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“1.93 Otto di Balia dz' Citta della Ir‘z'renze hunno proibeta Guicaw, Sonare, Cantare apr. alt Monastero 200 bruccio, sotto pend di Saudi 125 edvati dtfune olaro arbrz't, 1634,” which being interpreted, signifieth, “We, the Signiory of Florence, have prohibited gam- bling, playing, singing at the distance of 200 cubits from the monastery under a. penalty of 125 crowns and imprisonment in default.” in order, I suppose, that the good fathers might not be disturbed in their devotions and ineditzuions. They were playing FLORENCE, March 20, 187S:~â€"0n the out- skirts of Florence, close on the curving shore of the Arno stands a. steep hill, densely wooded with olives, its summit crowned by a huge and ancient monastery, now convert- ed into a military convalescent hospital, and commanding one of the finest views of the beautiful valley, its circlet of blue hills and snow clad mOnntains, and the peerless city with its swelling domes and piercing cam- panile shining in the centre. The hill and the monastery are appropriately called “ Monte Oliveto," the Mount of Olives, and the latter must, in its day, have been an institution of importance and influence, as witness the following. The public highway winds along its base, a long, thickly built and thronged street and where the by way turns off to Wind up the hill to the monas- tery, a brown slab of stone, somewhat moss grown is built into the wall, conspicuously, so as to catch the eye of the passer by, and and bears in old fashioned, but clear cut letters the following ‘ each bet a. cent apiece, or thereabouts, against this “banker ; ” he suddenly brings it forward with one or more fingers elevat- ed; all shout out at. the instant their guesses at the number ; the correct guesses win,the incorrect ones lose. A simple game; they have been playing it in Italy for cen- turies ; Italians play it all over the world ; 1 saw Gen. Poe’s lighthouse builders hard at it, on the shores of the St. Marie’s River. In several groupes as I passed. One hides his clenched fist behind his back ;7 the 9th§rs And as for singing, Florence is one of the musical towns of lmly. Some are silent onesâ€"â€"their streets hushed in a. perpetual Sunday’s stillness, the footfall 0f the way- fare‘r rings _hnllow in their streets. Such are Verona, Pisa, Bologna, Home, even Venice, whereâ€" and where the stillness is really oppressive. But Florence and Naples are pre-emineutly noisy ones. All the street hawkers vend their wares with loud and long drawn cries, sometimes rolling off into airather musical chant, and every one going to or returning from work or running (no, sauntcring) an errand, sings away as he goes, from light- ness of heart or want of thought or to drive dull care away. The streets are resonant with vocal sound from early dawn until far into the night. As for playing, there is not much out-door music in Florence. At Naples they wheel around the streets great organs as large as grand piauoes, with one man to grind the crank and watch the windows and another to go about and col- lect the Coppers, neither making the slight- est pretence of poverty or need, but appeal- ing to your love of the beautiful. Here I have not met more than one or two hurdy gurdies. They tell me that the great majority of the organ-grinders and the laster-cast men in America come from ucca. But they were gambling, grinding and singing away at the font of the hill as vigoroust as if trying to make up for lost time. \V. D. \V. An Ancient MonasteryrA Curious In scrlptlonAA Simple Device for Gamâ€" blingâ€"~Florentine Street Music. How to make a hotbedâ€"«set themat- tressas on lire. SOME one says the best way to train up a child in the way he should go is for the person to truval that way occasiunally him- self. KINDNESS 'I‘U ANIMALs.â€"-A porter has been hired to carry the eleplmut’s trunk, and ll. book-keeper's bath has been obtained for the adder Tim same woman who can take a. mental inventory of another feminine's street attire in half a minute will occupy an entire morn- ing in telling her neighbor the details. IF you are asked to make a pun extempore say, “ Upon what subject ‘2" If they an- swer the “Queen,” than say the Queen is not a subject ; m- if on Mr. , say he is a bad subject.- IT is as bad to be with a grumbler as to be out on a rainy day. The one dumps our clothing, the other our spirits. But a. bright, sunny-faced man or woman cheers us like a. my of sunlight coming into a dark room. THE “ agony columns ” of the Turkish newspapers are filled with advertisements for 1041; relations, giving painful evidence of the dispersion of families of the Mussulman population which has taken place in the dis- tricts ravaged by war. YOUNG laly critic, to parent accompany- ing her: “Mamma, don’t you think that modern table is out of place in an ancient icture.” Painter of the picture : “ They ad modem tables in them days as well as now, mlss.” “ SO," said a lady recently to an Aberdeen merchant, “ your pretty daughter has mar- ried a. rich husband.” “ \Vell,” slowly re- plied the father, “ I believe she has man-led arric‘h man, bub I understand he is a very poor husband.” IN Nelson county, Va., a hawk was seen at a considerable height with a. large snake writhing in its claws, when suddenly the bird closed its wings and fell heavily to the earth. The snakeâ€"a moccasinâ€"had bitten it in the neck, but the talnns 0f the hawk were so buried in the Vitals of the serpent that it also died. FOR aspecimen of logical consecution of ideas, we venture to commend this, from a schoolboy’s composition : “ 'l‘obacco was in- vented by a man named \Valter Raleigh. \Vheu the people first saw him smoking, they thought he was a steamboat; and as they had never seen a steamboat, they were frightened.” SIR KENEIM DIGBY, whom Pennant, the antiquary, cells “ that prodigy of learning, credulity, valor, and romance,” was so ena- mored of the beauty of his wife that, tradi- tion alleges, he resorted to all sorts of extra- ordinary devices with the idea of adding to her charms. She was fed with capcns, fat- tened with vipers, and (livers other eccentric vians, and more than a. century after his deathalarge and peculiar snail might be found in the neighboring woods, which he had imported as a nostrum for his wife. What with cosmetics and medicines the poor lady died at 33. “ Tasso’s echoes are no more, And silent. rows the tuncless gomlolier," MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS VOL. XIX. A Leaf From Florence TIIE FLORENTINE M USIC‘ INSCRIP’I‘ION “ Momm.” NO. r .0. The world in its mirror hangs dreamin bright ; ’l‘he pmriarch cluuds in curled ruiment, that. lazily Lift their bare foreheads in dazzhng white light. In that deep under-sky glimmer softlv and huzily. air ; The warehouse of ice, a vast windowless easily; The ash and the svcanuu‘o, slmdcless and bare ; The elm-boughs in blossom. the willows in tassel The enchantmunl is 1m men whic‘l lmnml lmrsn long", And limuty‘ mm slumherenl, 1m alarm and rnncm- hers : Love bnrsw into heing‘ jxw ln'vuIH into song, In a glory of Ill-JEEUIHS bfu mums Imnl ils embers, In golden efiulgence of leafage and blooms, Far nlon ,, ovm‘leamng the sunshiny willows Advance ike a surge from the gruve's dw-pe)‘ gloume,i The first hroaking swell of th- summer's green The mud-turtle sunning his shield (m 21 log. Slides off with a splash us my puddle approaches Beside the green island I silence the frog, In warm, sunny shallows I startle the roaches. Fnr over the trees, or in glimpses between, Peer the btuuple: and half hidden mnfs of the vil» Inge. Here 110 the broad slnpea in their loveliest, green ; There, created with orchards, or choquerul with tillage. There phe pines‘ tall and Mack, in We blue mornng Source 3. tint upon horubemn or sumnch appear“ The arrowhead tarrics. the lily Hill lingers: But. the eat-fails are piercing the wave with their spears, And me fern is unfoldingy its infantile fingers. Down _ph‘mugh the dark evergreens slants the light 2“ I know every row, every moist. indentation, Where moss s and vi: lets ever invim To some still unexpurienced, fresh explor..tiun I inde under branchcs where rank above ~ank From the lake grow the trees. bending over its bosom; 0r lie in my boat on some flower-starred hank, And drink in delight. from cam bird-sung and blos- A breath out of heaven came drum in lluz night. Dispelling thu gloom of the sullen IlOIchufiLul‘H; The air is all halm and the lzlkc is as bright As some bird in brave plumage that ripples :uul I raw by sleep woodlands, [rest «In my mums Under Inn ks drep-embroidm‘etl with grass and youngr claw-r; Far mum], in and out. wind the beautiful shun-s, â€" The lake in the midst, with the blue heavens over. Above me the whim: are building their nest; The finches are lungâ€"singing thrnats by the dozen ; The cavhinl, complaining, or nmc‘winu‘ the rest ; The wingspnlted hlackhird, swam. lmholink‘s cousin. There’s nothing: so sweet as a nmrning' in Man)" And few things sn fair as the gleam of glad \vmer Spl'ing‘ leups from me brow nt' uld \\ inter [0112:3', Full-formed, like the fabled Ulylnpian‘s Llauglltt‘r With rapture I watoh, as I luiter beneath, The small silken tune on the huughs of the beeches, Ezwh leaf-cluster parting its deliuate sheau The bempe. plud mlorous bang-ha qvn‘hend, With fragrance and murmur the senses delighting; 'I‘!mla}(e»side,_ gofildqnced with me pollen th ' shed The myriad tremulous pendants that scream From the hair of the hil‘chusp 0 group of slim Like syft»w!nged things coming forth from men shroudsf The bees have forsaken the maplc's red flnwers A: d gone to We willows, whose luminuus clouds Drop incense and gold in inpalpable showers. graces, That. see in me water your silver limbs glcmu‘ And lean undisumyed over influzw spaces !~ - The haul dandelions embossing the grass ; ()n upland and Len ace the {mil-ganlem blnmning The wavering, winged. happy creamres that wagâ€"v White mecrflcs tinting, and lnunhlwbecs huom The crowingof cocks and the bellow of kine ; Ligln, culm‘, and all lhc delirious l) riual Bursts of bird voice ; life filled with new wilw, 7 Every motion and change in this heanliful miracle Springtime and Maytime.-re\'ive in my heart All the springs of my youth, with thuir swmamess and splendour: 0 yams, that an softly take wing and depart ! U perfume ! 0 memories pensive and tender 1 Scray scents from afar, breaching: fainily around, Are something I‘ve known in another exiwencu ; As I pause, as I listen, each image, each sound , . . _ . ., . L, As lightly I glide between island and slmre, I seem like am exile, a wandering spiric‘ Returned to the lund when ‘tis MM evernmrc. A moment rcvisltin" hoverng near it. From the hill-side,nn longer discordant. or harsh, Comes the cry oi the pencnck. the jubilant caukle : And sweetly, how sweetly, by meadov and marsh. Sounds the musiud jargon 01 blueijay and gracklc! 0 Earth ! till I find more of heaven than this, 1 will cling tu your bosom with perfect content- ment. 0 water! 0 light! sky~enf01iling abyss! I yield to the spell of your wondrous cnclmnlmemu I pause in a rift, by the edge of the world, l‘hat divides the blue gulfs of a double creation : Till, lol the illusion is slial‘tev‘etl and whirled In a thousand bright rings by my skilf‘s oscilla- non. I drift on the dream of a lake in my boat ; Winn my our-bent. two pimuu-like shadows keep measure; 3 I poise and gaze dnwu through the depths as I float, Seraphlc, susmined between azure and azure. Nelly Conway’s way was not to make much of any accident that befell her, but out of gratitude to Mr. Pearson she felt compelled to tell Mrs. Wardlaw how near she had been to death, as well as to whom she owed her escape from it. That good lady was so horrified by the mere fact that it was fortunate the narrator did not use any arts of embellishment. “ I should never, never have forgiven myself, dear Nelly, if anything had happened to you.” 1‘7 7. 7V 7“ “'hy nvot, (Tear Mtg: VVardlajw 2’ It would not have hem! your faqltf”. “Yes, it would, for ever letting you go out of my sight. Does not this show how totally unfit you are to take care of your- self? And yet you used to talk of going away from us, aud living all alone in Lon- don." That “ used to talk ” was quite a Machia- vellian touch : it suggested that this wild resolution of Nelly’s had been given up ever so long ago, instead of being a project that pressed itself upon her daily, as M rs. VVard- law was well aware, though her guest had ceased to talk of it of late, as is often the case when we were on the brink of action. As It gr0pll1g1y,r)c mukly 0‘ ens and “I can’t be caught by the tide in Lonâ€" don," urged Nelly, “unless I choose my lodgings down at Bankside,”â€"-the perindi- cal inundations 0f the Thames, according to the last aquatic information, having just ta- kén place in that locality. At 14h; Bi‘enrie or a small! bird alightng ; This bantering rejoinder drew no answer- ing smile from Mrs. VVardlaw. “ There was nothing to laugh at," thought that kind old soul, in anything which had reference to Nelly’s threatened departure. “ Well, at all event}, it was not; Mr. Pear- son’s fault that I was nearly drowned, but quite the reverse ; so 1 hope you will be very >13- éfitenedubyélalninir, 0r mull‘lu'wud by distance. billows 50H}. iug ; BY PROXY. MENOTOMY LAKE “Y J. T. l'KOWHKIDUK CHAPTER XLI‘ A SECOND SUITOR. BY JAMES PAYN. » when mild “ She is my adopted daughter,’ said M rs. Wardlaw, with quite a fierce look at Nelly, as much as to say, “ Contradict me if you dare.” If she could but be reduced to si- lence, the elder lady might not unreasonably assume some authority when the matter OI the girl’s departure should come to be seri- ously discussed. " Mrs. \Vardlaw is as kind to me as any mother could be,” said Nelly, whom experi- ence had made alive to pitfalls of this kind, “ but I am not a. party to the arrangement of adoption.” “ W'el], I have the filial love, but not the sense of filial duty,” said Nelly naively. “I don’t mind her petting me, but then I want to have my own way.” “ Very “natural,” said the visitor approv- ingly. kind‘to'him,” said Nelly softly. “ He is an artist, but not, I fancy, very prosperous.” “ Not likely to be, my dear,” answered her hostess drily. “Drawing and painting are all very Well fol" those who can afford them, but as professions ' “ Hush l" The door opened. The ser- vant announced “ A gentleman to Sec yen, nia’ani ;" and in walked the very person in question. Mr. Pearson was dressed in the same time-worn summer suit which he had had on an hour or so ago. when Nelly had parted from him on the jetty; but even the hotel waiter had not mistaken his social p0- sitinn. His hat was in his hand, and the intelligence anddeliuacy of his features were more clearly seen ; there was a hesitation in his manner, but it did not appear to arise from mauvaise home, but seemed rather a per- sonal characteristic. “ You have placed me, Mr. Pearson, under a very great obligation by preserving to me this dear girl.” “ That you should have a high regard for the young lady does not astonish me,” said he ; “ though as I understand, madam, she is no blood relation.” “ \Vhy not ‘3" inquired Mr. Pearson, not with conventional indifference, but as if he was finally ixnxiousfio l_(_n().vtf. “But, as I was about to add, madaml very wrong. \Vhen a young girl is left. without father or mother, and (as she has informed me) scanty means, why should she refuse the help of loving hands ? Ah, dear young, lady, POVerty, like Death, has its charms when at a distance, but when it comes near us look at me.” Mrs. \Vardlaw held out her hand to him at once, which seempd to >1'_eas_§ure him. T‘yW'hat !" interrupted Mrs. \Vardlaw with indignation. 7 fl‘here was light enough yet to see his threadbare clothes, his parched and weary face, the hollow eyes that bespoke want as well as Weakness; but light enough also (for those who could see them) to mark the pride and independence of his look and mien. “You are an honest man,” said Mrs. \Vardlaw warmly, “and you know what you are talking about. May this dear girl have the wisdom to lay your words to heart I” “ At the same time,” continued he, “ the bread of dependence can neVer be so sweet as that we earn. You tell me, Miss Con- way, that you trust to your pencil to do something for you. 1 have some judgment in such mattersflthough, it is true, my own want of success may inspire little confidence. Might I see your drawings ?” Nelly ran hpstairs at once to bring down her portfolio. Brief as was her absence, there was time enough for the visitor to say with hurried eagerness, “ She will leave you, Mrs. VVardlaw, and take her own way ; she will fail in her object, but she will not confess it ; she will sufferâ€"and make no Sign ; you must never lose sight of her." u“ Bless the man 1 as if 1 glould! Hush, here she is I” “ So these are your art-treasures, are they, young lady?” said he cheerfully, as Nelly placed the portfolio before him, and then sat down, in modest confusion, a little ashamed of her prompt acceptance of his criticism. But then she was anxious to ” improve ” and be corrected in her faults. ” \Vell, there is plenty of promise ; plenty â€"~ dear me, what's this in silver paper ? a gem, no doubt ‘2" “Oh, please, I did not mean that for a spggfiqgu," said. lSelUy with a. sudden flusl}. . “ Why, not? it’s véry creditable ; a quaint old garden, and a house of Queen Anne’s time.” “ It is our old house at Richmond ; I did it; for my poor ‘father as a. present on his b)rthday~and-andâ€"â€"" here she burst into tears and ran out of the room. The events of the afternoon had been a se- verer mental strain than at the time she had felt them to be. Her nerves were altogether unstrung, “ Her father met his death in China under the saddest circumstances,” explained Mrs. \Vardlaw in low tones. “ It is too shock- ing to talk about. She is quite upset, you see ; but I know she had rather be left alone, and presently she will come back again all right.” “Poor girl, poor soul ! and this was done for her father, was it, and he never lived to see it? It’s a pretty picture, but the sen- timent; is above all art. She wouldn’t part with it now, I dare say, for anything.” H 1 should think not: Why, Johnâ€"that’s my husbandâ€"offered her ever so much for it, but she wouldn’t have sold it him for its weight in gold. She doesn’t much like it even to be looked at, though she did show it the other day to Mr. Milburn.” « “ Milburn ‘2” inquired Mr. Pearson. “ What Milburn ‘2” “ Oh, a gentleman who is staying at the hotel. A very nice young fellowâ€"Herbert is his Christian name. Do you know him ‘2' “ ‘ Not to strangers,’ you would say : of course not. Only I feel such an interest in this young lady from having seen her in such a. strait as ,I did this afternoon ; within a few minutes of being drowned, and yet so calm and Quiet.” “ Ah, because she's so ‘ fit to go,’ that’s it, Mr. Pearson. Well, since you saved her fife, you have some right to hear about her. I am in hopes this Mr. Milburn may win her heart. It‘ would be an excellent match for her: but there has been some hitch upon her side. Girls are so strange. 1 think, however, she seems to miss him since he Went away-” “ He is not here, then, at present ‘3” “ No, he comes back to-morrow ; you will then see them together, and be able to judge for yourself.” Mr. Pearson shook his heid. “ I thought it might have been a. man I knew in India, but on reflection it cannot be he. Is she fond'nf him?” “What, Nelly of Mr. Milburn? Well, reallylvone doesn’t talk_ of such tlli‘ngs." “I suppose such a pretty girl has been sought after, notwithstanding her want of fortqg_e,_})y other suitors ‘2" “ Well, between ourselves, by one person only. It’s a sad business. His father has stepped in between the young couple. He is a hard manâ€"but still it is not to be won- dered at. Nelly has not a. shilling, and the young man will be very rich when his father dies. it is the Mr. Ralph Pennicuick who is standing for Slowcombe. He was a. great friend of Captain Conway’s, neverthe- lessâ€"that; was Nelly’s father." “Then he has dot been a. friend of his child?” “ Well, no ; I don‘t call him a friend. It is true he offered her an annuity after her mother’s death, but she declined it}? 7 " \Vhy so ‘3" 'he inquired again with that air of genuine interest which seemed to ex- AND ' YORK' COUNTY INTELLIGENCER. RICHMOND HILL, ONTARIO, CANADA, MAY 9, 1878. “To turn out a good artist,” continued Mr, Pearson. “ Since you are stopping here, why cannot you he her master 1'" inquired Mrs. VVuI'dlaw boldly: “ Alas, I am not even my own master," returned the other gravely. “And 1 am called elsewhere even now.” He rose from his chair as he spoke. “ I wish you could see John,” said Mrs. Vi'anllaw, who had confidence in her hus- band’s “business head.” “ If it’s a. ques- tivn of terms, I am sure there will be no difficulty, and he’ll be back by the express to-niglit. ” Mr. PoarSnn shook his head, , “ \Vcll, perhaps you’ll give us a line by post, just to say where you are likely to be ; even a. word or two of advice to Nellyâ€"- good advice," she added significantlyâ€" “ that will be very welcome, won't it, my “At least it is vei‘y painful to me,” addedythqvisitor, touching hisflghihand. “ \Vcll, you see how indupendent she is ; she would probably not have taken it in any case, but it was offered, J fancy, ungracious- 1y. J!" I \th‘t‘. tn any to Nelly, ‘ Here is a five-pound note, but understand at the same time than you have no claim upon nn‘,’ that would be very brutaL” “But it Would be the truth,” said the other drily. “(Perhaps so; but; I would rather never speak truth again than say such a. thing.” “ Your husband should he a. worthy man, madam !" “ John? I should think so ! Nu better man breathes, But what makes you say that 17" “ Because he has a. noble wife.” “ La ! well, I'm sure I” said "M rs. \Vard- law ; and she looked very much relieved as Nelly re-entered the room. It began to strike her, as it had struck her young friend before, that their visitor was a little eccen- tric. “ I have looked through your drawings, my dear young lady, and I think you want nothinig‘bAut good pquhjng 1’ “ \VBiuh ghe shall hfi'e wherever and whenever she likes,” put; in poor Mrs. \Vard- law,l]ever forgetting thg w0r_d i9 seasqn, dear “I can’t write,” sighed Mr. Pearson. He had muttered the remark, as he thought, to himself, but they had both heard it. ' “ Then how tei‘rlble 1t Illust havve been to you to pull that boat out to my rescue !" said Nelly tenderly._ “ 0h, i't was no’Ehingâ€"and soon over,” an- swered he, smiling; “and then, you know, you pulled me back.” i “ \Vhat a mercy it is that you can draw with it !" observed Mrs. Wardlaw, looking at; his hand, which, though thin and delicate, showed no Sign of hurt. “ True, yes ; one feels what is amiss, but one overlooks one’s advantages. I can just make shift to draw.” Then after a pause he added, “ Though I am obliged to go, ladies, I hope to see you again some day. ’ “ I hope it will be soon," said Mrs. \Vard- law warmly. “ Whether I see you or not, Mr, Pearson, I shall not forget you, nor what I owe you,” added Nelly earnestly. “Ho must he certainly mad,” thought Mrs. \szi-dlaw! “_to say he cgnjfiwrite !” u She could hardly s'ay less, yet her manner was so grateful that she conld hmdly lmvo' expressed more. He said good-bye to each of them, and was gone. ‘ cuse what would have otherwise appeared to he. were vulgar curiosity “A very good and kind one, I am sure,” said'Nelly. “ I ha\7e no doubt about it : but I wish he was a littgle more Rite ofiher peoplei‘i “ \Vh'at a strange man !" exclaimed Mrs‘ VVardlaw. “ He has haul troubles, l fem‘l, which have broken him.” “ But they can’t have broken his wrist ; or if they have, how is it that; he (1 an paint and yet not write ; that is what seems to me so queer. By the by, did you see him paint ‘2" "'V ‘l”"" "J ‘7 ' "J, "V’J ' W "' ' K “ Yes ; at least, I saw his colour-box, because I was so clumsy as to tread upon it.” “ \Vel], it is very mysterious : and 1 wish John had been here.” “ I was able," ihe latter explained at diu- ner-time, “to escape from the lawyers aday earligg than_ I hag} hopgd.” Mr. \Vul‘dlaw arrived in due time, accord ing to promise, and, as it happened, Mr. Millmrn with him. “ How nice of you it was, dear Herbert,” said his sister gushingly, “ tn come back again to me as soon as you could.” . . .1- a“ Dear Herbert " (1in not reply to this, and Miss Milburn, who detected a sly smile upon Mrs. \Verdlaw’s face, looked anything buypkasefi-W if Mr. Milburn’s personal presence had been dispensed with, his attention was still a good deal occupied by business affairs. Not a day passed without deeds and docu- ments passing and repassing through the post, in all of which his sister took a family pride, and talked sympathizingly about the trouble there always was in settling matters connected with large landed estates, This continued for a week or two, during which the intimacy of the two families increased by time rather than circumstance, and Miss Milburn keptgwatoh and ward over her bro- ther as though he had been an enchanted princess for whom marriage had been fore- told to be fatal, and she herself were an in- corruptible dragon. It was Nelly’s custom to take a walk be- fore breakfast, when the sands, except in the immediate neighbourhood of the bathing machines, were as deserted as those of Sa- hara, and the roar or whisper of the waves was the only noise to be heard. She was returning one morning from her favourite hay, when she saw Mr. Milburn coming to- wards her. he was a late riser, and had ex- pressed in her presence his astonishment at her own heroic conduct in taking these ma- tutinal walks : and at the sight of him she felt her face llush. She had as little vanity as it is possible for a pretty girl to have, but she knew why he was out to meet her, and what he was about to say. She saw as they drew nearer one another that his face wore a. more earnest look than usual, and yet that it had an expression of unrest about it ; a combination she had noticed once before in the face of another man. “ You are very courageous, Mr. Milhurn,” said she, smilingâ€"for a woman has always a smile and a tear handyâ€"“ thus to dare the morning air.” “ Yes, I am courageous,” he quietly said ; “ perhaps even to audamty. Would you mind turning back with me, Miss Conway, just for a. hundred yards or so ‘3” 1' He little knew that he was leading her back to the very spot where Raymond Pen- nicuick had told to herâ€"in vainvâ€"the same old story that he himself was about to tell again, or he would surely have avoided it as of evil omen. ' They walked on for a, few steps in silence, which becoming intolerable to Nelly, as well it might, she broke by a. reference to his sis- ter. “It has not all been settled, dear Miss Conway ; but it will be so before I get home again; and how it is to be done will depend on you." “ Miss Milbm'n told as yesterday that all your business had at last been settled ; so I guppos-g you feel quite a gentleman at Mfgâ€"t: “ On me .9" said she gaily, but with a weight about; her heart that sank it; very low. " I am afraid my advice on such mat- ters will not be worth much.” 9n “Mr. Milburn, I eunreal: you to say no more," interrupted the girl earnestly. . “ 1 ask it for both our sakes ; I appeal to a na- ture that I know is as unselfish as it is kind to spare yourself and me. I am deeply sen- sible of the honour you Would confer upon me, and of which I am wholly unworthy ; but I cannot accept it. 1du not mean to many. I have hall troubles such as you cannot understand ” “ But I said "Fake time, take time,’ ” said the young man eagerly. “I know you have had cruel trials, from which, at pre- sent, you have not recovered. It: was wrong of me to speak my soon, but my love must be my excuse.” “ You need no excuse, Mr. Milhurn ; though, indeed, that you have thought so seriously of one like me, suprises me. If I have given you cause tuâ€"«to " She blushed and hesitated, her mind reverting to his sister and her innuendoes. Her lips moved, though without any ar- ticulate sound. Her face flushed from brow to chin. She cast down her eyes. Her answer was very plain to read. Milburn hit his lipsâ€"his face, unlike hers, was very paleâ€"and bent his head. It was his sub- mission to his fate. “ Let us go back to the hotel,” he said ; “ you must not keep your friends waiting for breakfast. Do not cry, I beseech you. 1 am not worth a. tear from your eyes." “ Yes. If I stay 11 this countryfind re- side at my own place, it will certainly not be alone, nor with my sister : she is a good creature, but I feel that we could not live for ever under the same roof. But if, my dear Miss Conway, you would consent to be its mistress, then I shoulde the hap- piest man, I do believe, in England. Take time, take time, I do beseech you ” (for he read rejection in her eyes). " for if you say ‘ Na,’ that will mean exile, probably for all my life. I was your lather’s friend " "No, you have given me no cause,” said he; “it is Nature herself which has made you so adorable. I have said that I was an- dacious in my hopes, but tell me at; least that I need not despair.” “ Mr. Milhurn, 310m have been very kind to me. I believe you are a. good man, and I respect you with my whole heart ; but, once for all, I cannot marry you.” “ It is enough. I have no right to ask you another question, yet I must put it for my own sake ; for if your answer is what I believe it will be, hope will still be left to meâ€"as it is left, they say, even to the most wretched, I am, .it seems, not person- ally distasteful to you. Is the cause of my rejection that you love {mother ?” “ Your decision on the pniut will neverâ€" theless be final. This esmte, that Catherine talks so much about. but which is no such great matter after all, has a ‘ mansion ’ upon it (Is the auctioneers call it), which is at present; a millstune almuL my heck. I am to decide tu-tlay whrt'u-r I am to live in it or tn let it. If the former, I shall sell out of the regiment and hecnme, as you say, a gen- tleman at large; if the latter, I shall return at once to China." “ Indeed l” said she, with genuine inter- est. She felt that she should be seriously sorry if this bright, kind young fellow should leave England, when in all probability they would never meet again. CHAPTER XLII. MISS MILBURN EXPRESSES APPROVAL: It was with profound distress that Nelly Conway had received and rejected the offer of Milburn’s hand, for she had no doubt that his heart would have gone with it. It would have pained her to heme so behaved to any honest young fellow, but, in truth, she had a great liking for this one, though it had no touch of love in it. It was plain to her that her departure from Sandybeach, on which she had so long determined, could be no longer delayed if Mr. Milburn should stay on there ; and though, indeed, that was not probable, for he would be sure to feel the delicacy of her position, and hasten to relieve her of his presence, yet what right had sheâ€"who in any case had meant to go â€"to drive him to such a step? That very day, therefore, without stating her immedi- ate reasons for her resolution, she informed her kind host and hostess of her intention to go to town at once, and begin the life of independence she had always determined upon. There was a terrible scene of tears and tender pleading, which would have car- ried conviction, had she needed it, of how dear she had become to both these excellent people. ‘ u‘It’ll go near toln‘eak my old woman’s heart,” said M r. \Vardlaw, in a tone that showy] his own _wa_.s 110§_quipq bgngb-propf. “ 0h, never mind me,” sobbed hisA wife ; “ when I’m dead and gone she’ll be sorry, and I dare say will come back to you, John, and make the tea, and put out the flowers, and play toons to you on the piano, just as she used to do.” The recollection of these tender services, which were no longer, it seemed, to be performed by her darling, ut‘ terly overcame the good lady. “ I am sorry that any poor thing we were able to do for you,” said Mr. V‘Vardlaw sim- ply, “should have the sense of obligation about it. We didn’tâ€"neither of usâ€"mean it to be so, Miss Nelly, I do assure you.” “ Oh, I am sure you didn’t, and 1 never did feel it so,” sobbed the poor girl. “ It is your very goodness and kindness that make me want to go.” “ Then we’ll be very hard and grumpy, won’t we, missus? VVe’ll do our very best to be kind to you, indeed, though just at first, perhaps, my old woman here will find it a little difficult." “ Not more difficult than you would, Mr. Wardlaw. Of course I don’t mean ex- actly what I said. I have been made so happy by your kindness, but it has placed me in a. false position. I feel myself getting less and less fittedâ€"â€"because you spoil me so wâ€"t0 make my own way in the world ; and so I must needs set about it at once." A Vienna mechanician has recently suc- ceeded, after many fruitless trials, in con- structing a sewing-machine which does not require the person working at it to submit to the unpleasant and unhealthy necessity of constant bodily exertion, viz., setting the machine in motion by the foot. Since, for pecuniary reasons, the application of electri- city, steam, or water power was impossible, the inventor of the new machine was re- stricted to gravitation or elasticity, and he, preferring the latter force, has contrived to make springs strong enough to keep an ordi- nary-sized machine in motion for hours. A system of cog-wheels is arranged underneath the surface of the table upon which the ma. chine is fixed, and by a handle at the side the spring is wound up with the greatest fa- cility. The velocity at which the machine works is entirely at the option of the person using it. and can be regulated ad libitum, and in the simplest manner. POSTAL statistics show that of all Europe- an countries (Russia probably excepted) the fewest letters are written in Spain. Thus in 1875-6, only 87,000,000 letters passed through the post Office, being but 5.49 to each inhabitantâ€"a. delightful feature in Spanish life not a few would be disposed to think. A Novel Sewing Machme. [To BE CONTINUED] “ Of course not. I was here, you know, when he had that fight with the elephant who went mad while loading a transport with bags of rice down yonder. I saw the mad elephant when he suddenly began to fling the rice into the river. His ‘ mahout ’ tried to stay him, and he killed the mahont. The native sailors ran away to hide them- selves, and the mad elephant, trumpeting, charged into this enclosure. Old Soupra- many was here, and so were Jim and Bessy. \Vhen he saw the mad animal, he threw himself between him and the children. The little ones and their nurses had just time to get into the liduse when the fight commen- ced.” 0n the morning after my arrival, after a cup of early tea (often taken before daylight in India), I sat smokng with my friend in the veranda of his bungalow, looking out upon the windings of the sacred river. And, directly, I asked the major about his chil- dren (:1. boy and a girl), whom I had not yet seen, and begged to know when I should see them. “ Yes,” said the major. “ 01d Soup was a. hundred years old. He had been trained to war, and to tight; with the rhinoceros, but he was too old to hunt then." “ And yot,”said I, becoming animated by the recollections of that day, “ what a gal- lant tight it was ! Do you remember how we all stood on this porch and watched it, not daring to fire a. shot lest we should hit Old Soupramany? Do you remember, too, his look when he drew ofi‘ after fighting an hour and a half, leaving his adversary dying in the dust, and walked straight to the écoi'ral,’ shaking his great ears which had been badly torn, with his head bruised, and a great piece broken fron} one of his tu§k_s :2” “ Yes, indeed,” said the major. “ Well, since then, he is more devoted to my dear little ones than ever. He takes them out whole days, and I am perfectly content to have them under his charge. I don’t like trusting Christian children to the care of natives ; but w‘th Old Soup I know they can come to no harm.” Beside the children, on the banks of the Ganges, stood Old Soup with a. bamboo rod in his trunk, with line, hook, bait, and cork, like the children’s. I had not watched him long before he had a bite ; for, as the reli- gion of the Hindoos for‘bids them to take life, the rive_r swarms with fishes. “ Soupmmany has taken them out fish- ing,” said their father. ' “ Why, isn’t Soupramany your great war elephant ?” I cried. “ Exactly so. You cannot have forgotten Soupramany !" In the autumn of 1876 I was living in the interior of Bengal, and I went to spend Christmas with my friend, Major Daly. ’l‘he major’s bungalow was on the banks of the Ganges near Cawnpore, He had lived there a good many years, being chief of the quartermaster‘s department at that station, and had a great many natives, elephants, bullock carts, and soldiers under his com- mand. At the end of his line, a-s he drew 1t up, was dangling one of those golden tench so abundant in the Ganges. The old fellow did not stir ; his little eyes watched his line eagerly ; he was no novice in “ the gentle craft." He was waiting till it was time to draw in his‘pfizerf When Soupramany perceived what a. fine fish he had caught, he uttered one of those long, low, gurgling notes of satisfaction by which an elephant expresses joy; and he waited patiently, expecting Jim to take his Eriza 01f the hook, and put on some more ait for him. But Jim, the little rascal, sometimes like to plague Old Soup. He nodded at us, as much as to say, “ Look out, and you’ll see fun, now !" Then he took off the fish, which he threw into a water-jar placed there for the purpose, and went back to his place without putting any bait on Old Soup’s hook. The intelligent animal did not attempt to throw his line into the wa. ter. He tried to move Jim by low, plead- ing cries. It was curious to note what ten- der tones he seemed to try to give to his voice. Seeing that Jim paid no attention to his calls, but sat and laughed as he handled his own line, Old Soup went up to him, and with his trunk tried to turn his head in the direction of the bait-box. At last, when he found that all he could do would not induce his wilful friend to help him, he turned round as if struck by a sudden thought, and, snatching up in his trunk the box that held the bait, came and laid it down at the ma- jor’s feet; then picking up his rod, he held it out to his master. The following curious anecdote is from a book about elephants, written by a French gentleman, named Jacolliut, and we will let the author tell his own story 2 The creature lifted one great foot after the other, and again began to utter his plaintive cry. Out of mischief, I took Jim- my’s part, and, picking up the bait-box, pretended to run away with it. The elephant was not going to be teased by me. He dipped his trunk into the Ganges, and in an instant squirted a stream of water over me with all the force and precision of a. fire-engine, to the immense amusement of the children. “ What do you want me to do with this, OlgSoup ?"‘said yhg Ipajor. The major at once made Soup a sign to stop, and. .to make my peace with the fine old fellow, I baited his hook myself. Qui- vering with joy, as a baby does when it gets hold at ‘last of a. plaything some one has taken .from it, 016. Soupramany hardly paused to thank me by a soft note of joy for baiting his line for him, before he went. back- to his place, and was again watching his cork as it trembled in the ripples of the river.â€" St. Nicholas for May. [From the New York Ledger.) Lord Rosebery is married to one of the Rothschilds, and the enormous cost of the trousseau is the theme of much comment in English and Amerlcan journals. From the prominence given to the expense of trous- seaus in the accounts of weddings of late, it might be gathered that they constitute one of the prime inducements to getting married: in point of fact, in some instances, it is not certain that they do not. But devoted love is the best trousseauâ€"at once priceless and imperishable. Marriages will be fuller of the promise of happiness when thgy depend less upon gold and the things which can be purchased with gold. THE British “commerce destroyer," Shah, which so sadly battered the Peruvian iron- clad last year, has gone home to be recop-_ pered. She is said to be more than a. match in speed and armament for any two Russian cruisers in the Pacific. In case of war it is thought that she will make short work of the Russo-American “ privateers," should any such be launched. PRINCE JEROME NAPOLEON says, in the Revue Des Deuz Maude-s, that Italy and Aus- tria would have lent their support to France in 1870 if the Emperor had not preferred to these alliances the temporal power of the Pope. TLe ex-Em ress and P1011 P1011 have not been on very a ectionate terms, and this is no doubt intended as a thrust at her ultra. Papal proclivities. Devoted Love the best Trousseau. The Young Folks. OLDEUP. hot it will rise to ‘tlle boiling point, and then it will harden the meat. To pickle beef for long keeping: First, thoroughly rub salt into it, and let it remain in bulk for twenty-four hours to draw off the blood. Second, take up, letting it drain, and pack as desired. Third, have ready a pickle as follows :â€"For 100 pounds of beef use seven pounds of salt, saltpetre and cay- enne pepper, of each ; molasses, one quart ; and soft water, eight gallons ; boil and skim well, and when cold pour it over the beef. STEWING.~This is the most economical mode of cooking meat, but it should be re~ membered that length of time is much more important than extra heat, as long continued action softens the toughest joints, rendering them tender and palatable. If the fire is too A DISCREET, yet thorough ventilation of houses is most essential to health. The fol- lowing is recommended as a very simple pro- cess :â€"«A board is fitted between the jambs, eight or ten inches high at the bottom of the Window. The window being lifted at the bottom allows the fresh air to come in,which strikes against the board and escapes over the top of the board into the room without any current or draught. The quantity of air desired can be regulated by the height of the board and the distance between it and the window, which may ’be close or other- Wise. POTATO SOUPâ€"~Pare four or five good sized potatoes and slice thin ; put in a dish ; cover with hot water and boil until done ;turn out the potatoes and mash fine, put back in the water, and add salt, pepper, butter, 'and a cup of rich, sweet cream and water enough for th'e required quantity of soup. THE followin is recommended as a good dish for an inva id :â€"â€"Crumb crackers into a bowlâ€"more or less, according to the size of the crackers. Pour boiling water, suflicient to soak them, over the crumbs. Break a fresh egg, and add quickly, stirrin the whole rapidly. The boiling water 000 s the egg. Season according to discretion, with salt, pepper, cream, or butter. TOMATO SOUPâ€"To one pint tomatoes can- ned or four large raw ones out fine, add one quart boiling water and let them boil. Then add one teaspoon of soda, when it will foam; immediately add 'one pint of sweet milk, with salt, pepper,and plenty of buttemWhen this boils add eight small crackers rolled fine and serve. Equal to oyster soup. stdmfigâ€""winwl; ~lay your stuffing on the meat; sew up and roast about an hour; if you do not see the wings and legs yen will think you have roast duck. MOCK DUCKâ€"Take a. round of beefsteak, salt and pepper either side ; prepare bread ggggqpkers with oypters .or withgue, as for DUMPLINGS FOR IRISH STEwâ€"One quart of flour, one even tablespoonful of lard,three teaspoonfuls of baking powder, a. little salt ; rub well with the hands, then mix with cold water; make as stiff as you'would biscuit dough ; cut and drop in with a. tablespoon ; if you use the dumplings omit the thicken- mg. .HOARSENESS, it is said, may be effectually cured by adopting the following simple plan: A piece of flannel dipped in brandy and ap- plied to the chest, and covered with a. dry flannel to be worn all night. Four or six small onions, boiled, and put on buttered toast, and eaten for supper, is likewise good for colds in the chest. VENISON STEAKS â€" Cut them from the neck, season with pepper and salt ; heat the gridiron hot and grease the bars before fry- ing the steaks on; blail them well; turn once, taking care to save as much gravy as possi- ble. Serve hot, withcurrant jelly on each piece. A ALWAYS take the airest, choicest, and sunniest room in the house for a living-room ~ the work shop where brain and body are built up and renewed. Dark rooms bring depression of spirits, imparting a sense of confinement, of isolation, of powerlessness, which is chilling to energy and vigor ; but in light is good cheer. BUTTER POT PIEâ€"Pour a. quart of water into the kettle ; put in half a pound of but- ter, a little salt and pepper ; make a. crust of buttermilk, a. little sour cream and saleratus enough to sweeten it ; roll out and cut into biscuit; drop one by one into the boiling gravy, cover and boil gently for half an hour without removing the cover, when it will he done. BEEFS’I‘EAK SMOOTHERED WITH ONIONSâ€" Cut six onions very fine, place in a. sauce- pan with two cups hot water; two ounces butter. a. little pepper and salt ; dredge in a little flour. Stir them until soft; then broil the steak, then put it into the pan with the onions ; let it simmer ten minutes and send to the table hot. OMELE’I‘TE WITH CHEESEâ€"Beat six eggs very light ; add two teaspoonsful cream, butter the size of a walnut, a little chopped parsley, pepper and salt, two ounces grated cheese. Beat all together. Have ready a pan in which is a small piece 0t butter, melt- ed, Cook alight brown ; fold it up and serve. Shake the pan while the omelette is cooking. RICE SOUPâ€"To three pounds of beef add three quarts and a pint of water, one-half cup of rice, three onions and a. little parsley, put on to boil; try the meat with a. fork. BOILED FISHâ€"Take a fresh water macke- rel and tie in a clean cloth ; boil three-quar- ters of an hour. Whiie boiling make a gravy of three tablespoonfuls of flour, one large tablespoonful of butter; mix well together with a. spoon ; then pour a. little boiling wa- ter, enough to wet it ; stir, then set a. pan on the stove ; pour on the boiling water and boil five minutes, until as thick as you de- sire ; put the fish on a platter and pour gravy over it. Chip dried beef, boiled fresh, with the same grovy, is very nice. SWEETBREADSâ€"Wash the blood and pieces of fat; off, put in stew-pan with cold water to cover, cook until tender, strain water off and make a gravy of one cup of milk, table- spoon of flour, large piece of butter, tops of green onion, chopped fine, one tablespoonful, season to taste, let it come to a boil, take up and serve very hot. i To FRY BEEFSTEAKâ€"Butter, enough to cover the bottom of a spider, and melt, not hot ; hack the beef with a sharp knife, salt and roll in flour, put into the spider ; let it cook slow. If you do not cook too fast the juice, butter and flour will make a. nice, thickened gravy. When done, pepper and pour the gravy over the beef. butter, afid epper to the taste, one tzible- spoonful of our, dissolved in a little water ; then stir into the fish. Toast half a dozen slices of bread and cover them with the fish. IRISH STEWâ€"To two pounds of mutton (cut ribs) add three quarts of water ; then slice up about four onions ; boil about half an hour ; then pare one dozen medium-sized potatoes and put in with the meat; when very nearly done add thickening made of two tablespoonfu’s of flour; mix Well with water, season with salt and pepperto suit taste. CODFISH TOASTâ€"Pick 11 one pint of fish, freshen it in water, put it ack on the stove, add one qqart of cold wgtelj, half a cup of WHOLE NO. Some Useful Reelpes. Household Hints. 0. r): .