and then he remembered another whose life had been so marred, and then, as a gaily-decked woman passed him, he thought of one whom he had rescued from a similar fate.

"We are responsible agents," he said, as he approached his own door, "more so than we fancy. Women's fate lies much in our hands; we make or mar it-externally at least. Many of us err I believe from ignorance; we don't understand all the finer points of a woman's nature, and wound from inadvertence. A woman's life is so circumscribed, so different to ours; she learning to think trifles of importance-trifles which we never remember, perhaps, or at any rate place no store by. And, by the bye, perhaps that is another argument for making women turn artizans; watchmakers, lithographers, etc.; it would extend the narrow limit of their lives-take them out of themselves. But, what is to become of the surplus in the male line? That is the difficulty."

DROP SCENE.

A COUNTRY village, with the blue sea rolling over golden sands to the right, and stretching far away to the left bold high cliffs, bed chambers to the snowy sea-gull. And on the summit of these cliffs, far back, half a mile it may be from their edge, a large dark grey stone house, not battlemented, nor turreted, nor built in a gothic style; it is nothing but a strong, substantially-built English mansion, with a very beautiful park in the front, and a dark green wood at the back.

In that house lived Lady Mary Shenstone, and it is a busy place now, for the wedding party have assembled and the breakfast waits the guests.

The bells of the village church ring merrily, and the villagers don't care a bit for the dark November days, they find them bright enough in that pure country air, and they laugh and talk, and crackle the glittering white frost under their feet as they stand in the road and wait for the wedding cavalcade. And it comes at last; Clarice in the carriage with the good old doctor, and his wife, in a moiré—not the moiré of damaged reputation, but one of the doctor's own particular choice, sent home surreptitiously from some unknown quarter of the globe-a moiré of such costly fabric, that it "goes to the old lady's heart to sit down" on it, and she says so, and elicits from Murray the suggestion of a go-cart as a means of transport to the church.

Then there is Volante, looking so lovely in the white silk-Mrs. Maberley almost forgets her own moiré in her pride for her protegée.

Weddings are dull affairs in nine cases out of ten, for people very often behave like idiots, and look as if they were going to be hung instead of married.

ring on his bride's finger with as little concern as he would have clasped a bracelet on her arm.

Clarice too acted like a sensible woman. She took the oath, to love, honour, and obey him, as a matter of course, and when she left the altar she signed her new name in the vestry, and received the congratulations of her friends with the most perfectly well-bred air.

Yet neither bride nor bridegroom were deficient in feeling, only they did not, like some, assume the semblance to conceal the want.

Wedding breakfasts are intrinsically stupid. There is the best man's speech, and the healths of the bride, bridegroom, and bridesmaids, with other excuses of a similar kind, for additional glasses of wine.

No one looks well at a wedding breakfast. The veils, and the roses, and furbelows, seem out of place in the morning; they want the " 'glare of the gas-light" to carry them off. We don't want young English girls decked out in masquerading costume at breakfast; we like them better in their quiet morning attire. If a girl acts bridesmaid three times, tradition says she will die an old maid. Perhaps the reason is, that if she is seen too often in this costume, those who might prevent the contingency don't care to admire her.

Clayton's wedding breakfast was over, at least the part he had to play in it was over; and he waited in the library, with the doctor and Murray, for Clarice.

Nor had he to wait long, for, with Volante hanging on her arm, she came.

"She is your property until my return, aunt," said Clarice, as she placed Volante's hand in that of the elder lady's. "Take care of her, aunt; and you, Volante, remember you are my proxy here."

"Are you ready?" asked Clayton. "Yes."

When a man gets to my time of life he doesn't like to lose any of his old friends, or have them take a new form."

"A selfish feeling," replied Murray; "but I share it. I am positively jealous of that Lady Marchmont; she has robbed me of my oldest and dearest friend."

"And thus it must be ever," said the doctor; "old characters to make way for new ones;—the scenes shift and move-first dark, then light— now storm-now sunshine-until we have all played our allotted parts, and the heavy curtain falls over THE DRAMA OF LIFE."

Beautiful Island City!

Home of my heart, sweet city of my dreams!
Thee, do mine eyes again behold; my feet,
Do they again soft press thy velvet lawns,
Thy golden sands, or tread thy silent streets?
Loved Alma Mater, at thy classic gates,
Do I thy son once more with reverence stand,
My ears sweet gladdened with the shout of youth,
My heart outgushing with o'erflowing joy!
Yes! yes! Blest sacred city of my love,
On thee at last I rapturous gaze; my blood
Sweet rushes with the impetuous throb of youth,
Elastic vigour nerves my bounding feet;
Fain would I join that boyish, merry throng,
Share in these gambols on the daisied green,
For O! I feel, sweet love, I'm young again!
Flow on ye silver tears, my cheeks begem
With liquid pearls, more precious far than gold ;
This heart, cold, hard as rock of adamant,
Steeled 'gainst the love and sympathy of man
Yields, softens, opens, breaks, outgushes free,
At sight of thee, thou city of my love!
My sweet, first love! tost on life's stormy waves,
Like shivered barque, I seek thy sheltered haven ;
My own first love! like weary, wounded dove
I've crossed the seas to nestle in thy breast:
Strange, wizard charm that binds my soul to thee,
Mysterious chain that links my fate with thine!

What strange sensations thrill my brain; it reels
Tumultuous with exuberant joy! The film
Falls from my gladdened eyes: rapt now I gaze
With sweet exulting wonder on the earth,

Erst dark with clouds and storms; now beautiful
With radiant glory as the sunny fields
Of paradise; then on the azure sky,
Full of celestial music, soft, and deep,
Entrancing glad the soul, as if some quire
Of hymning angels struck their golden lyres.
Now roft my pallid cheeks, the fragrant winds
Refresh, with wooing tenderness embrace

My burning, feverish brow, then strike the chords
Of this lone, now reviving heart, until
Like sweet Æolian harps it vibrates soft,

First tremulous, and faint, till gathering strength,
Its notes rise full and rich, in organ tones,
Melodious, blending loud with heavenly songs!

Almighty Father! Great Incarnate God!

Who turns men's hearts like streams of water deep,
O let my soul pour forth in grateful strains,
Its first glad anthem, Lord of Hosts, to thee!
Dear! dear each well-remembered spot!

The green sward bright, where, high with youthful joy,
I struck the bounding ball; the golden sands,
Where oft, in dreamy mood, I wandered lone,
Rejoicing in my solitude; the rocks,
Where, like the chamois, I bounded free,

And leapt from crag to crag; the lighthouse tower,
From which I wondering gazed with trembling awe
On the great high billows cresting into foam;
The level "links" far stretching to the sea,
The sandy hills crowned with the hardy bent,
The bridge majestic spanning high the stream,

CITY.

The wide-spread basin gemmed with silver waves,
With undulating hills on either hand,
Where wood and hamlet, tower, and sunny field,
Fringed with the purpling clouds, harmonious blend,
A gorgeous landscape-cherished in my dreams!

At first, how much the same each thing appears,
But in detail, how changed! the landmarks old,
By stately buildings, crescents, streets, and squares,
Obliterated, gone alas! for ever.

But saddest change of all-at every turn
New, unknown faces greet my eye, no hand
Outstretched and warm, or hale, and cheerful voice
Of hearty welcome greets the wanderer home;
No friendly nod, or faintest recognition,
Each passes on his way all unconcerned,

A generation new-they know me not!

And yet, sweet spot, although unknown, where once My voice the loudest, led the merry throng,

I love, adore, I bless thee still for here

While roaming wild, a thoughtless boy, I found
Half hidden by the blooming furze, my harp,
Which then I fondled as an idle toy
For pastime striking faint its silver chords,
Extracting sounds so low, so sweet, so soft,
As thrilled my young soul with celestial fire,
And strange, wild, new, o'erwhelming joy!

My harp! thou once frail, childish plaything: now The heaven-prized gift, my great, my chiefest joy; Who through life's chequered scenes, hath dauntless stood

At my right hand alone when all had fled;
Thy strains of silvery sweetness, soft and calm,
Unto my restless spirit bringing peace;

Who filled with hope's sweet music, glad my soul,
When o'er it sad the cloud of sorrow hung;

The past all dark, the future full of gloom;
Who to my heart the closer clung, the more
The merciless, fierce, unpitying tempest raged;
Who, though when sunshine came, and skies serene,
Thee I ungratefully forgot, lone mourned
My wayward love, yet inly loved the more!

My harp! when time's sand-glass at last is run,
Life's panorama o'er, and I ascend,
Redeemed and saved, triumphant to the sky,
Thou shalt go with me, all thy golden strings
Vibrating sweet to angels' rushing wings,

Till at heaven's gates, bejewelled bright with gems,
And re-attuned to glad and glorious songs
My notes, full, rich, in cadence sweet shall swell
The minstrelsy of Heaven!

A FEW months ago some parties proposed the organisation of rifle volunteers in large towns. For years successive Governments had been urged to arm the people; but successive Governments seemed less afraid of our rivals than their own subjects. The British people were certainly unaccustomed to the use of arms. A large number of the manufacturing operatives and tradesmen never fired a gun, and could not load one, with security to their neighbours and themselves. This is not a safe state. Society must always be able to protect itself. The necessity is more apparent in a rich country than in any other. Here we want many reforms, and we speak out respecting them-under gratitude, however for many privileges, that are worth the maintenance, and well repay preservation. Among them we count personal liberty high and valuable, but we must pay for its use. Part of the price is an expensive army and navy. All continental nations provide by conscription for these services. In consequence of this compulsory enlistment, they have cheap sailors and soldiers. This facility is not allowed among us. With all our duties and payments, we have not that tax. Our sailors or soldiers enlist of their own free will, and they have to be paid an equivalent for current wages. Any other European state can maintain its armies for half the sum per thousand that we pay and promise; yet we neither pay nor promise too much-perhaps

rather too little.

Our army and navy are scattered over the globe. A great politician in the United States said that the roll of our morning drum never ceased. The extent of our possessions answers our purpose, but involves responsibilities. An army, numerous if brought together, are scattered over the earth; and even including the depots of regiments on colonial and foreign service, the entire force at home is never numerous.

The extension of steam power in foreign navies has reduced the advantages of our insular position. Even with great vigilance on the part of our navy, a numerous army might land on our coasts, with little inconvenience. Until lately, however, we appear to have lived without a channel fleet, and we are unacquainted with any means to prevent a Russian fleet from bombarding Edinburgh or Leith, or even landing an armed force, and levying contributions.

The defenceless condition of the country is not a new discovery. Twenty years ago the late Duke of Wellington gave information to the Government that might have alarmed his

colleagues in political circles. Twelve years, if not more, have passed since the late Earl of Ellesmere expressed his conviction that, in case of an invasion, all that the Guards could do would be to march out of London at one side, as the enemy marched in at the other. The Earl of Ellesmere did not certainly make a high estimate of the difficulties natural to a march on London through a desperate enemy's country. These remarks were not caused by any dread of Louis Napoleon, who was not a prominent figure then in the world. His advent to power; his conduct on the French throne; and the magnitude of his armaments, have roused the country. But although he were a private citizen, and a John Smith secundus next month, the same necessity would exist for preparations. We do not arm against Louis Napoleon, but against possibilities. Louis Philippe or his sons; General Changarnier or his colleagues-may have been as dangerous neighbours as Louis Napoleon and his friends. Yet the Emperor wields more irresistible power than either of them. He commands a larger army; he gives less accounting of his revenue, and the manner in which it is expended; and he is more dependent on external supplies of excitement than any of his predecessors in the Tuilleries.

France is not the only quarter from which we may expect trouble. We do not arm against France or from fear of Franceagainst Russia or from fear of Russia, but against coalitions and possibilities; and because it beseems a nation with flags in every breeze, and on every sea, to be prepared for all contingencies.

A numerous party in this country oppose these movements, because they deem them calculated to provoke hostilities; but if the conclusions were correct, continental nations must be more irascible than we islanders are, for they have had national guards since the peace of 1815. And the British Government or people never quarrelled with the institution. This party oppose these proceedings because they say that drill and uniforms inculcate a martial spirit. That is their object, or one of their purposes. A martial spirit by itself is neither despicable nor wicked. It does not necessarily imply a quarrelsome spirit, which in man or nation is a great calamity.

The same party assure us that if an invasion of the country were attempted, the nation would arise and destroy these unwelcome visitors. Probably no assurance of the kind is necessary, but the business in question could be done with greater economy of blood

by persons who had acquired a little knowledge of the trade, than by others who might have to learn the use of weapons.

Again, we believe that invasion will not occur if in addition to the conviction that they are not wanted, the probable invaders have the feeling that they would not be allowed to remain, if they did not perish by an over warm welcome. In that sense the real peace societies are these organised companies of volunteers, and the best of tracts addressed to foreigners, who do not read our language, are rifles. The hieroglyphics of great ships, and their heavy and rifled guns are intelligible universally.

The rifle volunteers have sprung into strength with amazing rapidity. Companies exist in nearly all large towns, and in many rural districts, although the number of men actually enrolled is not correctly stated. The Edinburgh companies were first, perhaps, in organisation. Some of them have been under drill for five or six months, and may be considered proficient. The Glasgow companies are now more numerous, and really were first employed in an honorary and official service. They number considerably over 2,000; and contrasting the population of Glasgow with that of the three kingdoms, the number would infer a total force of 120,000. That city is, however, farther forward-nearly as usualthan its rivals; and Manchester, the centre at one period of the non-arming party, is now engaged in the collection of funds for the equipment of several companies. London could not be fairly compared with the other great cities; as it had rifle volunteers several years since.

The proposal has been successful in attracting considerable numbers of one class, and the Government have, it is said, agreed to find rifles for all the men in each case. By this means the rifle volunteers will become equivalent gradually to a local militia. During the last war, the majority of the trained bands in the country belonged to the local militia. They were not required to serve out of the country. They were officered, to a considerable extent, by men of their own selection. Their training occurred at convenient hours for the majority of the men, and they were exercised occasionally in large bodies. It seems highly probable that the rifle movement will become something of the same nature, and be equally complete in its organisation.

Many speeches were made during the last month on the subject, with the common comparisons to the ancient archers, their manners and weapons; and the ordinary excitements to dilligence in drill and practice. Some of the speakers told how fields were won, in eloquent terms. Others became

more specific on the duties of volunteers. They even condescended to the detail of means by which volunteers might make themselves generally useful. As yet the idea appears to stop with the duties of light soldiers" assigned to them by Sir Archibald Alison of Glasgow. We trust their training will proceed in a different line. Light companies, who are expected to discharge the duties comprised formerly in those of riflemen, have the most ardous part of the entire business, the greater fatigue, fighting, and marching. They are naturally led to trust more to their rifles, and proficiency in their use, than is either desirable or necessary in numerous bodies of soldiers. Some officers allege that the ditching and dodging around Sebastopol spoiled the morale of the regiments engaged principally in the trenches. The men got accustomed to look for shells, and watch for shots. From the character of the service, that practice became absolutely requisite, and did not qualify them for those field-duties, by which frequently, but more generally now than heretofore, battles are won. It may be a lamentable prospect, but we believe it is true that greater precision in the use of rifles has drawn armies earlier together than was their use and wont. Men cannot be manoeuvered in large masses within a quarter or half a mile, as was done formerly for hours, under a heavy fire of smoke; because now the fire would be fatal rapidly. In the last Italian war, the war of the present year, it appears now that the French had not that advantage over the heavier Austrians, of which we read in the battles of the first Napoleon. Either the Austrians were better disciplined and although borne back, could not be broken up and scattered, or a change has become requisite in tactics. Perhaps, the latter supposition may be true, and is true, according to the theory we have mentioned. If it be correct, the practice of the bayonet becomes not less essential than that of the rifle. It may even be more important, and although activity and personal strength are elements of success in its use, yet something is gained by skill.

Individuals from the different companies in course of drill have been trained to the use of the rifle in the schools of musketry at Hythe; but perhaps a better and cheaper plan would bring the teachers to all the men, instead of a few men to the teachers. Wonderful attainments are promised at Hythe, according to some of the lectures on gunnery, which we have read, and assuming that they are correctly reported. Some parties say, or are stated to have said, that they taught their scholars the use of the rifle without employing powder or shot. So far of its use may be taught in that economical manner, but as