robbing the company with impunity. One million, a pretty little château, which Louis XIII. used five hundred thousand francs, have been taken! to inhabit, when Enghien had the honour to It is said that he has been supporting the possess royalty in former days. It is close to Etendard, a newspaper, with eight hundred the Princess Matilde's summer abode, so that thousand francs of the purloined money, so that the two cousins might" live and love together” Monsieur Pic, the proprietor of that paper, is for a few weeks, if such be their taste. also in prison! They suppose that the rest has A very curious occurrence is the lethargy of a been lost in speculations, as Monsieur Taillefer man, who has just breatised his last at the has not squandered it in luxurious living. On hospital of Bicêtre : he fell asleep last September, the contrary: the simplicity of his life prevented and has never awoke but once since, and that suspicion. At every instant, now, some fresh was the day before he died; when he opened robber of thousands turns up.

his eyes and pronounced several words in The velocipedes have just been forbidden on Italian, which no one near him could underthe public roads, as a nuisance, to the great stand. The doctors fed him during his sleep dissatisfaction of the young gentlemen, who with chucolate broth and old wine, which was delight in showing off their skill in this fashion- introduced into him through an instrument up able exercise ; and who, notcontented with going his nose; and, strange to say, he did not die of on them seated, were occasionally seen standing his lethargy, but of inflammation on the chest. on their heads on their vebicle! An engineer at Have you ever heard of the Count Scarampi ? Grenoble has invented a way to turn a man Some memoirs just published of the Princess into stone. I do not care about it, do you? A Borghese relate that this young man, rich and dead man will do. You take the body and plungeit handsome, condemned himself to perpetual into a liquid which he has invented, you then silence, because, through some indiscretion in rub it all over with a cement, of which he alone his youth, he had caused a duel in which one knows the preparation. You then bury your of his dearest friends was killed. The Count man. Porty or fifty years after, you have only had never pronounced a word since, on any to dig him up, and you find him turned into occasion (for ten years), not even when alone stone, perfectly fit to be used as a column in in his room. He used frequently to play Tennis an ancestral ball for coming generations. The with the Prince Borghèse, but no attempt whatengineer does not say whether he has tried the ever could ever make him utter a word. He experiment.

wrote his orders every morning, and nothing Report says that the Empress and Prince seemed to move him in the least. At the Imperial are going, during the Summer, to restaurant” Dufour, where he used to take the inauguration of something at the Isthmus his meals, the waiter gave him the “carte," and of Suez; and that the Viceroy is having a with the point of his knife he showed what he splendid residence prepared for them. They wished to have served himn. Those who knew also say that her Majesty Eugénie intends spend him had a kind of veneration for him. Few I ing some time at the village d'Enghien, near fancy could follow his example, not even men, Paris ; for the hot baths there. The poor, dear much more ladies. lady scarcely knows where to go for a change, I A tempting advertisement in a paper : “ The dare say. It is truly hard to be reduced to such death of Dr. B-- leaves an opening to a an extremity; to have no where new to go to young doctor in a rich and unhealthy counfor the Summer, which proves that no one is try, with a splendid practice."— Au revoir, truly happy in this world. At Enghien there is

S. A.



But this is not the good, old-fashioned, re

gular way of beginning a story. I will start BY GRACE GREENWOOD. again.

In a little post-town, among the highlands of It was on a tranquil summer evening, just Scotland, far away from any great city, there like many that had preceded it, that the Widow lived, a few years ago, a woman much respected Anderson sat at her wheel, spinning flax, just as and well-beloved, though of lowly birth and she bad sat on many a summer, autumn, winter humble fortunes-one" Mrs. Jean Anderson. and spring evening. All was still; flowers and She had been left a widow, with one son, the insects seemed dropping asleep; little birds youngest and last of several promising children. peeped drowsily in their nests, and the whole She was poor, and her industry and economy world seemed as quiet and steady-going as the were taxed to the utmost, to keep herself and old clock in the corner—when something her son, who was a fine, clever lad, and to give happened!

him the education he ardently desired. At the


early age of sixteen, Malcom Anderson resolved | softly to herself was still sweet, and there was to seek his fortune in the wide world, and be- on her cheek the same lovely peach-bloom of came a sailor. He made several voyages to twenty years ago. India and China, and always, like the good boy At length he knocked, and the dear rememhe was, brought home some useful present to bered voice called to him in the simple, oldhis mother, to whom he gave also a large portion fashioned way—Coom ben!(come in.) The of his earnings.

widow rose at sight of a stranger, and courBut he never liked a seafaring life, though he i teously offered him a chair. Thanking her in grew strong and stalwart in it; and, when an assumed voice, somewhat gruff, he sank about nineteen, he obtained a humble position down, as though wearied saying that he was a in a large mercantile house in Calcutta, where, wayfarer, strange to the country, and asking being shrewd, enterprising, and honest, like the way to the next town. The twllight favoured most of his countrymen, he gradually rose to a him in his little ruse; he saw that she did not place of trust and importance, and finally to a recognize him, even as one she had ever seen. partnership: As his fortunes improved, his But after giving him the information he demother's circumstances were made easier. He sired, she asked him if he was a Scotchman by remitted money enough to secure to her the old birth. “Yes madam,” he replied; “ but I have cottage-home, repaired and enlarged, with a been away in foreign parts, many years. I garden and field; and placed at her command, doubt if my own mother would know me now, anually, a sum sufficient to meet all her wants, though she was very fond of me before I went and to pay the wages of a faithful servant, or to sea.' rather companion, for the brisk, independent “Ah, mon! it's little ye ken aboot mithers, old lady stoutly refused to be served by any gin ye think sae. I can tell ye there is na

inortal memory like theirs," the widow someEntangled in business cares, Mr. Anderson what warmly replied; then added—“And where never found time and freedom for the long bae ye been for sae lang a time, that ye hae lost voyage, and a visit home; till at last, failing a'the Scotch fra your speech?” health, and the necessity of educating his chil- “In India-in Calcutta, madam." dren, compelled him to abruptly wind up his “Ah, then, it's likely ye ken something o' my affairs and return to Scoiland. He was then a son, Mr. Malcom Anderson." man somewhat over forty, but looking far older “Anderson ?” repeated the visitor, as though than his years, showing all the usual ill effects striving to remember. “There be many of that of the trying climate of India. His complexion name in Calcutta ; but is your son a rich was a sallow brown; he was grey, and some- merchant, and a man about my age and size, what bald, with here and there a dash of white with something such a figure-head?” in his dark auburn beard; he was thin, “My son is a rich merchant,” replied the and a little bent, but his youthful smile re- widow, proudly, “ but he is younger than you mained, full of quiet drollery, and his eye had by many a long year, and, begging your pardon, not lost all its old gleeful sparkle, by poring sir, farbonnier. He is tall and straight, wi' over ledgers, and counting rupees.

hands and feet like a lassie's; he had brown, He had married a country-woman, the curling hair, sae thick and glossy; and cheeks daughter of a Scotch surgeon; had two chil- like the rose, and a brow like the snaw, and big dren, a son and a daughter. He did not write blue een, wi' a glint in them like the light of to his good mother that he was coming home, the evening star--na na, ye are no like my as he wished to surprise her, and test her Malcom, though ye are a guid body enough, I memory of her sailor-boy. The voyage was dinna doubt, and a decent woman's son." made in safety.

Here the masquerading merchant, considerOne summer afternoon, Mr. Malcom Ander- ably taken down, made a movement as though son arrived with his family in his native town. to leave, but the hospitable dame stayed him, Putting up at the little inn, he proceeded to saying: “Gin ye hae travelled a' the way fra dress himself in a suit of sailor-clothes, and India, ye maun be tired and hungry : bide a then walked out alone. By a by-path he well bit and eat and drink wi' us. Margery, come knew, and then through a shady lane, dear to down, and let us set on the supper !" his young hazel-nutting days, all strangely un- The two women soon provided quite a temptchanged, he approached his mother's cottage. ing repast, and they all three sat down to it; He stopped for a few moments on the lawn Mrs. Anderson reverently asking a blessing. outside, to curb down the heart that was bound- But the merchant could not eat: he was only ing to meet that mother, and to clear his eyes of hungry for his mother's kisses-only thirsty a sudden mist of happy tears. Through the for her joyful recognition; yet he could not open window he caught a glimpse of her, sitting bring himself to say to her—"I am your son." alone, at her spinning-wheel, as in the old time. He asked himself, half-grieved, half-amused, But alas, how changed! Bowed was the dear “ Where are the unerring, natural instincts I form once so erect, and silvered the locks once have read about in poetry and novels ?" 80 brown, and dimmed the eyes once so full of His hostess seeing he did not eat, kindly tender brightness, like dew-stained violete. asked if he could suggest anything he would be But the voice, with which she was crooning likely to relish. “I thank you "madam," he


answered; "it does seem to me that I should climbing roses and woodbine were but outward like some oatmeal porridge, such as my mother signs and types of the sweetness and blessedness used to make, if so be you have any."

of the love and peace within. "Porridge?" repeated the widow. “Ah, ye mean parritch. Yes, we hae a little left frae our dinder. Gie it to him, Margery. But, mon, it is cauld !"

MAKING UP. "Never mind; I know I shall like it," he rejoined, taking the bowl, and beginning to stir the porridge with his spoon. As he did so, Mrs. Anderson gave a slight start, and bent Going by the house that morning, Sydney eagerly toward him. Then she sank back in Powers looked up at the windows, and unconher chair with a sigb, saying, in answer to his sciously dropped into a slower gait, for the boy questioning look

did his walking as he did almost everything "Ye minded me o' my Malcom, then; just else, "at a sort of double-quick.” in that way he used to stir his parritch; gieing There the house stood, looking natural as the it a whirl and a flirt. Ah! gin' ye were my face of an old friend that we like all the better Malcom, my poor laddie!”

for its homeliness-a large comfortable white “Weel, then, gin I were your Malcom,” said house, mounted with somewhat faded green the merchant, speaking for the first time in the blinds, and a white verandah, and a green lawn Scottish dialect, and in his own voice ; " or gin in front, with a sprinkling of fruit-trees and your braw young Malcom were as brown, and shrubberies. bald, and grey, and bent, and old as I am, could Sydney Powers listened, too, as much from you welcome bim to your arms, and love him old habit as anything else. He almost expected as in the dear old auld lang syne? Could you, to see Joe Ripley's round-cropped head at the mither ?”

window, or in the door, and his loud, hearly All through this touching little speech the shout, “Hallo, there, Syd! Can't you hold up widow's eyes had been glistening. and her a minute, until a fellow can get up with you?" breath coming fast; but at that word mither for Joseph Ripley was habitually slower than she sprang up with a glad cry, and totter- Sydney, whether at books, work or play; but ing to her son, fell almost fainting on his he was not lacking in parts, for all that. breast. He kissed her again and again-kissed But this morning there was no shout nor rush her brow, and her lips, and her hands, while of feet along the gravel-walk. How strange, the big tears slid down his bronzed cheeks; and silent, and almost solemn, it seemed ! Perwhile she clung about his neck, and called him haps Joe was there peeping behind the blinds. by all the dear old pet names, and tried to see At that thought Sydney straightened himself up, in him all the dear old young looks. By-and- and trudged on. by they came back-or the ghosts of them came There had been a quarrel between these two back. The form in her embrace grew comelier; boys, who had been like brothers from their inlove and joy gave to it a second youth, stately and fancy: it had been a miserable affair, springing gracious; the first she then and there buried out of just nothing at all, as a great many grown deep in her heart-a sweet, beautiful, peculiar people's quarrels do, and take to themselves memory. It was a moment of solemn renun- huge proportions. If people would only hearken ciation, in which she gave up the fond maternal to those wise old words, “The beginning of illusion she had cherished so long. Then look. strife is as when one letteth out water" ! ing up steadily into the face of the middie-aged The trouble commenced in some paltry disman, who had taken it's place, she asked- pute about respective rights on the play.ground, Where hae ye left the wife and bairns ?" Neither of the boys would give up his side,

“At the inn, mother. Have you room for us and the dispute grew into high words. They all at the cottage?"

went from words to hlows, and there was more "Indeed I have-twa good spare-rooms, wi' than one black and blue spot on Sydney's limbs, large closets, weel stocked wi' linin I hae been but he felt certain he had dealt as heavy blows spinning or weaving a' these lang years for ye as he had received ! But to think that Joe and baith, and the weans."

he had quarrelled forever! What frolics they'd “Well, mother dear, now you must rest,” had, climbing the trees, and shaking down the rejoined the merchant, tenderly.

heaps of ripe fruit in the golden autumns; what Na, na, I dinna care to rest_till ye lay me capital sails on the river ; what scrapes tossing down to tak my lang rest. There'll be time the fresh-mown hay in the fields, and riding on enough between that day and the resurrection the great piles to the barn! And to think they to fauld my hands in idleness. Now'twould be would never have any of the dear old times unco irksome. But go, my son, and bring me again! the wife-I hope I shall like her; and the While he was thinking of all this he caught bairns-I hope they will like me.”

sight of a well-known figure coming up the I have only to say, that both the good road - a boy's figure, with an easy, lounging woman's hopes were realized. A very happy sort of gait, a straw-hat, and a blue jacket. family knelt down in prayer that night, and Joe Ripley must have caught sight of Sydney at many nights after, in the widow's cottage, whose that very moment, for he seemed suddenly con, fused. He straightened up; the half-shambling " I say, Joe, you weren't the only fool, yestergait was suddenly exchanged for a formality of day!" step and movement which it was apparent They both stood still, surveying each other : enough was not natural, but just assumed for gradually a red glow came into Joe's face. the occasion. So the two went by silently, with “ Did you hear what I said, Syd?” drawing a averted faces and compressed lips-these boys little nearer. who had been playfellows from their infancy, “Yes, and you heard what I said ; so I think who had loved cach other like brothers, and it's about even !" and Sydney drew closer. The who, now that the strong passion of the mo- ice was broken now. ment had cleared away, saw all the folly and Well, then," said Joe, but not without a wickedness of which they had been guilty, yet little internal struggle, "s'pose we shake hands neither had the courage or true manliness to and make it all up ?” confess his share of the fault, and say to the “I think it's the most sensible thing we can other, " I've done wrong, and I'm sorry for it.” do, Joe,” answered Sydney, beartily, and they But each thought it was nobler and braver to shook hands warmly, with tears in their eyes. keep up the semblance of anger after the feeling Then they both sat down under a tree by the had passed, and each believed that he should roadside, in the pleasant summer morning, and sacrifice his own rights and dignity by con- talked the whole thing over, and between their fessing his fault. Foolish boys! But I have talk the lark's song went and came sweetly. known many men and women not a bit better Sydney told his friend all the pain and darkness than they.

which had been in his heart at the thought of Joe Ripley had an inveterate habit of talking their final separation ; and Joe, on his part, had to himself, which bad often afforded a great a story to tell of much the same sort. deal of sport to the boys; but Joe's oddities had When they rose up, at last, Sydney hit his a marvellous tenacity about them, which neither companion a sharp blow on the shoulder. argument or ridicule could easily overcome. “ Joe, old fellow, that habit of talking to your

One is apt to see a quarrel in a different ligbt self out loud proved a lucky thing this morning. after sleeping over it. Joe's ruse up in his We shouldn't have made it up if it hadn't been memory in its true colours now, and he saw how for that.” foolish and wicked it had all been, and, so- “Yes," answered Joe, in his honest, solemn lemnly shaking his head, uttered the words, way, I've tried to break myself of it a great loud and emphatically, “You were a great fool many times, but some good has come out of it yesterday, Joe Ripley!"

at last." Sydney Powers heard them: a laugh twinkled Joe was right. suddenly in the boy's eyes, and he shouted out,



ODD FELLOWS, QUARTERLY MAGAZINE. attention first called to the strength of the silk by (Manchester). - In the present part, Miss coming in contact with the webs in forcing his way Meteyard concludes her pleasant little story throngh the cedar groves. Gloom and damp appear

Amidst the Corn," but with less than her congenial to several of the epeira (or true net-weaving usual love of detail and careful finishing. It spider)s, who in this choice of location, are followed may be that our own desire to lengthen our by the finest lace-makers, whose exquisitely filmy pleasure in reading it has made it seem a little threads can only be wrought in a humid atmosphere. hurried.

In direct contrast with these hermits of the race “ House and other Spiders,” by Mrs. c. find the lively garden spider, the Arane riticulata of A. White, aims a blow at the weak terror and forming whole colonies of circular nets between the

science, or geometrical spider, as it is often called, aversion with which oumbers still regard these branches of trees, or rock-work, and the ivy-covered (in our country at least) harmless "spinners and walls; anywhere in the bright sunshine of a midweavers."

summer day. These nets are formed with the most In the Bermudas and on Folly Island, in the exquisite precision, but for a long time it remained Harbour of Charlestown, South Carolina, a species of a mystery how the long lines from which the beautiful spider (Epeira clavipes) has been discovered, which fabric depends were carried from tree to tree, or produces silk of a tineness and strength surpassing across wide garden paths, till it was discovered that that of the silk-worm. Mr. Jones, the author of the this spider has the power of darting out long threads, “Naturalist in the Bermudas (1859),” and who, should so light and tine, as to float on the air till they are these insects eventually take the place of the failing caught by some object, and thus form a natural bridge Bombyx, deserves the honour of the discovery, had his for their constructor. These suspensory threads are








sometimes several yards in length. Every thread in Sleep my babes and be at l'est,
the concentrie circles which the garden spider weaves God calls those first whom he loves best."
is in reality a rope, and consists of at least four thou-
sand strands. I have read that the threads of some of

The next is from St. Mark's Church, Cheetthe smallest spiders are so fine, that it is said mill.ons of

hain. Hill, Manchester, them would not exceed in thickness a hair of the human head. Buffon computed that it takes 663,552

“ Ere guilt could stain the hope-pledge fair spiders to produce one pound of what we call

Which God had kindly sent, gossamer.

Ile heard the little infant's prayer,
Gleanings in God's Acre,” by Williain F.
Peacock, affords some very curious specimens of

And sought the boon He lent.
mortuary poesy,
We cull the following, not

She scarce could lisp “ Thy Kingdom come,'

Ere Jesus called her to his home." only for its quaintness, but as possessing some historical interest. The writer does not give the date, but tells us that he copied it in Flam- epitaph, which is happily becoming extinct ;

One more specimen of the whimsical style of borough Church, and imagines that it will be read with interest after a lapse of nearly four centuries ; he has preserved the orthography! Marhall Church-yard, Dorset.

“ In memory of Robert, Mary, and Francis Moore, in intact.

“See what Death with spade hath done to we!

For here are planted both bud, branch, and tree.” Here lieth Marmaduke Constable, of Flaynborght, Knyghte,

A specimen strongly suggestive of the comWho made advents into Ffrannce, and for ye right of ye | poser of that well-known inscription; Passed over with Kyng Edwarde ye Fouriht, ye noble

“On a father and daughters Knyghte,

Who died of too copious libations of Cheltenham And also with noble Kyng Harre ye Seiventh of that


Some very interesting information on matters He was also at Birwick at ye wynnyng of ye same,

connected with the Manchester Unity and Aod by Kying Edwarde chosen capteyn there first of kindred associations occupy a large portion of anyone,

the current number, which is, as usual, a very And rewilled and governed there his tyme without agreeable one. blame,

POOR LETTER H: ITS USE AND its But for all that, as ye see, he lyeth under this stone. ABUSE. By the Hon. Henry H. (London:

John F. Shaw and Co., Paternoster Row.)-The At Brankiston fold, where ye Kyng of Scotty's was following lines, by a clever contributor, so well slayne,

describe the purpose of this amusing, useful, He then beying of ye age of threescore and ten ;

and alas! much-needed little book, that we With ye goode Duke of Norfolke ye iorney he had think further notice of it unnecessary :

tayne, And coragely avanncid hymself amonge other there and


( Addressed to the Million.) Ye Kying beyng in Ffrannce with grete nombre of Ynglesmen,

"Poor letter H! its use and its abuse”-* He nothing hedying his age there ieopde* hymas on, With his sones, brother, sarvante, and Kynnismen,

A book, design'd expressly for the use

Of those who set at naught their mother tongue, But now, as ye see, he lyeth under this stone.

And substitute the vulgar—which is wrong; We do not remember to have met with either

For those, the million, culpable of laches,

And those who aspirate all silent II's
of the two following, from Folbroke, North-
umberland :

(Such aspirations, doubtless, are emphatic,
Tho' neither pleasing nor aristocratic);

· For gentlemen who stumble at this letter ; “Here rests my spouse, no pair through life For those who don't, and those who should know better; So equal lived as we did,

For dames, all energy and emphasis ;
Alike we shared perpetual strife,

For married, single, and the “ budding Miss :"
Nor knew I rest till she did."

For such the book was written and design'd,

And, in a spirit (like these verses) kind.
Here lieth Matthew Hollingshed,

Who died from cold caught in his head ; Who does not know the friend, both he and she
It brought on fever and rheumatiz,

(Altho' they may have learnt their A, B, C), Which ended him—for here he is.”

Guilty of this--this one étourderie?

I will not call it ignorance, and yet Several are noteworthy in other ways, and Can such be said to know their alphabet ? there are some specially appropriate ones to If anyone there be not thas possess’d little children. In Yarmouth appears the of such a friend, that one's supremely bless’d. following:

* The title of a little book, published by Shaw and Jeopardy.

Co., Paternoster Row, price (pshaw.'] sixpence.


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