wandered over acres of flowering tea-plants, and made the wishy-washy, or over-boiled decoctions of other housewives seem but weedy and rank abominations. If the refined and sensitive young pastor kept within his own breast many thoughts, dreams, and regrets he would fain have shared with a congenial mate, it should have been a compensation that the shirt-front covering the sealed repository of these was snowy and glossy as a brannew tomb-stone; that the heels of his socks were always run before they went on his feet, and that in the years of their wedded life he never found "a button off." Mr. Kirke believed fully all his parishioners said when they assured him that he had a pattern wife, and that he ought to take good care of her, since he would never find another like her. She worked steadily and diligentlyshe was never fussy "-up to the day on which Eunice's little brother was born. "Overdid herself," said doctor and gossips, while her husband blamed himself bitterly for not having taken thought to spare her who had served him to the death. The death that came so swiftly and easily, she had time for neither parting word nor kiss.

66

"I am tired, I believe," she murmured to the nurse. Unused to complain, she said it deprecatingly even in mortal weakness. "Do you think that I might just take a little nap? If Mr. Kirke should want for anything, don't hesitate to wake me at once." With that she turned her face to the wall and died-" fell asleep," said her head-stone. Her baby was buried with her.

This was Eunice's mother. Four years after the decease, the widower met Ginevra Lanneau at a wateringplace whither he had gone for health, and she for distraction from certain troublesome memories. Whatever may have been her faults and weaknesses; whatever the motives for her marriage and the causes of her subsequent invalidism and melancholy, this good man had worshipped her with entireness of devotion; had mourned her with an intensity of anguish that bleached his locks; bent his stately form toward the earth that had swallowed up his idol; deafened him to the calls of ambition that urged him to leave a seclusion endeared to him as her home and burial-place.

But for all this, Eunice was his right hand, in Parsonage and in parish. He "really would have no excuse for a third marriage," was a common saying in the neighbourhood" with such a daughter to keep his house and 'do for him.'" If the spirit of the mother were permitted to watch her child's daily walk and conversation, it must have heightened her beatitude to be thus assured that "Mr. Kirke" was not likely, while Eunice lived, "to want for anything." Her father's trust in her discretion was implicit, and when she unblushingly asked him to "contrive" to secure for her a tête-à-tête with a young and attractive man, he made no demur, formed no conjectures. Nor did he doubt that the matter of her communication to Mr. Wyllys was, in some way, essential to Jessie's weal. The first and abiding thought

with both was 66 the child," he had yet made up his mind to part with for a little while.

A

Eunice was sewing by the shaded parlour lamp. Wyllys, while he talked to both sisters, looked quite as often at her as at Jessie. He was in the mood for enjoying himself, and his surroundings were propitious. He had had an excellent supper. Eunice had inherited her mother's taste and skill in the domestic department. Her dainty cookery would have done credit to a salaried chef, said Mr. Wyllys, than whom there were few better judges of all that pertained to the gratification of the flesh. wood fire burned busily and gaily upon the castellated fire-dogs of shining brass that flashed back the illumination from a hundred curves and points. There was a breath of tea-roses and mignonette in the air, for the shelf running around the inside of the oriel was filed with plants; crimson curtains had taken the place of muslin, at the other windows. A November gale--"a dry storm -was rising without, It was pleasant, while hearkening to its blustering, to bethink himself that he had not to breast it in a tramp back to the hotel, he having accepted Mr. Kirke's invitation to sleep at the parsonage. The recollection of his disagreeable journey, now that he was rested, warmed, and filled, was another element in his present content. The old-fashioned parlour, with its quaint and massive furniture, were more to his liking than the polish and glow of the modern "suite of rooms" every prosperous mechanic's wife now regards as one of the necessaries of life. From his leisurely and approving survey of the apartment, his eyes came back to dwell longest upon Eunice:

She wore a brown merino, that made no noise when she moved, and fell in classic folds about her as she sat in her straight-backed chair. A knot of blue ribbon joined her crimped ruffle above the high-necked dress, and frills of the same material were at her wrists. The light, strained through the ground-glass shade, made her skin seem fair and fresh as that of a little child, while it did not blur the clear chiselling of her features. Her hands were shapely, her motions replete with quiet grace. The highbred lady, stainless in deed as single in motive, spoke in the fearless, tranquil eyes and composed demeanour.

"She rests me!" said the connoisseur in womanly loveliness, to his appreciative self. "If I were obliged to marry I am not sure she would not suit me better than this restless gipsy, who keeps one perpetually upon the qui vive by her sharp interrogations, her repartee, and variable moods. To secure the perfection of comfort, a man should be able to flirt with one all day, and come home at evening to recover from his dazed feverishness, in the cool semi-twilight of the other's presence. I must find out, some day, if she has ever been in love. I think not. There is a dewy firmness in the texture of her heart that seldom outlasts the fires of even a mild passion -such a timid flame as the pastor's daughter might conscientiously feel for some pious under-shepherd or amorous evangelist."

At this precise instant, Jessie-who had been flitting restlessly about the room, picking dead leaves from the geraniums, and seed-vessels from verbenas and mignonette, tossing them, one at a time, into the fire, and pensively watching the blaze feed upon them; parting the curtains, to press her face against the glass "to see whether it rained," stopping once in a while to lean on her sister's chair and address a question to her or Orrin-obeyed her father's summons to his study. The two left at the fireside followed her to the door with their eyes, then these met. Eunice answered the questioning of Orrin's.

"She is over-excited to-night. But there is a nervous restlessness about her of late that makes me anxious. I hope much for her from the proposed change of air and

She laid aside her work, neatly folded; put scissors and thimble in their cases, and the cases in her workbox, and calmly confronted her companion.

"Mr. Wyllys, I wish to say a word to you respecting my sister's antecedents before she goes to Mrs. Baxter."

Without a symptom of surprise, he bowed, and exchanged his seat for one near the stand by which she sat. In this one action, he accepted her confidence, and put his services at her disposal should she desire them.

"From the description of this lady, given by yourself and my father, I infer that she is affectionate and voluble. She will be likely to impart to Jessie all she knows of her mother's history, and question her concerning her own. childish recollections. I have thought it best that you should hear the truth upon a subject that is rarely alluded to in our family. My father talked freely of it with Mr. Fordham before giving his sanction to his engagement with Jessie; but he has not spoken of it to me in many years-never to my sister. Should a garbled version of a story which is sad enough in itself, reach her ears, it would distress and bewilder her if there were no one near who could correct the mis-statement. My stepmother never recovered the natural tone of her health and spirits after my sister's birth. Her malady took the form of a gentle melancholy, indifference to domestic and neighbourhood interests, varied at times by fits of wild weeping, so violent that she was confined to her couch with headache and debility for several days after each. She talked rationally when drawn into conversation, expressing herself upon every topic discussed with clearness and intelligence; but the spring of action was gone. She never complained of bodily pain; and made no unreasonable demands upon the time and patience of those about her. Nor did she require to be humoured and amused as is the way of most sufferers from confirmed hysteria. She read much and wrote more, burning her manuscripts, however, as fast as they were finished. She drew, too, rapidly and well, and upon these occupations expended what little energy of mind and body remained to her after the illness that had nearly cost her her life. We guarded her from intrusion and uncharitable remark as far as we could. My nurse, an elderly widow, was then

alive, and was our housekeeper, her daughter being our only other servant. How the report originated, I cannot say-probably from some indiscreet remark let fall by this daughter, who has now a home of her own some miles away-but within the year, a rumour has been brought to me that Jessie's mother died a lunatic. It is possible Mrs. Baxter has likewise heard such. If she has, and should be so imprudent as to repeat it to you, so unfeeling as to hint it to the daughter of that unhappy lady, may I rely upon you to tell my sister the exact truth? My step-mother lived and died a sane woman-as sane as I am this moment. Jessie is impressible and ardent. Her love for her mother is a passion. It would nearly kill her if this slander were retailed to her."

She had made her little speech; summed up the case, and offered her appeal with such simplicity, such deft moderation, as challenged the lawyer's admiration. His reply was directly to the purpose.

"You may depend upon me, Miss Kirke. I hope, with you, that I shall never be called upon to fulfil the trust with which you have honoured me. I am confident that Mrs. Baxter is ignorant of the particulars of her cousin's ill-health. She has spoken to me with apparent frankness of her early life-of her marriage, and the seclusion that followed it."

"For which she blames my father!" interrupted Eunice, red indignation staining her fair face. "Because he would not subject his wife to the indifferent or pitying observation of those who had been the associates of her brilliant girlhood; because he indulged her longing for solitude and quiet, guarded her sedulously and tenderly from all that could tax and jar upon her tortured nerves, he fell under their ban! He gave me some letters to examine and file-or burn, if I thought fit-ten years ago. Among them I found one from Mrs. Baxter -one from another cousin of Ginevra Lanneau. They were written to him just after her death. Both reproached him-Mrs. Baxter (then Miss Jane Lanneau) gently, the other harshly, for separating his young wife from her friends and immersing her in a savage solitude, where, cut off from all congenial associations, a nature so refined as hers could not but pine itself so death.' I do not quote from Mrs. Baxter. If she had upbraided the best of men and most loving of husbands in these terms, Jessie should never enter her house, unless under my protest."

"You are right. But, believe me, she will be safe and happy in Mrs. Baxter's care. Her goodness of heart is undeniable; her impulses are amiable, and she is, moreover, a woman of sound principles and genuine piety. She is vain, but never unkind or censorious. She always reminds me of the pretty bas bleu immortalized by the 'Spectator'-or is it the 'Tatler '? When' says the essayist she would look languishing, there is a fine thing to be said at the same time that spoils all. Thus, the unhappy Merab, although a wit and a beauty, hath not the credit of being either, and all because she would

be both.' Our Hamilton Merab has sterling traits, nevertheless, and is incapable of using the language you have quoted. No one but a vulgar idiot could apply it to Mr. Kirke. The writer had, I take it, never seen him. You have every reason to be proud of your father, Miss Eunice. He is that best work of the Creator-a Christian gentleman, I say it without reverence,-a prince of the blood royal."

The golden lights glanced up from the dark wells of her eyes; her smile was grateful and exultant.

"Thank you! I know you mean what you say, and it is but the truth."

Neither spoke for a brief space. The soughing of the pine-tree was annoyingly continuous to Orrin's ear; the fire-flashes were silent. He tried to forget the vexing sound in remarking that Eunice's bent profile showed against the dark wood of the high, carved mantel, clear and fine as a cameo cutting, but it would be heard.

"You were very young at the time of your stepmother's death to be your father's assistant and coadviser," he said, to prevent an awkward break in their talk. “I am surprised at the accuracy of your recollec

tions."

"I was fifteen. The elder daughter of a family early learns to assume and to bear domestic cares; is more mature at the same age than are those who come after her. I remember my own mother, who died eleven years earlier than did Jessie's. I was thirty last

month."

She picked up her sowing without a flutter or a blush, and Orrin, not daring to offer her the flimsy compliment of incredulity he would have paid another woman who had volunteered a confession disparaging to her personal charms, was still casting about in his mind for words that should praise, yet not offend, when his oppportunity was lost through Jessie's return to the room.

A

ROYAL marriage has a right to precedence in our notes. The Crown Princess of Belgium has married Prince Philip of Saxony. The bride wanted a few days of completing her seventeenth year; the bridegroom is nearly thirty-one-not a very great disparity, and which will apparently diminish as the parties grow older. The happy prince is a member of the younger branch of the house of Coburg-Gotha, and nephew of the King of Portugal. The wedding was a splendid affair. The Prince of Wales was present, as was fitting, for both bride and bridegroom are, through the late King Leopold of Belgium and the Prince Consort, connected with the English royal family. It is pleasant to know that, as in the case of royal marriages for some years past, the mutual inclinations of the parties to the contract had the first consideration. In the good old times it would have been a political heresy to suggest that it was of the smallest possible consequence that the young prince and princess who were to be united should care for each, or even see each other previous to the knot being tied. Political convenience, or what was supposed to be such, was alone thought of, and the engagement was made, not by the parties themselves, in the whispered accents of love, but by ambassadors, who generally haggled considerably about terms. Our present royal family set a better example, which is being followed at other courts: but our Queen's uncles were not allowed much choice, and, notoriously, King George IV. was married to a princess he had never seen, and whom he heartily disliked when he did see her, with lamentable consequences, familiar to every reader of modern history.

It is rather amusing to note that the King of the Belgians conformed strictly to the ordinary civil law of

the country in the mode of announcing this marriage, by having the names of his daughter and the bridegroom posted at the gate of the Hotel de Ville in Brussels, in the usual list of marriages to take place. Directly following, in the official document, the names of "Florian Abbs, butler, and Agnes Schiffer, cook," and preceding, those of "Isidore Fuchs, market-gardener, and Augusta Weinbrenner, no profession," appeared the announcement of the coming marriage of "S. A. R. Prince FerdinandPhilippe-Raphael de Cobourg and Gotha" with "S. A. R. Madame la Princesse Louise-Marie-Amelie, domicilié à Bruxelles." This mode of announcing the union of such distinguished persons ought to satisfy the most ardent admirer of the simplicity of Republicanism.

It was apprehended at one time that the Prince of Wales's presence at the royal nuptials might have been prevented by the alarming illness of his youngest brother. But we are pleased to say that Prince Leopold has nearly recovered his strength, and that all dangerous symptoms had disappeared early in the month. His frequent illness makes him the cause of continual anxiety to Her Majesty, who is we need not be reminded, although some would-be satirists appear either to forget or to be unable to appreciate the fact-a woman and a mother as well as Queen. The Prince, delicately constituted as he is, can scarcely hope to emulate his brothers' sympathy with the more active forms of our social amusements and pursuits, but we trust he may live long, and take the place of his lamented father, in connection with literature and art, which he is, by the refinement of his nature and his intellectual cultivation, so well qualified to sustain.

Lord Chief Justice Cockburn has been delivering a judgment-not in his judicial capacity, but without wig

and robes, at the Manchester Athenæum-which, we suppose, will not be objected to by our readers. He said he rejoiced in the spread of education among " the fairer and the better sex," and added, "I have long been satisfied of one thing, and that is, that educated women and clever women are sure to produce educated and clever offspring. Depend upon it, if you hear a very clever fellow, you may infer almost to a certainty that he had a very clever mother. It is not the fathers who make the clever children, but the mothers." These remarks, the newspaper report informs us, occasioned a considerable amount of laughter, which caused his lordship to express some surprise, and to say that he was never more serious in his life. "The Woman's Suffrage Journal" is somewhat unnecessarily angry at the laughter, regarding this "levity of treatment as inconsistent with the respect which men profess for the sex, "or with the chivalry which they so loudly vaunt," and as another illustration of "the difficulty which men feel in regarding with seriousness questions affecting women." Probably the men who laughed did not mean so much as that. There were, no doubt, many fathers of families present, and perhaps they laughed, good-humouredly, at the idea that the cleverness of the boys and girls was due to the mothers and not to them. Materfamilias, too, was no doubt in the room, and smiled at Pater, the smile meaning, "There, I have often told you so, and, you see, the Lord Chief Justice says I am quite right." Oftener than not, laughter is very good-humoured, and should not be hastily taken to imply derision or contempt.

More satisfactory to ladies who are anxious that they should enjoy political recognition, is the fact that one of the earliest of the parliamentary notices of motion refers to the introduction of a Women's Disabilities Removal Bill. Two of the members who will introduce it are Conservative lawyers, showing that they, at least, do not think the measure inconsistent with the spirit of English legislation, nor a dangerous innovation on the British Constitution, and as a Conservative adminstration is now in power, the measure may receive ministerial countenance and support.

Perhaps some of those who laughed at Sir Alexander Cockburn, remembered his famous summing up in the Tichborne case, in which he gave an implied support to his theory about clever mothers, by suggesting that it was improbable that so clever a fellow as the Claimant undoubtedly is, could be the son of such a silly lady as old Lady Tichborne, who insisted upon identifying him with the lost Sir Roger even before she had seen him. But Lady Tichborne's determined faith in identity is surpassed, if we may believe "A Scared Novelist," who writes to the papers, by that of an old lady, who, having read one of the fictions of which the "Scared Novelist" is the author, insists that he is her long-lost nephew, because he has very accurately described some places near Glasgow, with which the missing sailor boy was familiar. She has written to the author and to his

publishers, denouncing his wicked forgetfulness of his poor old aunt, and declares that she will come to London and make him ashamed. of himself. In vain he declares that he is not the errant sailor boy, that he never before even heard of the old lady; she intends to prove the contrary, and take him to her arms as her long-lost nephew, whether he chooses or not. Now this is a very serious predicament for an author who has only been trying to amuse novel readers, and we wish the gentleman a safe deliverance from the amiable but determined old lady. We know that some of the accomplished writers of sensational fiction, who make the personages in the novels commit all kinds of atrocities, are among the most kindly and best-principled people in the world, and it would be cruel to suppose that they have any practical acquaintance with the murders, forgeries, burglaries, and abductions which are described in their pages. Just imagine some ardent antiquary insisting on identifying Mr. Disraeli with the long-lost Wandering Jew, because, in some of his romances, he so well describes the scenery about Jerusalem!

With real pleasure we see that a number of ladies, headed by Lady Burdett Coutts, have made a public protest against the practice of vivisection, the dissection of live animals, in our public schools of anatomy. They have been charged with exaggeration, and a general denial has been given to some of the statements contained in this memorial; but some medical men, who have repeatedly, as students, witnessed what they describe, have come forward to confirm the veracity of the ladies' informants. We will not sicken our readers by quoting the statements made, but horrible cruelties appear to be regularly perpetrated, to gratify what is styled a spirit of scientific inquiry, but really only to repeat revolting experiments which yield no new physiological information, for all that they reveal regarding structure and function is well known already. We hope that the question whether these experiments on dogs, rabbits, and other animals can be included in the legal definition of cruelty to animals, will very soon be brought to the test.

In other directions, ladies have not been inactive. There has been an interesting meeting, at the Society of Arts, of the Women's Educational Union, of which the Princess Louise, Marchioness of Lorne, is President, and resolutions strongly insisting on the necessity of higher and more systematic training of schoolmistresses were passed. We may come to a university for women yet; and, indeed such an institution seems near at hand; for "Professor" Holloway, proprietor of the famous pills and ointment, has promised to give no less than a quarter of a million sterling to establish a University for Ladies, at Egham, and the architect's plans are already prepared.

A meeting has been held for the formation of a Woman's Protective and Provident League, for the protection of dressmakers and other classes of needlewomen. It is not proposed to establish another charitable institution, but one that shall be self-supporting, and help to

make industrious women, engaged in arduous and poorlypaid occupations, feel that they are more independent. The idea of the proposed institution is good, and we shall be very glad to hear of its successful establishment, but there are considerable difficulties in the way, and similar propositions have before now failed to be successful.

We are actually to have another Annual International Exhibition, at South Kensington; but only of Fine Arts. This will be an interesting addition to our resorts for the early summer. It will open about a month before the Royal Academy.

We have had exhibitions enough of raw and manufactured material, but have not attempted a competitive exhibition of made-up costumes. What a delightful treat

for the ladies would be a gallery filled with the achievements of the great costumiers of Paris and London !--ball, reception, morning, and promenade toilets-displayed on life-size figures in natural attitudes, and arranged into groups. This is a hint for somebody.

Brilliant as state balls at Paris are, they should be better managed, or change their name. Seven thousand persons on one night are too many by half, even for the superb and spacious Elysée. At the opening ball of the season, dancing was simply impossible. It was a crush, in which costumes, and, we fear, occasionally temper, were seriously damaged. Is it quite impossible that the great secret of the art of receiving, putting visitors at their ease, should be applicable to these brilliant gatherings?

SOME

COME lives are like fairy tales. They are marked by such unvarying success, blessed with such golden showers of wealth, and enlivened by such a tumult of enthusiastic applause, that it seems as if the age of romance had in their case come again. Such a life is that of Adelina Patti: the lasting favourite of a generally capricious public.

The land of one's birth is of slight importance compared with the nationality of one's family. Both the father and mother of Adelina Patti were Italians; they were eminent lyric artists, and at one time occupied prominent positions in the theatres of Italy and Spain. It was when they were fulfilling an engagement in the capital of the latter country that Adelina first opened her eyes on that world of which she was destined to become such a "bright, particular star." Oddiy enough, no one seems very certain about the exact date of her birth: the year undoubtedly was 1843; but the day is stated by some as the 19th of February, by others as the 19th of March, and by a third set of biographers as the 9th of April. Let us not dispute about it; no one will think a few weeks in the matter of a lady's age worth mentioning.

Adelina Juana Maria Patti is our heroine's name in full, and we shall leave her for an instant to look round on the little family circle upon which she entered at Madrid on this uncertain day of 1843. It was made up of the father and mother, two sisters and a brother. The brother, Carlo Patti, became a violinist, and arrived at some distinction in the concert-rooms of America. Amelia, one the sisters, married M. Maurice Strakosch, a distinguished pianist, of whom we shall have more to say hereafter. The other sister, Carlotta, is wellknown as one of the leading concert-singers of the day. A slight lameness has prevented her appearing much on

the lyric stage. Her peculiarly high notes, and the graceful abandon of her manner have brought her into favour with the public, but in quality of tone she is not equal to the subject of our memoir. It will assist the clearness of our narrative if we also mention here what is known of the conclusion of the career of Signor Patti, the head of this musical family. He seems to have led a varied and interesting life. To the soft sounds of music succeeded, in his case, the rude turmoil of war; according to the public journals, he served, during the civil war in North America, in the army of the Confederates as aide-de-camp to General Beauregard. He took part in eleven battles, and was made prisoner towards the end of September, 1864. He died on the 21st of August, 1869.

We are acquainted now with Adelina Patti's relations, and, in anticipation, have learned something of their history; let us return to speak more particularly of herself. She was still in the early days of childhood, when father, mother, and all, returned to Italy. A wandering spirit, however, possessed them, and it was not long before Signor Patti engaged an Italian troupe, and proceeded to the United States. An opera house was built expressly for him in New York, and he conducted the Italian Opera there with considerable éclat for several years, but lost nearly all his fortune; at least so the story goes. It is a matter of real difficulty to get at the truth of the matter, and the most we can say is that, if the circumstances are not as stated, they ought to be.

Behold Signor Salvatori Patti, then, an almost ruined man. He resolved to withdraw from the management of the Italian Opera and devote himself entirely to the education of his three daughters. He did so, and even in, his most sanguine moments little foresaw what a glorious triumph would, especially in the case of Adelina,