The general mass prefers the odd and fantastic to the beautiful. A waterfall is sure to draw popular applause, because it is a good tangible exception to the ordinary state of things, and because its height and weight can be measured and stated in guidebooks. So many tons of water are falling every hour over such a height, and making a tremendous splashing as they do it. Niagara is the very ideal of a popular show; you undeniably get a great deal for your money, more calculable noise and force and fury than you can get for the same price anywhere else in the world. Now no one can deny that waterfalls are exquisitely beautiful; but it is as enforcing and enlivening the surrounding scenery that they are really admirable. The waterfalls, for example, give admirable expression to the lovely Valley of Sixt, though few of them taken as separate fragments are much worth examining. But this is precisely the way in which the ordinary tourist regards them; he likes the show waterfall, such as may be seen in some German watering-places, where the stream is dammed up and kept under lock and key till the proper number of visitors have paid the fee. He likes to have staircases up to them; a path between the stream and the rock gives him unspeakable delight; and his pleasure culminates at the Giesbach, where the natural beauties can be properly enforced by blue lights and a band of music. In fact he likes his waterfall caught and tamed and sophisticated, till it is as much like the genuine fall in a wild mountain glen as the chamois kept in a back-yard for his delectation is like the chamois on his native precipices.

verse bad taste which sees nothing except according to order, and admires nothing till it has received permission from the tourist's fetish, the Guide-book, one begins to doubt the existence of a modern passion for scenery. Can there be anything genuine at the bottom of all this rant? To be fair, we have no doubt of it, though it is certainly a zeal not according to knowledge. For, after all, no structure can be composed entirely of cant and hypocrisy. After clearing away all the nonsense, some residuum of genuine feeling is discovered. So universal a tendency as the rush to the mountains must correspond to some real want. All the innkeepers of Switzerland do not gain their living by a mere combination of empty pretenders to taste. The enjoyment, indeed, is not simply founded upon a quick susceptibility to very refined poetical influences. A great deal of it is the pleasure of getting free from the crowds of great cities, the relief which every man must feel in breathing fresh air and being amongst green fields and cold streams. The mountains give the little additional interest that is required, the small additional excitement that is necessary to prevent the repose from becoming stagnation. They at least excite curiosity, and give a certain end to what would be otherwise mere vague rambling. No very intelligent or keen appreciation of their beauties may exist, but they serve as something more than a good excuse for a holiday; they add a certain zest, which the tourist may not be able to analyse or to examine critically, but of which he is dimly conscious. And it must also be added that, whatever we may say against the taste of the vulgar herd, they have on the whole picked out the really most admirable scenes for popularity. If any one can succeed in closing his eyes to all his neighbours on the top of the Rigi, he will admit that, if it were not for those who see it, it would be one of the most admirable views in Switzerland. And in the faith that they really enjoy themselves a little, we will endeavour to pardon the tourists for their monopoly of a few spots, and be thankful to them for not intruding into others.

Another tourist's pleasure is the panoramic view the least impressive, as a rule, of all views to a cultivated mind. He is perfectly happy on the top of the Piz Languard, where he can take out his Baedeker, and count up the number of little points on the far horizon that are identified with Mont Blanc and the Monte Rosa and the Finster Ahorn. Here, again, he has something definite for his trouble; he has seen so many hundred peaks, and that is a pleasure of which no one can deprive him; but of the exquisite views that may be seen half-way up, of the pictures of precipice and glacier with rich foregrounds of meadow and forest, and curtained by delicate mountain mists, he sees and remembers nothing. He cares little for the view till it is reduced as nearly as possible to the likeness of a map, with something definite for him to tell off on his fingers and write down in his journal.

After a little contemplation of the per

From the Athenæum.

Light after Darkness: Religious Poems. By Harriet Beecher Stowe. (Low & Co.)

THESE religious effusions of Mrs. Stow are very graceful and melodious. At times, we meet with a thought or an image that

That strange and ancient city
Seems calling the nations to prayer.

And the words that of old the angel
To the mother of Jesus brought,
Rise like a new evangel,

To hallow the trance of our thought.

From the Christian Register.

OR,

And now for the grand old fountains,
Tossing their silvery spray,

Those fountains so quaint and so many,
That are leaping and singing all day.

Those fountains of strange weird sculpture,
With lichens and moss o'ergrown, -
Are they marble greening in moss-wreaths?
Or moss-wreaths whitening to stone?

Down many a wild, dim pathway
We ramble from morning till noon;
We linger, unheeding the hours,

Till evening comes all too soon.

And from out the ilex alleys,

Where lengthening shadows play,
We look on the dreamy Campagna,
All glowing with setting day,-

All melting in bands of purple,
In swathings and foldings of gold,
In ribands of azure and lilac,
Like a princely banner unrolled.

And the smoke of each distant cottage,
And the flash of each villa white,
Shines out with an opal glimmer,
Like gems in a casket of light.

And the dome of old St. Peter's
With a strange translucence glows,
Like a mighty bubble of amethyst
Floating in waves of rose.

In a trance of dreamy vagueness
We, gazing and yearning, behold
That city beheld by the prophet,
Whose walls were transparent gold.

And, dropping all solemn and slowly,
To hallow the softening spell,
There falls on the dying twilight
The Ave Maria bell.

With a mournful motherly softness, With a weird and weary care,

MOTHERS.

HAVING recently met with an admirable and discriminating extract from an article entitled "A Model Woman," we copy a portion of it for the benefit of those who have not been so fortunate as to see it. It is prefaced by the remarks of another, as follows:

"Women do not excel in any trade, because their ambition is not in their work. Work to them is only an expedient to bridge over an interval that lies between them and marriage. Whereas, man looks forward to work as the main incident of his life, and prepares himself for work as a career, not as a temporary expedient.

"This lack of ambition goes farther than to merely unfit women as general workers. It also makes them incompetent housewives, - unequal partners for the men of their choice."

The following extract, in this regard, is sharp, but just in its strictures:

"But why does not her employer direct her? you ask; why does she not correct the faults of her erring hand-maiden, and show her how to manage a house? Because, my dear sir, she does not know how herself. Her brothers prepared themselves, one for a profession, the other for business. For this preparation, they counted no time, no labor, too great. Even when not compelled to depend upon their own labor for subsistence, they feel a pride in doing something themselves, standing high in a profession or on 'change. Their sister expects to be married, to be the mother of a family, to preside over a household. What effort does she make to master the future situation? What years, what days, what hours, does she devote to learning how to preside over a house, to rule her servants, to be indepnedent of them, and, in case of need, to do without them? How does she prepare herself to exercise judgment, economy, thrift;

to dispense hospitality elegantly, yet unwastefully? What lesson does she take in the art of making a small income do the work of a large one, or in that frugality which is the condition of the means of benevolence?"

tic life, and to begin an individual exis tence; or, in one word, to begin to find herself, and by a patient course of reading and study, learn to think and to feel aright, and to gather nourishment for the mental, moral, and spiritual nature; to prepare her self in some small measure, for the next stage, the entrance into society at the age of eighteen. Then comes the dawning of womanhood; and in a few years more if she has drank freely and earnestly at the fountain of life, she can be the companion, the helper, of one whom it is her glad office to sustain, to influence, and to refine; for the only true home is in the heart of those we love," for where the treasure is, there will the heart be also."

"I know of one lady (I use the singular number, not unadvisedly), and she not compelled by her circumstances, who makes housekeeping an art, who studies chemistry and physiology, that she may adapt her table to the health and comfort of her family; who is the mistress of her servants, not their unpaid dependent; who knows when the work for the house is done; is able to show the servants the reason of their failure. And with all this she is not a drudge, with a soul confined to pots and pans, but a sensible, pleasing, and truly religious woman, who, while enhancing the happiness of her family and doubling the income of her husband, alike by reducing his expenses and freeing his mind from vexing cares, yet is also reading the best books, is serving God and dispensing charity to man. One such woman I know; say, how many do you know?"

This, indeed, is the beginning of a movement in the right direction: it touched a chord that responded in our hearts; and, as if by magic, the lid of our casket flew open, and revealed many a thought and feeling that lie hidden there, awaiting "the troubling of the waters for the healing of our people."

For oh! what a sin lies at our doors when we think of the desecration of marriage from countless causes, and the men and women of our country crowding the courtrooms, and pleading for divorce, or daily resorting to separation. "Why is it?" is the earnest question, and many times answered. One great cause is immature marriage, entered into lightly and unadvisedly. The mother is eager, or consents, to bring to market the crude and unripe fruit; and sometimes the daughter hangs up the satchel with one hand, and takes down the wedding-dress with the other, forgetting or ignoring that the blackboard does not solve the problem of life, nor fit her to be the companion of man.

Do not defraud her, O mother! of the periods of life that come slowly, gently, surely, in the unerring intentions and ministrations of Nature and Providence.

Freed from the necessarily gregarious life of the public school, she is now to share the labours of her mother, who has sacrificed herself for her child's improvement, and to train herself for the duties of domes

Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed;
So sixteen years ago I said.
Behold another ring - for what?
To wed thee o'er again? Why not?
With the first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth,
Taste long admired, sense long revered;
And all, my Mary, then appeared.
If she, by merit since disclosed,
Prove twice the woman I supposed,
I plead the double merit now
To justify a double vow.
Here, then, to-day (with faith as sure,
With ardor as intense and pure,
As when, amid the rites divine,
I took thy hand and plighted mine),
To thee, my love, my second ring,
A token and a pledge, I bring.
With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart,
Those virtues which before untried,
The wife has added to the bride;
Those virtues whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For conscience' sake as well as love's;
For why? They show me, hour by hour,
Heaven's high thought, affection's power,
Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sentence,
And teach me all things but repentance.

In the perversion of the laws of Nature and Providence, the girl-bride loses three periods of life, never to be regained. There are mines never to be worked, depths of her being never to be sounded; ignorant of her

self, old before her prime, oppressed by the inevitable and unprepared-for cares of life, she can evade nothing, and can never regain the lost period of preparation.

The highest gift of God is love in marriage. It is born of sorrow as well as joy. The true wife has an atmosphere about her which her husband and all that come within ber presence feel. The human character, so sacred a trust, is the slowest in its growth; and we might take a lesson from the natural kingdom so beautiful in its operations.

The light and shadows of life must fall upon woman before she knows, before she can know, of the riches of love and marriage. Love is the infant's instinct, the child's shelter, the maiden's protection; but the highest, holiest love is born of tears as well as smiles, and is consecrated by both. "What God has joined together let no man put asunder" should apply as sacredly to the true union of hearts as in the presence of the sacred rites..

But we have not looked yet at the saddest side of the picture. What is to become of the next generation? The "child-wife" may become the child-mother (uneducated, except primarily, herself) before she is even capable of performing the physical duties, and before she has suspected even the depths of her own being and its responsibilities in this life and the life to come. This young immortal is to be trained carefully and thoughtfully and joyously for time and eternity. Almost with the infant's first tear and smile come the first impressions, so carefully to be watched, that are the germ of its future life. Guard it against falsehood as you would from a pestilential vapor; but let it ever see Truth in all her fair proportions! How the little lip will curl, the eye flash, and the tear start, at the smallest deceptions! How discriminately, courageously, and delicately should first impressions be watched! for upon them, with God's blessing, depends the future of the child and the

man.

A mother who has thhougt earnestly and deeply often feels

That the full fountain of a mother's love bAvails not; but for angel ministry

To guard the fair young creature, she must plead.

We will quote from a faithful picture of an interesting writer; for we love to dwell upon the character of a true woman, and consider it her highest privilege to grace and gladden her home:

"To the man who knows the world, and understands what he should hope from it, what he should do in it, nothing can be more desirable than meeting with a wife who will ever co-operate with him, who will everywhere prepare his way for him, whose diligence takes up what he must leave, whose. occupation spreads itself on every side, whilst his must travel forward on its single path. Order in prosperity, courage in adversity, care for the smallest, and a spirit capable of comprehending and managing the greatest."

These are such qualities as we find in the women of history; that clearness of view, that expertness in all emergencies, that sureness in detail, which brings the whole so accurately out.

"At

Just as we were closing this article, we saw a quotation from an English paper, indicating a very serious and earnest movement upon this subject by "the authorities of Oxford University." They say, present, as we take it, it is the want of a definite interest in some work or occupation of real moment, which sets girls speculating about marriage at so early a period." They do not ascribe it to the fear of single life or dissatisfaction with home," that the thoughts of a girl of eighteen or nineteen are so often turned to matrimonial contingencies.' Then they speak of her want of occupation contrasted with the life of man. "But when the average of girls have gone through the wretched course of studies prescribed by the school-mistress or governess, all comes to an end, and the next thing is to be married, or, at any rate, to be engaged. Her education has totally failed to awaken her interest in the subjects of men's studies, and to cultivate her natural faculties to such an extent as to make her further cultivation and the acquisition of more knowlege a delight and a necessity."

From the Economist, Sept. 14.

MR. SEWARD AND LORD STANLEY.

LORD STANLEY may be congratulated upon being the first Minister upon either side the Atlantic who has dealt with the Alabama question without committing a grave error. He agrees to refer the Alabama case to arbitration without improper admixture, and refuses so to refer it with improper admixture. The English Government on two preceding occasions showed

clined to refer the Alabama case to arbitration, and certainly there was no precedent. Lord Chatham would have called it dishonour for the Queen of England to submit to an arbitrator the question whether she herself had been to blame. And it quite comes to that. This is no question of fault or no fault in some subordinate authority

one of its most common faults, a want of quickness in new cases. That fault is, indeed, common to all free Governments which appeal to the people and which live by discussion. A free people never can be quick, for it does not know the facts early, and its imagination takes time to act; and in discussion it is commonly safe to say, "I did what has usually been done in cases like the present, I did not choose to take the responsibility of adopting (without the sanction of Parliament) a new policy, I followed the course which on previous occasions Parliament had approved. In appearance, the case of the Alabama was like many others which had occurred before, though it was not really like them. In most cases of prosecution for alleged infringement of the Foreign Enlistment Act, it is quite enough for the Executive Government only to act when the legal evidence is thoroughly complete. Whether a man or two more or less in an ordinary war are enlisted, whether a ship more or less in an ordinary war is fitted out, scarcely matters at all. But in the case of the Alabama one ship did matter: the amount of harm which could be done by a single Confederate cruiser built abroad was so great, that our Government would have been justified in acting in the first instance upon insufficient evidence; upon evidence, that is, insufficient for exact legal proof though quite enough for grave, moral suspicion. We acted so afterwards in the case of the "rams," and we ought to have done so in the case of the Alabama. But, if the phrase may be allowed, we tinkered about legal proof; we were afraid of having, in a conceivable event, to pay damages to a possibly innocent owner; and, while we were indulging our scruples, the Confederates, who had no scruples, got the ship away.

some outlying governor, or some eager naval captain, such points have often been referred to arbitration, and there is no difficulty about them. But here we deal with the Cabinet- the Prime Ministerthe very Government of the Queen herself. All that was done or not done was done or not done by the supreme authority, and there the blame must rest, if blame there be.

It is believed, and always will be believed in America, that we let the Alabama go because we liked the South better than we liked the North. But this is wholly untrue. The Government of that day were anxious to obey the law, and only to obey the law. But so much as this is true, that if by chance a minister so strenuous, and, in his own way, so daring, as Lord Palmerston, had been a keen partisan of the North, he would have insisted that the ship should not go-evidence or no evidence. His passions would have made him do what was wise, though at the time it was not the law.

But, nevertheless, it would have been wise to submit even this question to arbitration. The highest functionaries of a State may act wrongly, just as its lower functionaries may act wrongly. A nation itself, for it comes to that, may act wrongly. And the notion that a nation loses honour by admitting a liability to mistake is a mischievous delusion, surviving from a time when honour was thought to be in the display of power, not in the reality of good intention. Real dignity can admit that it may have been in fault, whenever in truth S it may have been so.

In the same way, Lord Russell was slow to recognise a new expediency. He de

But if two English statesmen have been wrong in dealing with the Alabama question, Mr. Seward is now more wrong. Ame rican statesmen are accused of keeping at d tractive foreign questions in abeyance, in order to gain a point in domestic politics. or, as it is phrased, to make capital out of them. And, if Mr. Seward did wish to act thus, he would have written as he has written. Now, he will not refer to arbitration the Alabama case, unless we will refer, too, the question, whether we were right or wrong in the recognition of the South as a belligerent. Lord Stanley argues that the South clearly was a belligerent; for, if she did not make a great war, there never was a great war in this world; that the American President recognized the fact by proclaiming a blockade, which, in a mere riot, he could not do; that in cases, often referred to inthese columns and elsewhere, the American courts have, in this very case, sanctioned this very doctrine; that they have decided that the secession of the Southern States, "as set forth by the President with the assertion of the right of blockade amounts to a declaration that civil war exists; that blockade itself is a belligerent

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