he had originally inherited. To relate how his life had passed, is only to describe what he had not done. He had not, by diligent application, qualified himself for any one pursuit; he had not, by talents or address, won friends who were likely to be able or willing to aid him; he had not condescended to rise slowly, and so had not risen at all; he had not taken advantage of circumstances so as afterwards to control them. And the combination in his character of envy and inactivity, though perhaps at the first thought improbable, was nevertheless natural, for it was real, and may be accounted for. It