grand gentleman like him calling of me young girl's. The lady returned a gentle his dear.' Why, he's almost as nice as-but firm refusal, much to the chagrin of as John." the old bachelor suitor. John was the rector's coachman. Mr. Joyce followed Kitty into the parlour. Poor man! his nervousness was painful to witness. "Good evening, Miss Martha. I-I --just called to see, you know," he began, unintelligibly. "Ah! the flowers. You are very kind indeed," said the lady, smiling. Mr. Joyce sat down and took a cup in his hand, without seeming to know what to do with it. "I've had my garden altered, as you wished it, Miss White," he said at last. "Indeed! I was not aware that I had expressed an opinion about it," said Miss White, in surprise. "Oh, yes! you did not like my arrangement last year." "Did I not? I forget-" The rector could neither get on with tea or conversation that evening: he had evidently something on his mind, and several times began, "Miss Martha, I-" and came to a full stop. At last, in desperation, the gentleman put down his cup, and drew his chair near his hostess, and observed confidentially "How many marriages there are in prospect!" Are there?" said Miss Martha, calmly. "Yes. I heard you telling Kitty not to encourage my man, John Stonehouse, unless she meant to marry him." Miss Martha looked up in surprise. "I remember, I did tell her so, but-" "Why, I was waiting to be let in, and you had left your window open, so I could not avoid hearing what passed. It was good advice, Miss Martha," explained the worthy rector. "She would never marry!" she said. "Why not? I have had it in my mind to ask you this question for years, Miss Martha, and I really hoped your answer would have been different. I was lead to believe it would." "You have done me a great honour, and were I not the silly romantic old maid that I am, I might, perhaps, have been proud to call so good and upright a man as yourself my husband; but I shall never marry now," said Miss Martha: "and if," she continued, "you will not think me very foolish, I will give you my reason, Mr. Joyce." Mr. Joyce was silent, so Miss Martha went on:-"My father was, as you know, a rich gentleman-farmer. My youth was a very quiet time, for we did not live near enough to any town to be gay people; consequently I knew very few young persons of my own age; and when my sailor-brother-my father's beloved and only son-brought home a friend with him, it made the house so much more lively. This stranger was a young Swede, and he was to be a passenger in Harry's ship. Oscar Hermann and my brother were on intimate terms. I-Iwas considered rather pretty then; and though Oscar was some ten years my senior, he took a fancy to me-in short we loved each other-and, against my father's wishes, became engaged, and then he and Harry went away Miss Martha paused to conquer her agitation. "He-he said he would come back to marry me three years afterwards; but I have never heard of him since. Dear Harry was drowned; perhaps Oscar met with the same fate." "I meant it for such. I am glad you thought it was," said the lady, simply. Miss Martha's eyes were moist with Mr. Joyce grew very red, and looked tears, and Mr. Joyce rose to go, thinking uncomfortably warm. He had evidently to himself that women were all fools, and made up his mind. Before Miss Martha the lady who had refused him the knew what he was thinking about the greatest simpleton of all! But nevergentleman with some abruptness laid his theless he went away with a latent hope hand and fortune at Miss White's disposal, that she would change her mind, and and then waited with considerable embar-prefer spending the remainder of her life rassment for her answer. It came after in his cosy rectory, to going on dreaming a short pause, with a rich blush like a of the past in single blessedness. 44 Mr. Joyce sat down and took a cup in his hand, without seeming to know what to do with it."-Page 354. wretched creatures they constructed mummies." "Did they ever make a STRIX into a mummy?" inquired Poke. "I really do not know," said Barn; "at any rate I never heard of a strix mummy being brought to England. All the other kinds can be seen in the British museum. What do you think, friend P.; do you think they mummied owls ?" "If you are addressing me," haughtily replied STRIX OTUS, "my name is Pharaoh, not P." "I do address you, Sir," said Barn, "and meant no offence." "Well, then," said Pharaoh," my impression is that the Egyptians did not dare to take such a liberty with so noble a bird. Some of my relations have been in every ruin in Egypt, and not one of them ever happened to make mention of an embalmed owl." "Thank you, thank you," said Snow. "Pray is food easily had in Egypt ?" "At some seasons, food almost flies down one's throat-that is, when the birds of passage are crossing over Egypt to winter in Africa. Many a lovely moonlight night have I invited all my relations to sup with me on my own special pyramid (I mean that one which contains the tomb of Cheops). Housekeeping is no trouble under such circumstances, for each guest has ample variety to choose fromswallows, martins, swifts, nightingales, starlings, cuckoos, and many other delicious tit-bits." (To be concluded in May number.) THOUGHTS ON MARRIAGE. MY DEAR LIZZIE, 'Tis only a week since we parted, and yet I cannot allow another to pass without writing to unburden my mind of the thoughts that have and do still possess itthoughts which I long and intend to express to you, in expounding the ideas I can more easily write than speak, on that subject which you introduced and so earnestly dilated upon at our last meeting, begging me also to declare the views I entertained regarding it. ideas far from mature, perhaps only seen Then I was silent, fearing to disclose from the narrowest point of view. You little knew how effectually the sentence you so reproachfully uttered closed my lips against expressing the opinions I held, when, in your outspoken zeal for my welfare, you bluntly told me "I made marriage the principal aim of my life!" I had it in my heart at once to deny that fears of one so sensitively alive to the pangs such was my first aim, and so remove the such an end might well bring in its accomplishment. Yet, will you believe, dear, that a secret chagrin at being thus admonished, even from the lips of one I truly love, roused in my strangely-capricious nature blended feelings of pride, humility, and pain; and, lastly, a thoughtfulness that led to some conclusions, of which I intend to make you the recipient, in order that a momentous, may be seen by me in its subject, involving results so solemn and broadest and truest light. Distance makes it easier for me to confess to you that marriage is one, but assuredly not the foremost aim of my life; and serious thought on the "whys" and "wherefores" of the case have occupied my mind at intervals since our last meeting. Home precepts have done a great deal for me in the way of urging me to think of a married state as preferable to a single one; and I am, and always shall be, a staunch believer in its good effect on man and ANCIENT NAMES." Heliopolis, the ancient On, now Abydos. Thebes (in the Bible called No Ammon), becomes Diospolis Magna. The country itself, from being called Khein, answering to the Scripture Ham, is henceforth, by Greek transforma-woman-kind. From the age when thought tion, known as Egyptus."-H. Martineau. "As the clouds towards nightfall melt away on a fine summer evening into the clear amber of the west, leaving a soft and unbroken azure, whereon the stars may shine through, so the troubles of life, its vain regrets, and vainer desires vanished before the calm close of existence. The hopes of heaven rose steadfast at last; the light shone from the windows of her home as she approached unto it."-L. E. L. began to establish its resting-place in my mind, and romance was craving audience at its door-step, have I heard my mother relate the mingled charms attending the cares and joys of the days of her youthful loves, and subsequent courtship, ending in a marriage that consummated her happiness. Again, I have heard my brothers and sisters advocate the same cause; and year after year have I seen them leave the home of their childhood to become husbands and wives, 4 and take upon their own shoulders a whom he was in company: "Those ladies burden their parents so worthily bore before only want to be married to make them them. Again and again have I asked my-happy." I was half-inclined to ask him self why they so voluntarily break off ties why he spoke so superciliously, and of that have bound them all their lives, to what crime ladies were guilty in wishing to create new and doubtful ones. And thus be taken home to the heart of a good man I have answered myself: "Marriage is (for surely it is their best earthly restingheaven-ordained: a law of nature, bidding place), when I bethought myself, and inly the weaker woman instinctively cling to murmured, "He would not understand the stronger man. Oh! surely marriage you, foolish girl, if you spoke earnestly and is a great and sacred responsibility. It is a truthfully on the subject, so be silent." bark in which two souls venture out on Only thus reasoning with myself could I life's stormy sea, with no mortal aid but refrain from giving vent to the thoughts their own to guide them; the well- that seemed to burn into my soul from the doing of their frail vessel must in future scorn they held but dared not utter. Later solely rest upon themselves; no one can in the evening I was thankful for having effectually take part, either to mar or make refrained, as my impulsiveness and inclinatheir bliss or misery. From her husband tion to go to extremes in all I say or do alone must henceforth flow all the earthly might perhaps have been attended with far happiness that the wife is destined to know; from a good or satisfying result. But here he is the only being she must care to please; I go on, chattering away as fast as my nimble all other men are now to be to her but pen will scribble; my imagination is so shadows glancing on the wall. And he vivid that it almost shows you to me with what is his share in the compact? How a despairing expression on your usually does he fulfil his promise, redeem his placid features, as if to say, "Will she never pledge? For does he not swear to guard, leave off rattling her opinions at me?" and cherish, and look leniently on the faults Thus timely warned, I shall at once end of the gentle girl he takes to his heart; and this epistle, begging you, dear Lizzie, to in return for all her duty and sweet obedi-write soon and openly to me, your friend, ence, be true to her in sickness and health, in wealth and in poverty, for ever and for ever? And only blessed are the unions in which those feelings are fostered and pre served." Our natures are strong in love; and we yearn to wind our heart-strings round the tendrils of an object worthy of affording us support. Aimlessly we wander on, feebly put forth our efforts, as a blind man does his hands, to secure a safe passage, to find our counterpart ready and willing to steadily pursue the journey of life in partnership with its kindred spirit. What is life without love? a wild sea-shore, subjecting one to the shoals and quicksands of its dreary waste! to bear alone the weight of earthly woes, unaided by the friendly advice of an earthly sustainer and sympathiser! There are many and divers kinds of love; but mighty in its powerful depths and tender grace, and above all others in its self-sacrificing spirit, is conjugal love. I do not say, dear, that one should sit down to repine and fret if Providence decrees that marriage is not to be our destiny; but, being naturally selfish in our desires, we crave for an undivided affection-and who shall blame us? Only a few evenings back, I overheard a gentleman (query) remark, in a light, sneering tone, in reference to two or three young ladies with giving censure where it is deserved, showing me plainly where I have exaggerated or erred in my opinion, thus enhancing, if you can, the love felt for you by your MIGNONETTE. attached friend [We shall probably have Lizzie's reply in next month's magazine.-ED.] DECISION of character is one of the most important of human qualities, philosophically considered. Speculation, knowledge, is not the chief end of man-it is action. We may by a fine education learn to think most correctly, and talk most beautifully; but when it comes to action, if we are weak and undecided, we are of all beings most wretched. All mankind feel themselves weak, beset with infirmities, and surrounded with dangers; the acutest minds are the most conscious of difficulties and dangers. They want, above all things, a leader with that boldness, decision, and energy, which with shame they do not find in themselves. "Give us the man," shout the multitude, "who will step forward and take the responsibility." He is instantly the idol, the lord and the king among men. He, then, who would command among his fellows, must excel them more in energy of will than in power of intellect. QUIET LIVES. THE present has well been called an age of sensation. We have not only sensation songs, dances, and novels, but sensation lives, since our own partake more or less of that character, as proved by the teeming columns of the daily papers. In these days of railways, steam navigation, and penny posts, there is a thirst for chance and excitement that keeps the whirling ball of society in constant and ever-varying motion. Perhaps I myself have become so imbued with the spirit of the age that I could not endure the monotony of this quiet little market-town without the daily arrival of the mail-bags, or the occasional steam journey that, whirling me away to fresh sights and scenes, implants new ideas in my brain, new affections in my heart. Thus, looking from the window into the quiet streets sleeping in the sunlight, I watch the familiar faces pass-faces that have grown into my memory through familiarity from childhood-and dream of the silent history of their uneventful lives, speculating upon the secret that makes them endurable. I presume every life has this secret something the sunken pile that supports it above the seething billows below. Every leaf that trembles on its slender spray, every pebble that lies on the shingly beach, has a history eloquent of the power and goodness of One. Is it this story those quiet lives could tell? of a mechanically-arranged bell-my penny lying warmly in my palm ready to be exchanged for the "Child's Companion," which I monthly procured here. I was a nervous child, and it was usually with a very timid voice I asked for my magazine, for the proprietress of this establishment was an old maid of rather uncertain temper, and often spoke both abruptly and snappishly to children, yet we loved her for the kindness of heart we knew that rough manner only cloaked. Sometimes when she had given me those rarieties-a smile and kind word-I would go into the inner room to see her aunt, an old maiden lady who lived with her, and to whom she was much attached. How well I remember, after having heard of the existence of this attachment, I looked at Miss Burbage with wondering eyes; for it did not seem possible that one so brusque and energetic could ever be ruled by the softening influence of love. I did not know then the history of her quiet life. She is (for she exists still, though the old lady, her aunt, has been long since gathered to eternal rest) short and stout in figure, with a liking for smart colours in dress, developed once, I remember, in a many-hued tartan dress, that seems part of her very self in my childish memory. The cap that surrounds the bunches of iron grey curls has often flowers in its borders, but with age her taste has become subdued. Whether it be the smallness of the premises, Some rivers are made to rush onwards or an objection to the progress of art and with headlong force, others flow quietly, fashion, I know not, but she has never so fertilising as they flow, yet all roll towards far conceded to the usages of society as to the great ocean, and the same night awaits adopt crinoline, or wear her dresses longer us all! Since it is the spirit only that than to the tops of her boots-substantial makes a life sublime in the eye of the cloth boots, preventives of colds and rheu all-wise Heart Searcher, what is the sub-matism, so indifferently regarded by prelimity of these quiet lives? sent-day young ladyhood. Near the church, which forms the centrepiece of this congregation of houses, stands a small stationer's shop. I can see it as I write; its small-paned window, of glass boasting every variety of tint, from a bright yellow to a dingy green, full of tracts and magazines, interspersed with crossed leadpencils, brilliantly tinted sealing-wax, pictured cards, and wafer boxes. As a child I remember to have entered often at that door-the upper half of which always stands open, the lower part giving due notice of the entrance of a customer by the ringing Day after day, for as far back as I can look into the past, has her life been the same-the same weary round of duties, the same aims to be fulfilled, the same little joys, the same little sorrows, the quiet tenor of her uneventful life gliding onwards, onwards, while cataracts are roaring and whirlpools seething in the wide torrents of life, undeterred by the eddying current onwards to the broad shores of the eternal kingdom. It was in after years, when life's teaching had given me understanding of such sorrows as hers, that I learned her |