would not miss, and who might as well go to Kentucky and be shot as anything else!

Then again, rhubarb, when in season, will be found most beneficial in constipation-in fact, it is an infallible cure. Coffee will, in many cases, aid digestion. I have known the best results to follow from the habitual drinking of coffee after dinner. At the same time it cannot be universally recommended, but I should be glad to see it take the place of those intoxicants which are so much in use, and which are only productive of evil.

I think I have said enough to show that the diseases of the stomach can be remedied without recourse being had to drugs; and I put it to sensible men if it is not something worse than ridiculous to pour all manner of abominable drugs down their throats, when a much better effect can be produced by what may be called cathartic food? But no, they must have their "blue pill" and "black draught;" and there are some who are so wedded to these vile compounds, that they will neither give themselves any trouble to obviate the necessity for them, nor have recourse to what reason and common sense prescribe.

Before concluding my remarks on this subject, perhaps I ought to add a word or two on the importance of avoiding all kinds of food with the nutritive property too highly condensed. In proportion as balk is diminished and nutrition retained, in the same proportion will digestion become difficult. Those who are everlastingly eating bread and cakes made of very fine flour, will invariably suffer in this way, and for this very reason. In order to make food digestible, there must be a proper amount of bulk. Unbolted flour bread is infinitely more wholesome and digestible than that made from fine flour, because the bran increases the bulk, and causes the nutritive property to be less concentrated, while, at the same time, its effect on the intestinal canal is to stimulate and provoke to action. Sugar, honey, cream, &c., are most nutritious, but they are so condensed that if we were to eat much of either, we should soon become sick; but let them be eaten with other substances, and the quantity being increased, they neither clog the appetite nor impair digestion.

Culpable Indifference of the Church.

By the Rev. WM. CAINE, M.A., Manchester. It has for a long time painfully impressed itself on my mind, that the Christian Church in these countries is most culpably indifferent to the fearful miseries, both temporal and eternal, which are produced by the liquor-traffic existing amongst us. When we reflect that every week more than one thousand immortal souls of baptized and professing Christians-our countrymen and countrywomen-sink into everlasting perdition from the effects of this baneful traffic; and when we reflect on the value of even one of these undying souls, and its capability of enduring unending misery throughout eternity, it is calculated, I think, to make us shudder at the thought of not doing all that lies in our power to save even one soul of some poor brother or sister from endless woe. If the effects of this traffic were confined to the injury of the body, and the loss of property, and the diminution of earthly comfort and happiness, and did not extend to the immortal part of man-his soul-even then, it would be the duty of every good man to use all his influence to prevent such comparatively trivial evils. We are told in the Bible that "a righteous man regardeth the life of his beast," but, alas! the

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majority of the teachers of religion in this country, who are, very many of them, good and pious men, have so little regard for the eternal life and happiness of the rational and immortal beings committed to their charge for guidance and instruction, that they will not for their sake deny themselves the use of intoxicating drinks, although, in innumerable instances, these drinks prevent them seeing any fruit of their labours. What is to be done to rouse those who are appointed watchmen in the Church to a sense of their great responsibility, as told us in the thirty-third chapter of the book of the prophet Ezekiel ? We are told by God in that chapter that, if the watchman does not perform his duty and give warning of the approaching danger, the blood of those destroyed through his carelessness will be required at his hand. How solemn are these words! Oh! that every Christian minister laid them to heart, and acted according to them in reference to the accursed soul-and-body-destroying traffic in poisoning drinks! But the ministers of religion will not see what their duty is in this matter till the Holy Spirit enlightens them. I would, therefore, with all humility, suggest to all earnest Christians who are Teetotalers, and especially to all ministers and teachers of religion who see the evils of the liquor traffic and discountenance it in every way, that they should form themselves into a society or union for private prayer for the attainment of the two things which are absolutely necessary to us in our efforts to destroy the liquor traffic in these countries. I would humbly suggest that a certain hour at certain intervals should be agreed upon by the members of the society or union I have proposed to be formed, at which they should simultaneously offer up earnest prayers to Almighty God that He would grant us these two requests, viz., that He would put it into the hearts of all ministers and teachers of religion to abstain from intoxicating drinks, and that they should not only become total abstainers themselves, but also have the honesty and the courage to inculcate on their hearers that it is their bounden duty, as professing belief in the writings of the Old and New Testaments, to abstain entirely from, and not to touch, those drinks which are causing thousands on thousands of their poor brothers and sisters, believers in the same Saviour in whom they themselves believe, to stumble and fall and sink into everlasting ruin. See Proverbs xxiii. 29-32, Habakkuk ii. 15, Amos vi. 6, Romans xiv. 21, 1 Corinthians viii. 13, and Jude 23. I commend my suggestion to the prayerful consideration of all earnest Teetotal Christians.

When Crimson Clouds.

BY D. HERBISON.

WHEN crimson clouds have left the western sky,
And darkness gathers o'er the daisied lea,
To hear the sea-bird's wild and wailing cry,
Alone I wander by the surging sea:
While wave on wave breaks heavy on the strand,
With raptured soul I view the gloom around;
Amidst the spray in transport sweet I stand,
Pleased with the tempest's hoarse and hollow sound.
Oh! then I see the Hand that governs all,

And all my thoughts are sky-ward led away;
Upon His name devotedly I call,

Who has the power the deep sea's wrath to stay; And full of joy I lisp His praises there,

With every hope of bliss, above this world of care. Glenarm, June 28, 1863.

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Reformers.

By JAMES HAUGHTON, J.P.

ON two recent occasions, the excellent and the benevolent Lord Carlisle gave utterance to some sentiments strangely at variance with the generally received impression that he is a man whose mind is filled with noble thoughts, and that from his lips should proceed none but noble utterances. On the first of these occasions to which I allude, at a dinner given by our Lord Mayor, on the 10th Nov., 1862, to celebrate the majority of the Prince of Wales, his Excellency spoke in such glowing words of the generous wine cup," as were well calculated to allure and lead astray both the old and the young men by whom he was surrounded, and to keep alive in them their false estimate of the ruinous results of those drinking customs in which they were at the moment indulging; and in which a "silver-headed" man, as he designated himself, should be careful to repress indulgence, instead of exciting to excess by the use of glowing and unmeaning words; for to talk of the "generous wine cup" is unmeaning; and its sure effect, when coming from such a source, is, to cause a larger indulgence in that poison, alcohol, which has, for many generations past, produced untold misery in our country, without having imparted a single iota of good in return, to save it from the deserved anathema of God and man; and which is, even now, in this era of improved civilization, the great enemy to human happiness.

The second similar public eulogy on alcoholic liquors, proceeding from the lips of the foremost man in Ireland, of one, around whom all men gather with a feeling of affectionate interest as he walks abroad among us,-was spoken on the 1st of July, when his Excellency was engaged in preparing for the citizens of Dublin, what we all hope may prove an unfailing and abundant supply of that healthful beverage which God liberally supplies to gladden His animate and inanimate creation-pure cold water. On the first day of July, when our popular Viceroy was surrounded by the Corporation of this city, in that valley which is intended to be, in all future time, the bounteous reservoir of that pure beverage which the thirsty all drink with delight, spoke again disparagingly of crystal water, by placing it beneath those "fire-waters" which are a ruin to the bodies and the souls of men; and which he again recommended as "the more generous beverages which are spread before you," but which are soon found to "bite like a serpent, and sting like an adder.”

Will Lord Carlisle, or any other man of intelligence and learning, tell us, in what consists the "generous" qualities of alcohol. It upsets the reasoning power of man, and reduces him below the level of the beasts of the field. Is this a generous quality? It turns the affectionate husband and the fond father, into a savage as ruthless as the hungry tiger. Is this another of its generous qualities? It seizes hold on many of the class represented by Lord Carlisle, and even Royalty itself is frequently grasped in its horrid fangs; and the toiling multitude are, in numberless instances, ruined and brutalized by this "generous beverage." It is the parent of most of the crime which defaces our civilization; it crowds our lunatic asylums with those hapless victims of its paralyzing influences, who are at once the objects of our pity and our fear. It fills the land with poverty and destitution, causing the annual expenditure of millions of

sums of money are wasted in vain efforts to stem the flowing tide of misery which is its constant attendant.

I am unable to detect in any of these results, or in the unnamed multitudinous miseries which follow on its train, any shadow even of a "generous" quality; and Lord Carlisle, in his public eulogies on this poison, has failed to point out to us any one blessing to humanity which accompanies it in its career of mischief, that compensates in the smallest measure for all the unspeakable degradation and ruin in creates.

What is the meaning of this madness which impels the rich and the poor-the learned and the unlearned-the patrician and the child of toil-to rush, day by day, into the arms of their unrelenting enemy? Can human reason devise no means of putting an end to this folly? Science, which teaches us the laws of our being, pronounces our drinking usages inimical to these laws; experience in all ages and in all climes loudly proclaims that they are ever at war with man's happiness; and yet all classes unite in refusing to be guided by those dictates of wisdom, which tell us to put them away altogether, it being utterly vain and hopeless that men can use them in such moderation as to render them innocuous. There is not a man of sound intellect to be found who does not know that the way in which alcoholic liquors are generally used is mischievous, even among those who use them in what is called moderation; and that they are utterly ruinous to the health and the virtue of multitudes.

There is a large and increasing minority in these kingdoms, favourable to the total abolition of our drinking usages; let these men and women be firm in their purpose and earnest in the promulgation of their opinions, and they must succeed, in the long run, in overcoming the difficulties which beset our path in this great reform, for it is a work in the success of which the happiness of our race is involved. Disease and pain, crime and misery, pauperism and destitution, have ever tracked the footsteps of the destroyer, alcohol; and such must ever be his gloomy body-guard, until man rises up in the full power of his noble lineage, and bids the demon begone for ever. And what is to prevent this noble determination, which would shed throughout all our borders the perennial sunshine of prosperity and happiness? Naught but a cowardly yielding to an insatiable appetite, and an unmanly acquiesence in social and public drinking habits, which our reason tells us are pernicious, and therefore to be avoided.

Temperance reformers !-Retreat not one step from the high ground you have secured; your position is unassailable by any rational argument; it is firm as the foundations of eternal truth, it cannot be overtbrown. Man's happiness is your noble aim, and God's own refulgence lights you on to victory. Dublin, Aug., 1863.

A BEAUTIFUL IDEA.-In the mountains of the Tyrol hundreds of the women and children come out when it is bed time, and sing their national song until they hear their husbands, fathers, or brothers answer them from the hills on their return home. On the shores of the Adriatic, the wives of the fishermen come down about sunset and sing a melody. They sing the first verse and listen for some time; they then sing the second verse, and wait until they hear the answer from the fishermen, who are thus guided by the sounds to their own village.

Many good people seem quite to forget that there is an idolatry of great names as well as of graven images.

Rough Waters.

CHAPTER XIV.

TELLS OF ONE WHO WAS NOT WEARY IN WELL-DOING.

THE way in which Mr. Catchwell got on the scent of Singleton was this-As soon as he returned to London, he went at once to Mr. Gilby's to announce his failure, which he did with the unfailing "never mind, sar, I'll nab him yet;" to which Mr. Gilby, much to his astonishment, said, "Well, I'm glad he's off, for I have heard this morning that his sister is dyingindeed, from this letter it appears they are all dying of hunger." And Mr. Gilby, hard, stern man as he was, shaded his eyes with the letter he held in his hand, for something very like a tear was there. "The title-deeds," he added, after a pause, "will give me some trouble; but I understand from Butt that the matter wont be so serious as I at first anticipated."

Catchwell cared in reality very little about the forged cheque of a thousand pounds or the stolen title-deeds, but he cared a good deal about his own reputation, and felt very much annoyed that a reward of £100 had slipped through his fingers.

"Would you let me see that letter, sar." He just glanced at the letter, and, taking up his hat, merely remarked, “I must be off, and you'll hear from me soon again." He kept watch for a couple of days in Elephant Row, and at last, when just going away in despair, he arrested young Singleton as we told in the last chapter.

It was a terrible blow to Adelaide; she saw the corpse of a sister leave the door a few minutes ago, and before the hearse was quite out of her sight, her brother is dragged away to jail, guilty of forgeryan act for which a few years before he would have forfeited his life on the gallows. Though the blow was severe she felt equal to the emergency, and in an instant her resolution was taken; she would conceal the additional cause of sorrow from her wretched mother, and that very evening go and see Mrs. Letstieg. In all her late trials Mrs. Letstieg had been a veritable guardian angel, and in that direction now she saw help.

Poor girl! in her ignorance of the world she did not know the full extent of the crime for which her brother had been arrested, she only thought of the source from which help had come so often, and she felt assured it would not fail her now. 'Tis well, when troubles come, to have a refuge, a sure and certain abiding place, where one may safely remain until the calamity be over-past, and next to our good and gracious God, a faithful friend is the best and surest retreat.

In eager

Away she went to Mrs. Letstieg with the same hopeful heart that I have seen poor emigrants driven from their hearths, crowd our quays in expectation of getting that comfort and peace in a foreign land which was denied them in their own. haste Adelaide Singleton went to 14, Russell Square. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Letstieg was at home, so she waited for their return with an anxious beating heart. She had now a few minutes for reflection, and she was almost tempted to go away without seeing them.

"What right have I," she thought, "to trouble them with my sorrows. Until the last week they have been perfect strangers to me. Perhaps they may think that I am now taking advantage of their kindness, and that, because they voluntarily helped us in our terrible difficulties, I now claim their assistance." These reflections forced themselves upon her

and made her feel almost inclined to go away-but where would she go-her mother now lay griefstricken in the bed from which Amy, her own darling sister, had been carried to the grave a few hours ago-how could she tell Henry of this fresh sorrow— poor Henry upon whose face the mysterious shadow of death was fast creeping. She thought of one, but he was far away he had known them in happy days, and in her secret heart she kept his image cherished like some holy thing. Francis James Burcher had been the playmate of her childhood, and the little presents which he had given her had been treasured up with religious care. Four years ago he had been ordained and went to Australia. No words of love, in the usual acceptation of the term had been spokenno vows had been pledged, but there was that impression left on her mind and heart which no time or distance could efface. At his departure he gave her that volume of Tennyson's poems which was so near going to the pawn-office. She heard but twice from him, and these letters contained some of those mysterious hints which no heart can interpret but that for which and to which they are uttered. He spoke hopefully of his prospects-spoke of soon coming over-expressed his hope that all his dear friends would be glad to see him, and subscribed himself--"Ever, dear Adelaide, your attached FRANCIS J. BURCHER."

For the last two years she had never heard from him. How strange now it appeared, even to herself, that she did not ask Mrs. Letstieg about him-she knew him, she heard him speak of her, and now she recalled the unutterable look of sadness on Mrs. Letstieg's face as she said, "And you are the Miss Singleton he so often spoke about."

What unaccountable beings we are! In our joyous happy moments how often do sad and bitter thoughts intrude themselves upon us, unwelcome visitors, checking our very smile, and bringing a tear into eyes so bright but a moment ago. On the other hand, have we not known thoughts as bitter as death dispelled for a little, by some sweet remembrance of the past, which comes unbidden, but not unwelcome. What had poor Adelaide Singleton to do at such a time with her pleasing recollections? troubles were round about her, yet, while waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Letstieg, the days of childhood, the hours of happiness, which seemed like another existence, were as vividly before her as if they had been of yesterday, and all these day-dreams were connected with Frank Burcher. Happy are they who have a bright spot in their hearts, a treasured image on which they can look with comfort.

A loud knock at the door dispelled her reveries, and Mr. and Mrs. Letstieg entered the drawing-room. "No fresh sorrow I hope, Adelaide dear," said Mrs. Letstieg, the moment she saw Adelaide Singleton. Then Adelaide told all about her brother; when she mentioned Mr. Gilby's name, Mr. Letstieg turned round from the mantel-piece on which he was leaning, and asked, in rather a quick tone,

"Mr. Gilby, of Street, formerly a Notary Public. ?"

"Yes, sir," said poor Adelaide.

"To what amount was the bill your brother forged?" "It was to a very large amount, several hundreds, I think."

"Is he, do you think, really sorry for the crime he has committed ?"

“Oh, sir, he has been already greatly punished; I believe he would now gladly accept the most menial employment to earn an honest livelihood. We, too, have suffered for his crime."

"I know that my dear girl," he said, in that pleasing tone which went straight to her heart.

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.

CHAPTER XV.

A LOOK BELOW THE SURFACE.

"Ir is better to bear the ills we have, than fly to others we know not of," was felt and acknowledged by many a heart before Shakspeare gave it utterance, and I suppose many have expressed, in homely language, the lines of Tupper

"A bold man or a fool must he be who would change his lot with another;

It were a fearful bargain, and mercy hath lovingly refused; For we know the worst of ourselves, but the secrets of another we see not,

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

As parting streams, both to ourselves were lost.
We were one mass: we could not give or take
But from the same; for he was I, I he.

If I have any joy when thou art absent,
I grudge it to myself; methinks I rob
Thee of thy part."

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. One 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 sinfal, our child has been taken from us, and it is our daty 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,

"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 consumption of red wine shows a falling off of 21 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.