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water, in which a small handful of salt ia dissolved, say one heaped tablespoonful to two quarts of water. Keep them boiling quickly till tender, with the saucepan uncovered, which will bo in about twenty minntes; when done, drain them carefully, and avoid breaking off the heads; dish them up on a square thick piece of toasted bread, dipped in the water they have been boiled in. Send them to table, with a tureen of good melted butter. Asparagus can be had farced, from the beginning of the year; but it is cheapest in May and June, and sometimes July.

15. Aspahagus Sauce.—Proceed exactly as before, only cut off the heads, and serve them in melted butter. This sauce is preferred by some to the ordinary dressing, since it obviates the necessity of taking up the stalk with the fingers. It is exceedingly good to boiled leg of lamb, lamb-chops, and spring chicken.

16. Asparagus Soup.—Make a good stock of three quarts of liquor, in which a leg of mutton or a piece of beef, not oversalted, has been boiled, to which add a few beef bones, lambbones, or any scraps of cold meat, from which all skin and fat have beem carefully removed. The remains of a cold tongue is always a charming addition to your stock, as are also fowl-bones, and remains of boiled rabbit, if, as it sometimes happens, cooked rabbits do not happen to be the especial aversion of any one at your table. I have known persons who could not sit down to dinner if rabbit in any shape were one of tho dishes presented; this of course must be considered. Then break off all the tender part of a bundle of green asparagus, take half apeck oflresh gathered spinach, a largo handful of parsley, the fame of spring-onions, and having well washed them in two waters, drain and proceed to boil them in more than a quart of water, with a little salt, and a tiny bit of butter. When the asparagus is quite done, strain off this liquor till wanted, bruise the asparagus well, add it to the liquor, and pass all through a hair-sieve. Pour it into the "oup-pot, and add your cold stock, from which, of course, all fat has been removed ; season with salt, white pepper, or cayenne, according to taste; mix a small quantity of flour, a spoonful of white sugar, into a smooth paste, add

it to the soup and stir it till quite hot. When about to boil, it is ready to serve. This is a very nice spring or early summer soup, and to the careful house-wife, who studies the important subject of stock, not at all expensive, especially if the vegetables in part or entirely are to bo had from the garden. Whether it is more economical to grow your own vegetables or buy them in the best market is an undecided question; but there are certainly two advantages in the former plan—they are always fresher, and can be had at a minute's notice.

17. LamdRoast Fore-quarteb.— Unlike other meats, lamb requires to be cooked very soon after it has been killed; a few hours' hanging is as much as should be allowed. Put it down to a clear brisk fire, but not too near, lest the fat burn; it is best to cover it with buttered or drippinged paper to prevent the outside catching. Secure the joint in an even position, and baste constantly till the moment of taking up. Lamb should be very thoroughly done, and yet not dried-up; any appearance of red gravy, which is approved in mutton, is disgusting in lamb, and in all other white meats. About ton minutes before serving, dredge with a little flour and salt, and basto it well to froth, and brown it to an appetizing colour. Dish it up in its own gravy, and send to table with it a tureen of mint sauce, and if possible a fresh salad. Some persons have a cut lemon, a small piece of butter, and a little cayenne sent to table, that the carver when he separates the shoulder from the ribs may use them. A forequarter weighing 10 lbs. will take noarly two hours to roast to perfection; but much depends on the fire, and there is always something to be left to tho judgment of the cook. For your sauce, wash a double handful of young, freshly gathered mint, pick the leaves from the stalks, mince them very fine, and mix in a sauce-boat, with the necessary quantity of vinegar and sugar to taste, some persons preferring more acid than others. Mint sauce should be mado several hours before it is wanted, as the vinegar then becomes well impregnated with the juices of tho mint.

New Potatoes should be dressed at the latest on the day on which they are dug out of the ground ; the longer they are kept the worse they are.

Well wash them, rub off the skins with a coarse cloth, or by any other method equally clean and effectual, and put them into bo iling water, allowing to two quarts of water one heaped table-spoonful of salt. Try them with a fork; they will be tender in fifteen, twenty, or thirty minutes, according to their size and freshness. When done, pour the water from them, and let them stand on the hob, with the lid of the saucepan aslant j and when the potatoes are thoroughly dry, put them

into a hot vegetable dish, and pus them over a piece of butter, the size of a walnut. Very small potatoes, no larger than good-sized marbles, which are taken up with the finer ones, and sometimes are sold very cheap, can be turned into a dainty dish by frying them in cream, till they are of a deep auburn colour. I have known thom boiled for several minutes, and then fried in cream or butter. They may be called, if you like grand names— "pommes-de-terre d ia crime '."

REVELATION.

Like the great Author of the Christian's faith,

Comes Revelation, meekly dignified,

Dispensing bounteously celestial boons—

Reproof, instruction, or encouragement,

The spirit's pure, nutritious aliment,

According with her ever-changeful wants;—

Warning the vassals of the Evil One

From their accursed bondage; bearing them

The invitations of Eternal Love

To freedom's soil, whose landmark is " the cross:"

To all assuring who shall reach that spot,

Erst hallowed by " the Bishop of their souls,"

The incorruptible inheritance—

A " crown of righteousness" and " endless life;"

Presenting them with jewels,* set in gold,

Of worth incomparable—" precepts" termed—

And memoirs of their high-souled ancestors,

To study on their glorious pilgrimage.

Illustrious ambassador of heaven!

Distinguished servant of the King of kings

And Lord of lords! adoringly we own

The matchless grace that sent Thee down to earth.

Speed, Revelation! speed thy mighty work!

Thy mission one of moment infinite

To time's distracted realm! Thy lessons all

Of holiest character: thy aim the weal

Of universal man! What riches thine!

The peerless records of Eternal Truth;

Sublime effusions of the Perfect Mind;

And title-deeds of glory's high estates,

Bearing their Monarch's crimson autograph,

Bestowed by thee ungrudgingly on each—

The poorest, weakest, vilest applicant;—

Who grounds his claim alone on Calvary.

Hail, sweet companion! Hail, unchanging friend *

All hail, unerring, faithful counsellor!

Unvailest thou to man fair mercy's form;

Thou point'st him to the rising sun of peace;

Thou placest barriers on perdition's road

To stay its reckless travellers' downward course;

And countless lamps along the " way of life,"

To light its pilgrims to His palace gates

Who rcigncth aye—The Muesty On High! Caj'actaccs. THE

Christian World Magazine.

June, 1866.

THE FORTUNES OF CYRIL DENHAM.

Br The Editob.

CHAPTER XVII.

AONES' D1ART.

April 8th. Another spring, and I am still at Forest Range, and I feel I am at home; oh! sweet and blessed phrase !—and very dear are the familiar faces round me —my guardian, dear Lady Ashburner, Janet, and Elizabeth's! Yes! I feel as if I had lived here all my life, as if I had never known any other home, as if the dear ones here had been about me from my earliest recollection! How good God has been to me, a lonely orphan! how many girls desolate as I am of kindred are tossed upon a cold and heartless world, taking as charity the kindly smile and beaming glance, which oftentimes they long to meet in Tain! I am not rich, as Elizabeth will one day be, but I have abundance for my needs, and something besides to spare, and—thanks to a training which at the time I very much despised—my habits are careful and inexpensive. I might be a poor man's wife, as Lady Ashburner has often said to me; for I think I really have a pleasure in making the most of everything, and "trot t.

in turning everything to the best account.

But that is idle talking, I shall never be any man's wife: I am quite a girl now, and for all, for all that has befallen me, the world seems very fair and bright. But how will it be when youth has passed away, when the prime of womanhood is fading ?—when I begin to feel myself to be, and to be looked upon by others as an elderly lady ;—in vulgar parlance, that pitied, slighted creature, an old maid? It is not that I have any foolish dread of being called, and treated as a spinster,—a spinster, who at sixty-five must give way to the young married chit of twenty; but I have known some unmarried women who have lived to be very lonely, very desolate, and very selfish! Surely, this last attribute of single blessedness I may avoid. But I can see how gradually one must lose one's place, as it were, in the circle to which one belongs:—one's compeers marry and form new ties, and cherish new interests, their girlhood becomes a thing of the past; like Columbus and his seamen, they find themselves at last in another hemisphere c c

which might almost be another planet, so little relation does it bear to the old world left behind. And presently, it is not one's contemporaries that are entering on the fresh and charmed life of wifehood, and motherhood, but what we call the rising generation—those whose birth we can remember, those whom, in all the dignity of our early womanhood we nursed, and petted, and reproved, have suddenly sprung up to their perfect stature, and have been betrothed and wedded before we could believe it necessary to leave off lecturing or caressing them—and they too sail away merrily out of the old world into the new, and the unmated ones fall farther and farther back, till the heart gets withered and the interests get concentrated in one's self, and old age steals on, and no gentle matrondaughter, or rosy darling grandchild comes to minister to sinking nature in the hour of her extremity. But oh! stupid, faithless heart, need this be? Because God has said—" My child, wedded love is not for thee, matronly joys and honours would not be for thy real good," must I sullenly put away all other loves? Shall I turn my back on joys and honours that I may know? shall I live in the cloister of my own sad, morbid thoughts, a moody, worldwearied, disappointed woman?

God forbid it should be so! Rather let me use my freedom,— for marriage-bonds are bonds, though formed it may be of the finest silk, or wrought of purest gold, and set with real diamonds,—let me use my freedom for better, nobler ends. Let me learn to live for others, to put self, that tyrant self, away. Was Garlyle right when he said, " with self-renunciation life begins!" I think he was. And if one may not make a great and noble-seeming sacrifice of self, one may always practice self-renunciation in little things ;—indeed, I believe the latter would be far more difficult and far more praiseworthy, for it is so much easier to make one almost supernatural effort, that may cost one's life, than to go on plodding painfully and unheeded for many

many days! Who would not choose the fiery pangs of visible martyrdom, the brief agony, the sublime faith, the holy memory, and the translation, as it were, in a flaming chariot, to the glories of the heavenly world, to the slow wasting of weary years in some dark dungeon-tomb, lingering on in solitude and silence, knowing that at last one must perish unseen, unpitied, unremembered by a busy world that still rolls on its way, careless and unconscious of the great and bitter wrongs that some are suffering and have suffered long? Aye! better the rack itself, for half-an-hour, than the toothache for a quarter of a century!

Is it so'.' Shall I, shall any one presume to say which is the better, the sharp quick torture that rives asunder flesh and spirit, or the long enduring pain that slowly ireart away the soul's clay tabernacle? No! no! I will not say it! no one should dare to say it:—God knows what is best. He,—only He, knows our real needs, and He is perfectly wise, and good, and loving. Yesterday, at holy communion, as I drank of that cup which is the precious emblem of the blood shed for me, to preserve my body and soul unto everlasting life, I thought—since God has put this cup of blessing into my[hand, and bids me drink and be satisfied, surely I may without fear drink of any other cup that He shall give me, though it be bitter exceedingly. No draught that I may drain can be bitter as that to which He bowed His pure lips, when He prayed in more than mortal anguish: "O my Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will but as thou wilt." As thou wilt.' There lies the clue of life, the key to all the mysteries of this lower state: there hangs the crown of peace. In doing and suffering Thy will, my God, may mine be done. Yes! I can see that all these troubles that vex us so sorely come from having wills of our own, that we cherish, and foster, and strive to gratify at any price. If once we can resign our wills to God, the great victory is won, and the prize of joy is firmly clasped even here; for none but lie or she who through Christ our Lord calls God Father, can ever yield body soul and mind, hopes and fears, wishes and anticipations perfectly to Him!

How well I remember a conversation I had with Lady Ashbumer more than a year ago! It was when I first knew Cyril—when I was just falling into that delusion that for a little while bathed my future in a golden mist, and then—but why talk about it even to my faithful, silent friend, my diary? There are some things that are better buried out of sight, and their graves unvisited, till such time as one can go and strew flowers on the sod, and find that the dust of this long-dead hope has been transmuted to a precious perfume. But, going back to that little talk last year, I remember that I asked my mother-friend whether she believed that through suffering souls generally found their way to God, whether they reached the light after passing through the shadows, whether the haven was won only when the storms were past? I should not need to ask her now, my own heart tells me that it is so indeed. There may be some sweet, simple, child-like natures that need little discipline, just as some children never need actual punishment, because a loving, warning word is quite enough. But I am not of such!

No! mine is a rebelheart, that loves its own way, that would fain mark out for itself its path to happiness, that would choose its own joys and sorrows, its own discipline, its own bright triumph! And Godjloves me, and will not let me choose. Blessed be His Holy Name! Even now, I can see His goodness in all that has transpired,—if that for which I prayed had been given me, if my lap had been filled with the roses of life, as I wished to gather them, I had been content with the fading flowers of human love and truth! Are they fading, though? Not exactly! real holy love and truth cannot fade away; but they may be transplanted, and one may have to do without them for the best half of

one's life. But God emptied my heart, not to make it ache, not to make it sicken with the void, but to fill it with His own eternal love. And He has filled it even to overflowing; His peace is in my soul, a deep and silent river that the wild currents of this world's shifting winds can never really ruffle! And then:—

"Thy precious things, whate'er they be, That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain,

Look to the Cross, and thou shalt see How thou may'st turn them all to gain.'"

It is good, too, to rcmem ber that the morning toil and the noontide heat must come and pass before the cool sweet shadows of the blessed eventide. If a journey must be undertaken, one must be for a while a pilgrim, getting weary, bearing inconveniences and risks, putting-up at inns with all their tumults and discomforts; but one need not mind it, thinking of one's home, that is nearer and nearer every hour. And with reverence let me call to mind how before the Ascension came that agony at Gethsemane, how before the uprising from the garden-tomb came all the bitter suffering on Calvary. How before the Second Advent, which we are waiting and looking for—the glorious Day of days, when Jesus, crowned with many crowns, shall gather His beloved ones to Himself to share His joy—came the humiliation of Bethlehem, the manger-cradle, the fleeing from the cruel king, the temptation in the wilderness, the lonely nights upon the mountain-side, the homeless noons, the furious priestopponents, the contumely, the scorn, the desertion of the brethren !" For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to make the captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings." And shall we shrink from the thorny stony wastes, the whirlwind and the darkness? we to whom it has been given exultingly to cry even in the deepest depths, "The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law; but thanks be to God "ho

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