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"God grant that he may have learnt wisdom from his errors. I think I can manage to arrange this matter, and do you stay here till I return." He took his hat and drove to Mr. Gilby's.

That gentleman was in his office, his face wearing the same hard, impenetrable look which we have noticed before. Those who professed to know him called him a worshipper of mammon's, and that he was a hard-hearted, close-fisted, man-a man of mystery, too-he lived alone, and never entered society; men declared there was not a single soft spot in his heart, but in this they lied. The world cannot judge correctly of character; it can only look upon the outward appearance, and most men of worth keep their feelings down deep in the inmost recesses of their hearts, away from the thoughtless world, and oft-times conceal their bitter heart-aches under an aspect of cold indifference-such a one was Mr. Gilby. Many years ago he loved, and was loved in return-she was his soul,

"He lived not but in her."

The very day was appointed for their marriage, and about a week before it they went with some friends to the Highlands of Scotland. At a rapid mountain stream he was anxious to procure a specimen of some lichen growing on a rock on the opposite side. In a laughing manner he said, "What would you do if I fell in ?" Her eyes flashed with an unearthly bril liancy, "I would either save you, or die with you." His foot slipped, and as the torrent was bearing him away, she stretched over to grasp him, and both were hurried along before their friends saw their danger. He was taken out almost exhausted; she never recovered the shock, and in one week after the day fixed for their marriage she was carried out for burial. Since then he engaged in business with tenfold energy to deaden recollection; and, cold, hard man as the world thought him, he never went to sleep without opening a private drawer in his bedroom and looking at a long silken curl which he cut from her hair before the shadow of death fell upon her. Cold, hard man, indeed! he felt what others know

""Tis hard to smile when one would weep,
To speak when one would silent be;
To wake when one would wish to sleep,
And wake to agony."

When we inform the reader that the lady loved and mourned by Mr. Gilby was Mr. Letstieg's sister we have said enough to show that it would be no difficult matter to induce him to be merciful to young Singleton.

"Edward, how could you be so long in London, and not come to see me sooner."

"I have been in town only a few days, William, and I have had so much business to transact that Louisa and I left our visit to you until the last." He then told him about the Singleton's, and all their distress, and as he did so, William Gilby wiped away a tear, though with his lips he said

"The young scoundrel who brought all this upon them deserves hanging."

Mr. Letstieg then told of his arrest.

"Well, I'm sorry for that, I hoped the fellow might escape to Australia or America and learn honesty. The papers I have missed are not now of such great importance, as I have witnesses to prove the contents of them; I suspect he has been connected with their abstraction. However, Edward, for your sake --for the sake of the dead (his voice faltered) I forgive him."

He then sat down and wrote a note to Mr. Catchwell, enclosing a cheque, the amount of the reward he had offered for the apprehension of Richard Singleton, and at the same time telling him that, as

the whole matter was now settled, he might release the prisoner.

"Now, William, I have another request to make. Will you take young Singleton back again into the office, on a small salary-the increase to depend upon his good conduct, &c.? Come now, my brother, grant this, and I will be his security."

"Very well, I will."

In three hours Richard Singleton was sitting with his family at the cottage prepared by Mr. and Mrs. Letstieg. Amy was not there; but if the spirits of those who depart hence in the Lord are allowed to watch as ministering spirits over those they loved, then was her angel spirit among them. Poor Henry for the first time sat on the sofa clasping his brother's hand, and looking up into his face as if he had arisen from the dead.

Mrs. Singleton, what of her? She buried one child that morning; this evening one that was dead was alive again, sorry for his sins, and led by his bitter trials to draw near to God. Her's was the joy of those who, after a long night of separation, see those they love face to face, and pressing them with fond embrace to their heart, feel that the dreams of many a night have at length become realities. That night their prayers were mingled with tears, tears of gratitude-that night hope was no stranger to their pillows, and they slept with the pleasing restless slumber of those who, tossed upon the deep, have reached the haven in safety.

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And better is certain bad than the doubt and dread of worse."

Mr. and Mrs. Letstieg were going to dine at Mr. Gilby's the last evening of their stay in town. They had seen the Singletons comfortably settled and left them, enjoying the blessedness of those who give. No wonder the Singletons looked upon them with a love and reverence akin to worship-they had been the ministering spirits raised up to relieve them. Often did Mrs. Singleton get up during the night and look in upon her son Richard, as he slept, and thanked God it was no dream.

Mrs. Letstieg was waiting her husband's return from an auction of household furniture in the city, and as there were yet three hours before the time appointed for dinner at Mr. Gilby's, she went over to her trunk and took out her writing-desk. Opening it, she paused for a moment, like one who has a mournful task to perform. A small album was there, and in its pages were records of many bitter hourshours of sadness, so terrible that, but for the comfort and consolation of religion, they would have hardened her heart to marble, or broken it long ago.

"Twelve years to-day I heard of his loss," she ejaculated, "my darling child-the very light of my existence. In dreams I see him, and, clasping him to my breast, waken in my excitement to weep."

After a few minutes she paused, and turned back on some of the pages of the Album. "Since I wrote that

'Gone-and the world is cold and dark,
No gladness for the lonely heart."

I have learned, from my tribulation, patience, and

ROUGH WATERS.

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I would rather bear the bitter poverty of the Singletons than have to utter the sigh with which she closed the album unable to read any more. after another she looked over mementos of the past until she came to a small curl of golden hair. "My own darling child-had I closed your eyes and kissed you ere you went, I might have been happy." She hastily shut the trunk as she heard her husband's step upon the stairs.

"Louisa, you have been crying, vain regret is sinful, our child has been taken from us, and it is our duty to submit in silence. I know that the return of this day is always painful to us, but I thought that ere this you would have learnt to say, "Thy will be done."

"Edward, I have struggled more than you think." "You have suffered, dear; before others, you bear nobly up, but it grieves me to see your utter prostration of spirit when you are alone, I have often wakened you in your sleep, your cries were so bitter." "Edward, I always try to conceal my sorrow from you, for you cannot sympathise with me."

"Louisa, darling, don't say so, I do truly pity you; but when there is so much good to do for others in this world, we ought to forget ourselves."

"From the hour my child was taken from me until the present, I have striven-oh! how hard, to forget my loss, and my great consolation is in drying up the tears of the mourners."

"Leading them to Him, dear, who dries up the tears of the mourners," added Mr. Letstieg.

"Yes, dear husband, I should have said so, and you, by your example and words, have taught me to seek rest at the cross."

It was near time to start for Mr. Gilby's, and, calling a cab, they were soon there.

A bachelor's party! who does not know it. The dishes have an antiquated look about them; the chairs, tables, &c., are so polished, that you see they were done up for the occasion; the very curtains of the windows have a staid sober look about them, while everything, animate and inanimate, proclaims the absence of one whose very touch would be as a magician's wand in the household. The only addition to the company was the curate of the parishthe rector lived in a magnificent villa, a sort of Ras-in-urbe spot, and, performing the weighty duty of preaching once on the Sunday, left his curate to battle with the sin, the fever, the dirt, and the ignorance of the parish, and well and faithfully he did it. Day after day, and often night after night, might that devoted man be seen ministering comfort to those who had long been living in ignorance and sin. Every one has a history, and many a one's history is a startling mystery; and, though I don't know it, I feel almost certain that the life of the Rev. James Blackham was full of incident, battles and sieges, conflicts and defeats, which made care build her nest deep and for ever in his breast.

Mrs. Letstieg did not remain long at the dinner table; she did not seem very well, and Mr. Gilby

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told her to go into the drawing-room, and laughingly remarked,

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Brighten up the fire for us against we join you, or practice some of your best songs, for his reverence here is a great connoisseur, and passionately fond of music."

As soon as she left, Mr. Gilby remarked, "I'm sorry to see her look so poorly."

"This day twelve years we lost our child, and it is as fresh in her memory to-day as the day she last saw him."

"I forgot-ah! I forgot-poor creature! her's is not a heart to forget easily."

"This morning she told me she dreamt of him last night, and thought he was alive. Dreams easily take hold of some minds. She has often said of late, 'Could my step-father, Mr. Wriggle, have anything to do with it ?" "

"What interest could he have in it, Edward ?" "In case we have no heir the property left by her mother goes to Wriggle's children."

"Yes, I remember now, I quite forgot that." "Mrs. Hunter, the wife of our clergyman, is Wriggle's sister; and she made a remark one night about her brother, which Louisa has often thought of since."

Mr. Blackham, now speaking for the first time during the conversation, asked all the particulars about the loss of the child, and learnt that twelve years ago Mr. and Mrs. Letstieg were preparing to emigrate to Australia, being then three years married; their darling child, just two years old, strayed from the door, and was never seen afterwards.

"About a month afterwards a child was found in the river, but I did not think, as far as I could judge, that it was the body of our darling."

"After all," said Mr. Blackham, "the wildest ravings have their terrible realities in life. I was with a poor dying creature this morning, and her ravings were frightful. I shall not soon forget how she fixed her eye upon me, and, bursting into the most unearthly scream

'No, no! I got the gold-the bright, shining gold —to murder him, but I did not do it. He yet lives. Oh! if I could only see his mother, to give her back her child, would not the God you speak of let me into heaven? Where's Jack now? Why does he not come? I'll thrash him;' and with mingled prayers and curses on her lips I left her."

Mr. Letstieg rose agitated from the table, and, with the look of a man who, drowning, seizes a straw, said, "Come with me to that woman."

HABITS OF THE GREEKS.-The pure Greek race is dry, sinewy, and sharp, like the country which maintains it. The draining of a few marshes would suffice to suppress all epidemic fevers, and to make the Greeks the healthiest people in Europe, as they are the most temperate. Drunkenness, so common in cold countries, is an extremely rare vice amongst the Greeks. They are great drinkers; but water drinkers. It would make their conscience uneasy to pass a fountain without drinking at it; but if they do go to the public-houses, it is to gossip. The Cafés of Athens are full of customers, and at all hours; but they consume no strong liquors. They call for a half-penny cup of coffee, a glass of water, fire to light their cigarettes, a newspaper, and a set of dominoes; with that they will amuse themselves all day long. All the Year Round.

THE WINE TRADE.-The Times' City writer remarks:-The statistics of the wine trade of the past half-year show a considerable improvement in the importation, but no corresponding advance in the consumption. The arrivals in the first six months of 1862 were nearly the same as the corresponding period of 1861, but in the first half of 1863 there has been an increase of 4 per cent. in the importation of red wine, and of 25 per cent, in that of white, consisting almost entirely of Spanish descriptions. On the other hand, the consump tion of red wine shows a falling off of 23 per cent. from 1862, and of 23 per cent. from 1861, while that of white wine, although it shows an increase of 6 per cent. upon 1862, shows a decrease of more than 8 per cent. from 1861.

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SWEET LEONORE, lost Leonore!-
The chamber where she comes no more
Is ordered yet from day to day

What time the western beams turn grey;
Her pillow still is smooth and white
As when she pressed it that wild night-
That night of doom to Leonore !
II.

Lost Leonore, lorn Leonore !

She heard the bursting tempest roar;
Loud on the glass the rain was driven
Before the wrathful blast of heaven,
The lightning lit her through the gloom,
As, trembling, from her silent room,
To sin and shame went Leonore.

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VIII.

Ah woe is me, lost Leonore !
I weep thy ruin evermore;

He doomed thee to a cruel death
Who slew the soul, but left the breath,
And all the fierce desires and pains
That rage along the poisoned veins
Of such as thou art, Leonore.

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SOME years ago, I had been spending the evening with a friend, who had urged me with the warmth of real friendship to take the Temperance pledge. Now, I had never been a tippler, and it seemed unmanly (so I thought) to do so, as it implied a want of confidence in my own powers of resistance (alas, I did not like to remember how often they had been tested and found wanting), and I had left him in an unde. cided and unsatisfied frame of mind. It was under these circumstances that, whilst making my way up Oxford Street, my attention was arrested by seeing a delicate lady-like woman peering timorously but earnestly in at the door of a great glaring gin-palace. I was the more surprised, because it was a bitterly cold March evening, one of those when every one you meet looks blue and withered, and the gentler sex crowd round their comfortable fires at home; and she was clearly no frequenter of such places. Feeling curious to ascertain her object, I went in, and sat down in the parlour, where there were some dozen persons assembled. I was at once struck by the appearance of a young man, probably about eightand-twenty or thirty, who was carrying on an animated argument with a gentleman near him, on the rival merits of Burns and Tom Moore. The aptness of his quotations, and point of his anecdote, showed him thoroughly master of his subject, while the grace and beauty of his language bespoke the scholar and accomplished gentleman. The broad, high forehead, and restless, dark grey eye, told of talent, if not of genius, and the small white hand and exquisitely modulated voice indicated gentle birth and breeding, all strangely out of keeping with his dress (which was shabby and slovenly in the extreme), the place, and his associates. As the argument became more animated, he tossed off glass after glass with a rapidity that was astonishing, and apparently almost unconsciously; but the fiery alcohol was beginning to tell, and abruptly breaking off the argument, he poured forth a beautiful melody. His auditors plied him with glass after glass of his favourite rum, and song followed song in rapid succession; but, alas, the fire of genius was fast fading from the eye, and giving place to the unmeaning vacant gaze of semiidiotcy, and the rich mellow voice was becoming thick and uncertain. Conscious that he was now as much beneath his hearors as he was before above them, he rose and staggered to the door, but the fatal craving for stimulants was too strong for him to resist, and he stopped at the bar to add one more drop to

REVIEW.

the liquid fire that was coursing madly through his veins. And now again I noticed the anxious, timid peering of the delicate lady I had first observed outside, but this time she had a little child in her arms, a lovely little girl of about five or six. She had her father's rich brown hair, which fell in clustering curls round her open forehead and over her fair rounded shoulders, her soft hazel eyes beaming with tenderness and affection. The rain was now falling fast, and I held open the door for the lady and child to enter; with murmured thanks she passed, and tremblingly approaching her husband, said, "John, dear, had you not better come home? it is getting late."

An imprecation on her and home too was his only answer, as he flung the contents of his glass over her; with an oath he bade her begone, and when she turned to obey him, with a still fiercer cath he bade her leave the child. The struggle in her mother-breast between fear for her child's safety and a desire to obey her husband was painfully apparent on her careworn countenance; but she obeyed, placed the child by its father, and returned to her weary watching place outside the door. That he was proud and fond of his child (as well he might be) was clear enough, but he could scarcely stand steady a moment, and, having taken the child up in his arms, its danger was evident to all. The tortured mother could no longer bear the suspense, and she rushed in to take the child; with an oath he warned her off, and raised his arm to strike her, but the little peacemaker threw one arm round his neck, the other round her mother's, and, with gentle violence, drawing them together, said, "Dear papa, kiss mamma, don't strike her." In an instant the one noble feeling still uncontaminated by the blighting influence of drink, flushes his cheek and brow, tears at the base, cowardly act he had so nearly perpetrated, rise to his eyes; drawing his gentle wife to him, as the little angel of peace had requested, he imprints a kiss upon her now sunlit face, and with one arm encircling that gentle, loving, long-suffering woman, he quits, let us hope for ever, that deadly dangerous place. Need I add that my doubts were solved, and that when I next saw my friend I had taken the pledge?

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Some seven years after this occurrence I was passing the selfsame house, and all the circumstances came vividly back to my mind; curiosity, and perhaps a better feeling, prompted me to inquire if the same landlord was still there, and if he could tell me anything of the persons who had so deeply interested me. On entering I at once recognised the landlord of seven years back, and strangely enough, he also remembered me. I briefly recalled the circumstances, and asked him if he recollected them. Ay, ay, sir," said he. "That little lass you saw lost me one of my best customers. Mr. !"-I started at the name, for it was one that was beginning to fill Fame's trumpet." Mr. ——, at the time you speak of, used to be here every day of the week and all day long; he was quite the gentleman, and uncommon clever at painting; but bless yez, sir, he would never do nothing at all but drink and smoke, so people would not give him any commission; and I heerd tell that they was very bad off, poor things, for it was only when they was without a penny that he would turn to and paint a little picter or do a job of a sign or sich like; but since that night that you and me remembers so well, he has buckled to in good earnest; he has got a fine house, and grand folks comes in their own carriages to get him to paint them. The world's gone well with me, sir, so I have got him to take my two little ones; and as you seem to take an interest in him like, we can make an excuse to go and see how the picter is getting on." I

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in his

I gladly assented, and a hansom soon took us to Mr. -'s door. The footman, recognising my companion, ushered us into a handsomely-furnished drawing-room, while he went to seek Mr. studio. A lovely woman was seated at a table, bending over a water-colour drawing, and it was with difficulty I could bring myself to believe that it was the same careworn, timid woman I had seen seven years before, on that bleak March night, at the door of the gin-palace; yet such was the case. Happiness and content, those vernal showers of the soul, had gently done their genial gracious bidding, and in the happy consciousness of a husband's love regained, of a noble spirit raised from degradation to rectitude, honour, and fame, she shone out in her true character-a high-minded, Christian woman. Over the mantelpiece was an exquisite miniature of a beautiful child, with soft hazel eyes, and clustering chesnut curls, and underneath was written in small old English characters, "Dear papa, kiss mamma, don't strike her." Need I say that this was the little peacemaker, and that ten times its weight in rubies would not have purchased the limned likeness of the darling child, that father and mother alike loved so fondly and so well.

Little ones who read this, to you it may not be given to work a marked change in those near and dear to you; but oh, cultivate the graces of the heart and mind; be very gentle, winning, and loving; and if your parents love each other now, their love will increase tenfold through your influence. I have known many married persons who have lived together in coldness, indifference, almost aversion, who have been drawn together by the winning influence of the pure and artless love of a child, which has (so to speak) thrown a grapnel into each of their hearts, and bound them together with a love that death itself was powerless to destroy. To those who are parents I would say, be very gentle with these little ones; they are priceless treasures, and you may educate them for heaven or for a ruined world.

Review.

BIBLICAL NATURAL SCIENCE: Parts I. to VI. By the Rev. John Dunns, F.R.S.E. Glasgow: Wm. Mackenzie.

WE are in receipt of the first six parts of this elaborate and highly scientific work. Mr. Dunns has rendered, in this, his last literary effort, eminent service to biblical interpretation. With a careful and discriminating hand he has dealt fairly and honestly with the numberless recent theories broached in reference to the Book of Genesis; acknowledging merit where deserved, and censuring foolish speculation and science, falsely so called. His notice of Colenso is temperate, yet just; courteous, yet faithful. When he errs in fact, he corrects him-when mistaken in his conclusions, he sets him right. With a mind trained to sober study, and to careful investigation, questions of such moment are safe in our author's hands. He is no novice and cannot, therefore, be caught by an ignis fabuus. His clear and happy ennunciations of the truths of Geology, Botany, and Physical Geography, prove him to have merited the honour which the Royal Society conferred upon him. He has recently received another, but from what quarter we are at present unaware. We heartily wish him successfully through with his present laborious undertaking. The engraver deserves our thanks for the ability he has displayed in the endless variety of plates, illustrative of the Natural Sciences.

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Literary Extracts.

THE "BUSY BEE."-Bees do not pass the winter in a state of stupefaction, nor do they sleep inuch longer during that season than in any other; all that depends upon the work they have to do. There are at all seasons some working bees alive and active in a hive, and at the time when provisions are being got in, there are many at work day and night without taking any sleep at all. Their slumber is very light at all times, for they sleep with their eyes open: the slightest noise, a vivid light, or a current of air is enough to awaken them; but the warmer the hive is the easier it is for them to sleep. Hence they consume much less honey in a hive situated in a quiet place, little exposed to light and air, than in one more exposed. But if the outer temperature rises very high, this favours the laying of their eggs, and then a larger quantity of honey is consumed. It is, therefore, easy to explain why in bee-hives placed close to each other the consumption of honey is different during winter; and this is a circumstance not to be neglected, because colonies which before winter seemed to have provisions enough to last them all through the month of March, may be reduced to extremities before the end of January, in which case the apiculturist must come to their assistance. If the bees have been able to enjoy an excursion or two since Christmas they will easily partake of the liquid food which may be offered them in a cup placed inside the hive; but if not, the food so administered may cause dysentery. To avoid this, honeycombs full of honey should be cut out of other hives where the supply is plentiful, and transplanted into the needy ones. This delicate operation is performed in a cellar, by the light of a lantern, and with the aid of smoke. The colonies thus assisted must be left in the cellar, if it be not too damp, until a fine day comes to allow of their flying out a little. The hives from which the honeycombs have been taken must also be left in the cellar for twenty-four hours at least, during which the bees feed on the honey that has exuded during the operation.

MENTAL CULTURE.-Mind without culture is but a field open to ignorance and superstition, errors and deceits; a grand preserve for burrowing vices and tainted thoughts. It is not to be supposed that all minds are capable of the same amount of culture; some will bear more than others, but example will go far to benefit, as it will to pervert. Nor let it be imagined that the mind alone is to be cultivated to the exclusion of those mechanical and other industrial arts, which are necessary to the fulfilment of the command, "By the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat thy bread." Children should be early incited to industry, to early rising, and to all out-door amusements. The health of the body and the exercise of the inventive faculties are equally as necessary as mental culture. Too often is it made a matter of advice to get wealth only, an injunction which is ruinous to the higher faculties of the mind and soul--to say nothing of the wear and tear of the frame. "A rich man without knowledge is like a sheep with a golden fleece," says the Grecian proverb. Let the work of mental and moral culture advance while it is day, for the shadows of earth are falling, and for each one there cometh a time when death will be eagerly welcomed if the soul can but be conscious of the slightest influence for good which we may have exercised on our fellow-creatures.

BETROTHAL AND MARRIAGE IN CHINA.-In that strange country, nothing appears so unnatural and unaccountable as their rules in reference to marriage. Love, the master sentiment of almost every people, and the dream of life in every land, is here unhonoured and unsung. No courtship precedes marriage. Third parties begin and conclude the transaction. There,

"There are no gentle knights that come

To kneel and breathe love's ardent flame
Low at our feet."

Parents sometimes betrothe their childen in infancy, and if the proper formularies are gone through, the contract is considered binding. Betrothal generally takes place from the age of ten and upwards. After betrothal, the girls are no longer permitted to run about in girlish joy, but condemned to the strictest reserve. They are required to retire into their apartments when male visitors call, to observe the nicest decorum with their servants, and even with their brothers. They are thus debarred from many of the enjoyments of youth. They are not allowed to go out, or to visit girls of their own age. There are no joyous friendships formed among their own sex, and no opportunity of exchanging those hopes and fears and joys so natural to the youthful mind. The preliminaries of betrothal and marriage are these. When the father or elder brother has resolved upon marrying a young man, they send for a "mei jin," or go-between. He is instructed to proceed to the house of the lady to whom they wish him to be married. He states his errand; and, if he finds the father willing, he inquires the maiden name of the young lady, the day, hour, and minute of her birth. These are submitted to a diviner, who compares the eight characters which compose the name and date of birth, with those of the young man, and thus ascertains whether the marriage will be a happy one or not.

This astrologer is often a Bhuddist priest, who finds out what star was in the ascendant at the moment the lady was born, whether it will agree with the star of the young man and whether the two will move harmoniously. Things settled favourably, the other preliminaries of the marriage are proceeded with. The second step consists of the gobetween being sent back to the house of the lady, to announce that the alliance will be felicitous, and request a promise of marriage. This form is called "delivering the happy tidings." The third step is the procuring of a written promise of marriage from the young woman's parents. This being obtained, the bridegroom sends pieces of silk, gold, silver, or fruit, according to his circumstances, to the friends of his espoused wife. The fifth step in the process is a message to request that the woman's parents will fix a day for the marriage, which is called "appointing the time;" and finally, when the time has arrived, the bridegroom goes in person to fetch his bride home to his father's house, where they are duly married. These six ceremonies are set down in their books as essential to a formal marriage. Relations of any degree are not permitted to intermarry; and so far does this restriction go, that persons of the same class and family name are prohibited. In ancient times, the usual period of marriage was thirty years of age for the young man, and twenty in the case of the young woman. Now, however, they say that it is more conducive to morality, comfort, and prosperity, to marry young. Hence, from fourteen to eighteen is the usual age of the woman, and from eighteen to twenty-five with the man. Some days before the marriage the bridegroom is capped, and receives another name--his "marriage name;" the young woman braids up her hair differently, and shaves her face. Presents of all descriptions are sent to the young man on his marriage day. His young friends tease him. They sometimes stick flowers in his hair, and tie scarlet ribbons on his person. The bride's family are supposed to weep all night, and in ancient times used to extinguish the candles in token of her going to "serve a household." When the hour arrives, the bridegroom sends a huge scarlet sedan chair, in which, amid a procession and music, she is brought to her future home.

THE SUN.Geography and surveying in modern times have arrived at such perfection, that we know the size and form of the earth we stand upon to an extreme nicety. It is a globe a little flattened in the direction of the poles,-the longer diameter, that across the equator, being 7,925 miles and five furlongs, and the shorter, or polar axis, 7,899 miles and one furlong. The distance of the moon from the earth's centre, is about thirty diameters of the latter, or more exactly sixty times and a-quarter its radius, that is to say, 238,100 (say 210,000) miles, which is rather under a quarter of a million--so that, speaking roughly, we may consider the moon's orbit round the earth as a circle about half a million of miles across. We assign to the sun a distance very little short of four hundred times that already found for the moon--being in effect no less than 23,984 (in round numbers, 24,000) radii, or 12,000 diameters of the earth, or in miles 94,880,700 or about 95,000,000. The real diameter of the sun has been calculated at 882,000 miles, which I suppose may be taken as exact to a few odd thousands. It runs glibly over the tongue to talk of a distance of 95,000,000 of miles, and a globe of 880,000 miles in diameter, but such numbers hardly convey any distinct notion to the mind. Let us see what kind of conception we can get of them in other ways. And first, then, as to the distance. By railway, at an average rate of 40 miles an hour one might travel round the world in 26 days and nights. At the same rate it would take 270 years and more to get to the sun. The ball of an Armstrong 100pounder leaves the gun with a speed of about 400 yards per second. Well, at the same rate of transit it would be more than thirteen years and a quarter in its journey to reach the sun; and the sound of the explo..on, supposing it conveyed through the interval with the same speed that sound travels in our air, would not arrive till half a year later. The velocity of sound, or of any other impulse conveyed along a steel bar, is about sixteen times greater than in air. Now, suppose the sun and the earth connected by a steel bar. A blow struck at one end of the bar, or a pull applied to it, would not be delivered, would not begin to be felt, at the sun till after a lapse 313 days. Even light, the speed of which is such that it would travel round the globe in less time than any bird takes to make a single stroke of his wing, requires seven minutes and a half to reach us from the sun. Let me now try to convey some sort of palpable notion of the size of the sun itself. On a circle six feet in diameter, representing a section of it through the centre, a similar section of the earth would be about represented by a fourpenny-piece, and a distance of a thousand miles by a line of less than onetwelfth of an inch in length. A circle concentric with it, representing on the same scale the size of the moon's orbit about the earth, would have for its diameter only thirty-nine inches and a quarter, or very little more than half the sun's. Imagine now, if you can, a globe concentric with this earth on which we stand, large enough not only to fill the whole orbit of the moon, but to project beyond it on all sides into space almost as far again on the outside! A spangle representing the moon, placed on the circumference of its orbit so represented, would require to be only a sixth part of an inch in diameter.-Sir John F. W. Herschel in Good Words.

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