A SUMMER SCENE. 'Midst velvet mosses, dewy green, And gleaming through the arching trees The brook's low song is sweet and sad, Mourning for spring's dead flowers. That love, life's truth should show. Clasping in sweet embrace; And as the sunshine steals the dew And when the angry winter wind And heav'n o'erhung with cloud, No more towards heaven look. MEMORIES. ELLYS H. ERLE. THEY come to me oft in the twilight hour, Again at their bidding, before mine eyes, "LONGEVITY OF PLANTS.-No one ha entered nature through its 'gate beauti fal,' the world of plants, without soon discovering that the duration of life is here of three general denominations. Some species are annual, or rather semi-annual, living from spring only to the close of the autumn of the same year; others are biennial, living to the close of the second autumn but never beyond it; the greater part are perennial, or competent to live for a long series of years. The perennials exhibits as great diversity in lease of life as the different species of animals Some decay in as few as four or five years; others, often remarkable for their odoriferous and balsamic qualities, as sage, balm, and lavender, endure for ten or more. Next come the larger and robuster kind of shrubs, as rhododendrons and azaleas; then such trees as are of rapid growth, and the substance of which is soft, as the poplar and willow; and lastly, those mighty, slow-growing, solid-wooded pillars of the forest, as the cedar and oak, at whose feet whole nations rise and fall. How vast are the periods of life allotted to the longæval trees may be judged from the following list of ages known to have been reached by patriarchs of the respective kinds:-elm, 335 years; ivy, 450; maple, 516; larch, 576; orange, 630; cypress, 800; walnut, 900; oriental plane, 1000; lime, 1100; spruce, 1200; oak, 1500; cedar, 2000; schuberta, 3000; yew, 3200. Well might the old preacher of Alexandria discern in a tree the terrestrial image of heavenly truth."-Leo Grindor. "In this world we do not so much live as prepare to live, nor enjoy nature's sweet amenities so much as prepare to enjoy them. We shall leave it, but we shall not lose its beauty; we shall learn rather how most thoroughly to delight And my heart grows sad, while the hot tears flow; in it, often turning in pleased remem- I think of the absent, to me so dear, And, "thinking." they seem to become more near. brance to those early days which now we reckon as our life-time, and to that little globe which was our birth-place, and the sphere of our education."-Ibid. THE HOUSEWIFE'S MISCELLANY. 15. PARTRIDGES TO ROAST.-If you buy your birds, chose young ones with dark-coloured bills, and yellowish legs, and let them hang a few days, according to discretion, or the flesh will be flavourless and tough. It is impossible to say how long a time should intervene between killing and cooking, as the very morsel that would by some persons be esteemed a bonne bouche would be considered offensive by others. Your birds will be all the better for being drawn as soon after they come to to hand as possible, they may be trussed either with, or without the head; the latter way is now supposed to be more fashionable; but carefully refrain from the common practice of sticking one leg through another, as that very much interferes with the carver's manipulation. Pluck and draw the partridge, and wipe it carefully, inside and out; you cut off the head, leave sufficient skin on the neck to skewer back, and having brought the legs close to the breast, pass a skewer through the pinions, and the thick part of the thigh. If you prefer to leave the head on, bring it round, and fix it on the point of the skewer. Thus having your bird firmly and nicely trussed, roast it before a clear bright fire, from twenty to twenty-five minutes, keeping it well basted, and flouring and frothing it well a few minutes before ready. Serving-up with gravy and bread sauce, pouring a little of the former over the bird. if 16. TAINTED GAME.-If partridges or grouse reach you too far "gone" for your palate, immediately have them carefully picked, drawn, and then immerse them in new milk for twelve or eighteen hours. They will then be quite fit for cooking and their tenderness and delicacy of flavour will be unsurpassed. I have tried the same method with a turkey, rather “too high." 17. BREAD SAUCE.-Break three quarters of a pound of stale bread into small pieces, carefully excluding any crusty and outside bits, having previously simmered till quite tender, an onion well peeled and quartered, in a pint of milk. Put the crumbs into a very clean saucepan, and if you like the flavour a small teaspoonful of sliced onion, chopped, or rather minced, as finely as possible. Pour over the milk, taking away the onion simmered in it, cover it up, and let it stand for an hour to soak. Then with a fork beat it quite smooth, and season with a very little powdered mace, cayenne and salt to taste, adding one ounce of butter; give the whole a boil, stirring all the time, and it is ready to serve. A amall quantity of cream, added at the last moment, makes the sauce richer and smoother. Common white pepper may take the place of cayenne, a few peppercorns may be simmered in the milk, but they should be extracted before sending to table. 18. GRAVY FOR GAME.-Cut up half-a-pound of gravy beef in small pieces, and nick in dice fashion a pennyworth of melt; put the meat into a stewpan with a pint of cold water, a small onion or shalot, half a teaspoonful of salt, and pepper to taste. Let the whole simmer gently three hoursit must never boil fast. A short time before required, blend with cold water a good half-teaspoonful of arrowroot, which pour into the gravy and keep stirring, adding one tablespoonful of mushroom ketchup, or Lea and Perrins' Worcestersauce. Let it quite boil, then strain off, and pour into a tureen, serving very hot. 19. RABBIT PIE-Cut up one or two rabbits, according to their size and your requirements, into joints, as when you carve them at table. Lay them flat in an earthen pan, in layers, adding pepper and salt, and a very fine slice of onion between Pour in a little water, or each layer of meat. good broth if you have it, just sufficient to cover the rabbit, cover close and stew gently in the oven till quite tender. Then place the joints in a suitable pie-dish, and grate a little nutmeg between the layers of rabbit, placing alternate layers of very thin slices of cooked ham or bacon, and of hard boiled eggs-two will be sufficient for the pie, three at the outside, Mix with the gravy about a thimbleful of arrowroot well blended and a teaspoonful of mushroom, or Lea and Perrins' sauce, and pour over, or let it stand till the morrow. Then add the crust, and bake till the pastry be of a light brown. Serve hot. If you like the liver, chop it up fine and add it with the layers of meat: any superfluity of cold roast veal may be used up in this pie, slice it very thin and add it to the rabbit, &c. Some people pour a little onion-sauce over, before putting on the crust: this is quite optional: some also add a tablespoonful of port wine to the gravy, which is also a matter of private judgment, and some consider a few small forcemeat balls an improvement to the pie. 20. ROAST GOOSE.-First of all, the seasoning, into boiling water, and let them simmer five to have ready. Peel four large onions, put them minutes or even longer, if you object to the strong raw flavour; also for a couple of minutes, let ten sage leaves lie in scalding water. Chop both onions and sage very small; add four ounces of breadcrumbs, one ounce of butter, part of the liver of the goose slightly simmered and finely minced, salt and pepper at discretion, and then work all together with the yolk and white of an egg. Select and yellow feet-red feet show an old bird. If the a goose with a clean white skin, plump breast, weather permits a few days hanging greatly improves the flavour. Having feathered, singed, drawn, and well washed and wiped your goose, cut off the neck close to the back, leaving enough skin to turn over. Truss it; make a hole in the skin sufficiently large to admit the seasoning, put it into the body of the goose, giving it space wherein to swell, under the action of the fire, and secure it firmly at both ends, by passing the end of the rump through the hole made in the skin, and tying down the skin of the neck to the back, by this means you will not lose the seasoning in cooking. Roast it before a brisk fire from one half to EDITORIAL CORRESPONDENCE. BIBLIOPHILUS.-Your essay has safely reached us. Thanks for it; it shall be inserted as soon as space will permit. BARBARA HALIFAX.-Your MS. has safely arrived. We are going to write to you as soon as leisure will permit. Business of a serious nature, tiresomely protracted by legal delays, is detaining us in London, and preventing us from giving that full attention to our valued contributors which is our wont, and which is most certainly their just due. IVY GREEN. We thank you for your kind contributions, but your letter was over-weight. This has occurred so often lately that we cannot help saying to several of our friends, that where the slightest doubt exists "two heads are better than one." ZELICA.-"Resignation" has been received, and is heartily welcome. R. T. F., Sunderland.-The word " refers to the music only. original" EMMA FRANCIS.-Leo Grindon's book, entitled "Life: its Nature, Varieties, and Phenomena," is published by F. Pitman, 20, Paternoster-row. Mr. Grindon is also the author of a comprehensive "Flora." A. HUGHES, Ewb Vale.-We repeat the announcement made in last month's correspondence-our carte de visite can be obtained for thirteen stamps from the photographer, Mr. Johnstone, 112, New-street, Birmingham. ALBAN EBURY.-MS. received, with thanks. BABY'S NAMMA.-The half-yearly volume, completed in June, is published by Houlston and Wright, Paternoster-row. Your very kind and pleasant letter is fully appreciated. HOTSPUR.—We were glad to see your signature again, and will not scold you for playing truant so long. Though not noticed in the Editorial Corres pondence, by reason of private communica pretty regularly carried on, nearly all the contributors still maintain their relations the "F.F." SYMINGTON, STANTONVILLE, GIPSY, CARACTIC 12th of each month, The Editor of the 'Family Friend,' Erdington, Also, Books and Music for review: but all orders MSS. sent for insertion cannot, expi under special circumstances, be returned. Our friends are therefore requested to keep copies of may not immediately reply to queries addressed to short pieces, Poems, Riddles, &e. Though we us, Subscribers must not imagine thrmative neglected. tir La a SIR JULIAN'S WIFE. BY EMMA JANE WORBOISE, AUTHOR OF "LABOUR AND WAIT," "THORNYCROFT HALL,' CHAPTER XIII. LIFE IN FAIRY LAND. "Ir is Fairy-land! absolutely Fairy-land!" said Ethel, as she stood. upon the sloping lawn in front of Birksfell Cottage. She and her friends had been there a week, and Lady Camersfield wished to inquire whether her enthusiasm was at all abated since the first evening of her arrival. "No, indeed," she said presently, in answer to some question of the kind: "the beauty grows upon me; I think it far fairer than when I first saw it, as we travelled along the Patterdale Road, some days ago; and then, though always really the same, the mountains change so much this morning they seemed wrapped in a lovely transparent veil-all floating, shimmering silver; at noon, a pale violet-coloured mist just shrouded, without concealing them; and now the air is clear about them, and their crags and steeps are mirrored in the lake below-only the light that rests upon their highest peaks is rosy, like one sees it sometimes in painted landscapes by great masters." "Yes; as some female Solon says: Like the best of friends, whose humour may occasionally vary; but whose elements of character, comprehending all for which we love them, experience no change." "How dreadfully sententious!" exclaimed Julian; "quite a paragraph for a series of Moral Reflections for Young Ladies,' by Mrs. Teachemall !" "I do not quite like it," was Ethel's thoughtful, yet hesitating rejoinder. "State your objections, s'il vous plait, chère mademoiselle," said Julian deferentially. "I am anxious to discover whether there exists any thing like reciprocity of sentiment on the subject in question." "I do not like the idea of best friends' having 'humours,"" returned Ethel, colouring at her own boldness; and looking at the same time so very lovely, that Sir Julian cared little what her speech might be, if only she would stand there, in the rosy evening twilight, herself the fairest feature in the Fairy-land around them. "I think," she continued, "that best friends' are very rare, and that the very fact of their having 'humours' would always prevent their being ranked as best.'" VOL. VIII.-NEW SERIES. U "But what do you call 'humours'?" asked Lady Camersfield. "I suppose they are the same as tempers, for we tell children not to be humoursome; and tempers, or humours, it seems to me, would interfere very much with closest friendships." "They would, indeed," interposed Sir Julian emphatically. "You are right, Ethel, they do. I have seen it in many instances; more than I can name. I have known persons truly and unselfishly attached to each other-persons who would have died, I verily believe, the one for the other, had the necessity existed-yet the misery of each other's life, simply by giving way unrestrainedly to tempers, alias humours. We may have friends, and good friends too, who torment us by their whims and their inconstant moods; but best friends, our other and second selves, they can never, never be." "Do you not both require very much from your best friends?" asked Lady Camersfield. Julian declared that he only required what was absolutely essential, and what he was quite prepared to render in any case of love or friendship. But Ethel feared that she had been speaking presumptuously, and hastened to explain: "Ah, dear Lady Camersfield, if I have formed too high an idea of what friendship's claims should be, it is because I myself have been so blessed in experiencing what best friends really are. In you I find no changes of temper; your spirits vary indeed; if they did not, it would be strange, and argue more of insensibility than is your portion. But you are never out of humour without a cause: in the morning cordial and affectionate; in the evening stiff, cold, and even snappish; and dear Mr. and Mrs. Dixon are the same-they are never causelessly put out. So you see I very naturally form a lofty estimate of the nature of a real 'best friend."" They were interrupted by the appearance of a servant carrying a letter: he had found it at the village post-office; and it ought to have been delivered in the morning. He came across the lawn to the place where they were standing, and presented the salver to Lady Camersfield. The letter was deeply edged, and sealed with black. "Who can this be from ?" soliloquised her ladyship, turning the missive over and over, and examining the post-mark, seal, and address, as we are all in the habit of doing when we receive the epistle of an unknown correspondent, rather than remove the envelope and acquaint ourselves with the contents, which would certainly unravel the mystery without any further speculation. Lady Camersfield handed the letter to her nephew. "Do you recognise the handwriting, Julian ?" "No, indeed, ma tante; but it is clearly the hand of a lady,—and a young lady, too; and it is a remarkably clear and vigorous hand, with character in it, and sound feminine judgment, and yet by no means distinctive of that horror of horrors-a strong-minded woman!'--a creature tall, of |