JANET and H. S. propose questions for the Work Table, which we have transferred to Mrs. Pullan, the editress of that department. And here we may announce that we have another novelty in preparation which will please our lady friends. We purpose giving occasionally, without extra charge, "Fly-Leaves for the Work-Table," for tracing needlework patterns of the actual size. The first of these "Leaves" will appear shortly, with four patterns.

AGNES D. wishes that a few additional "forfeits" should be inserted in the FAMILY FRIEND Pastime. "And puzzles," writes a juvenile correspondent-M. R.

"Why not," suggests one of our Council, "call upon our subscribers to assist us in this puzzling matter?"

An excellent hint: so we hereby invite the contributions of our friends generally-for many and various are the ingenious fancies that can delight the fireside of most homesteads; and any that are curious and original, of course, will be duly prized.

CHARLES H. is a lover of charms-a seeker of the marvellous. "Can you give me," he inquires, "a charm for warts?" The subject is anything but charming; nevertheless, we remember the receipt of a wag, and which runs thus-" Put your mouth close to the wart, and tell it in a whisper, that if it will not go away you will burn it out with caustic. If it does not take the hint, be as good as your word." But here we have

J. E. C. (who is similarly afflicted with warts) but who treats the case in a matter-of-fact manner, and desires to know the most efficient method of removing them. Putting all conjurations aside, therefore, we may state that nitrate of silver (lunar caustic) cures these troublesome excrescences. The method of using it is to dip the end of the caustic in a little water, and to rub it over the warts. In the course of a few trials, by so doing, they will be gone, without any other miracles than good sense and patience.

WILLIAM PATERSON "is a careful observer of animal life in its minute formations; but the microscope he has in use does not sufficiently develop the natural prodigies to be found in a pint of Thames water." Our friend has a morbid craving to behold the legs and cases of the crustacea, the hydras, the cyclops, the entozoa, and other monstrosities which we pass between our parched lips with comfortable unconsciousness. For ourselves, much as we are devoted to science, we prefer living in blissful ignorance of such beings, since we are obliged to swallow them; but William Paterson can pursue his interesting discoveries with a good achromatic microscope, having powers of 250 and 500 linear diameters. Such an instrument, of French manufacture, can be obtained for from, £4 to £6.

A much more agreeable subject than our last is broached by S. H., who has searched in vain the

volumes of the FAMILY FRIEND for a receipt to make Gooseberry Wine. We hasten to supply the deficiency; and that esteemed promoter of domestic comfort, good Mrs. Rundle, comes to our aid. Here are her directions:-To every three pounds of gooseberries, put a pint of spring water unboiled, having first bruised the fruit with the hands in a tub; stir them very well; let them stand a whole day; then strain them off, and to every three pounds of gooseberries add a pint of water and a pound of sugar dissolved. Let it stand twenty-four hours longer, then skim the head clean off, and put the liquor into a vessel, and the scum into a flannel bag, adding the liquor that drains from it to that in the vessel; let it work for two or three days before stopping it up close, and allow it to stand four months before it is bottled; when it is drawn out of the cask, it should not be tapped too low.

Possibly H. LARKIN, who is desirous of making what he terms "English Champagne," will find this recipe equally useful.

From the vintage, we will pass to the laws of etiquette, and ponder over the inquiry of a "YOUNG SUBSCRIBER," "whether visiting at houses is calculated to improve the mind." The habit of calling upon a number of persons, and addressing a variety of characters readily and briefly, gives great ease to manner; and a "Young Subscriber," if he is careful in the choice of his friends, need not have fears for his mental quietude.

"are

H. ELWIN follows the same train of thought as our last questioner. "What," he urges, the qualifications of a gentleman?” We will answer briefly in the words of Shakspere, who defines "an absolute gentleman, full of most excellent differences, of very soft society, and great showing." But one qualification, we must remind H. Elwin, is, not to ask too many questions at once. We shall, therefore, follow the example of a French orator, who began a discourse by say. ing he would divide it into thirteen heads; but perceiving a murmur of discontent among his audience at this ominous announcement, he immediately continued, "I shall at present, however, omit a dozen of them."

There is a rustling of leaves, and the breath of summer in the words of C. W. G. "I am passionately fond of flowers, but I find myself very ignorant of botany. What treatise on that delightful science can I obtain ?" And who, friend C. W. G., is not fond of flowers?

"DRINK, madam,' said I to Mrs. Meredith, slightly touching her lips with the spoon; but they remained firmly closed.

"Madam, your child,' I went on in a lower voice.

"Eva opened her eyes, and raised herself with difficulty, and lying on her side, leant towards the draught that I presented to her, then fell back upon her pillow.

"I must wait,' she murmured, for the sake of my child.'

"From this time Mrs. Meredith spoke no more, but obeyed mechanically all my prescriptions. Stretched on her bed of sorrow, she appeared to sleep constantly; but at any

VOL. XI. NO. CXXXI.

moment, when in a low voice I said, 'Raise yourself, drink this,' she was obedient at the first word; a proof that the soul was still wakeful in that motionless body, and found not a moment of forgetfulness or repose.

I had to arrange the funeral of William alone. Nothing certain was known of the cause of his death. The money he had gone to fetch from the town was not found upon him; possibly he had been robbed and murdered. It might be that the money, paid to him in notes, had dropped out of his pocket when he fell from his horse; and, since some time had elapsed before we thought of searching for it, that the rain on that night had caused us to lose sight of it in the miry soil and the wet grass. Some investigation took place, but had no result, and soon all inquiry ceased on that point. I endeavoured to learn from Eva Meredith if she had not some letters to write to in

form her own family or that of her husband; but it was with difficulty I could draw any reply from her. At last I arrived at the conclusion, that I must take upon myself alone to act as her man of business, and do what was proper to be done. I hoped that from England, at any rate, some news would reach us that might decide the future course of this poor lady; but no-day succeeded day and not a person on earth seemed to have any knowledge that the widow of Willium was living in complete isolation in the midst of a poor village. At a somewhat later period, by way of an experiment to recall Eva to a feeling of existence, I expressed a strong wish for her to leave her bed. On the evening of the day that I had given this advice, I found her up, and dressed in black. It was the shadow of the beautiful Eva Meredith. Her hair was parted in bands over her pale forehead; she was seated near a window, and remained motionless as she had been in her bed.

"It was thus that I passed in silence the long evenings with her, holding a book in my hand for an excuse. Each day, on arriving, I addressed to her a few words of pity and devotion. She replied to me with a look that expressed her thanks, and then we remained without speaking. I waited for some occasion to present itself to exchange some thoughts with her, but my awkwardness, or my respect for her misfortune, either knew not how to give rise to it, or suffered it to pass. Little by little I grew accustomed to this absence of conversation, this silent meditation-besides, what could I have said to her? The important point was, that she should know she was not alone in the world; and all obscure as was the support on which she rested, it was still something. I went to see her only that my presence might say to her 'I am here.'

"This was a strange phase in my life; and had a great influence on the remainder of my destiny. Had I not shown so much regret at seeing the white house disappear, I would pass rapidly to the conclusion of this story; but as you wished to know why that house has become to me a consecrated place, it is necessary I should tell you what have been my thoughts, what my feelings under its humble roof. Excuse, ladies, some serious words. It is by no means a bad thing for the young to be sometimes

saddened; youth has much time before it to laugh and to forget!

"The child of a peasant who had made a fortune, I had been sent to Paris to complete my studies. During four years passed in that great town, I preserved my awkwardness of manner-the simplicity of my language; but rapidly lost my artlessness of feelings. I returned to these mountains almost a learned man; but almost a sceptic on all that makes a man live peaceably under a cottage roof with his wife and children, without carrying his eyes beyond the cross of the church-yard that may be seen from the threshold of his dwelling.

"While Eva Meredith was happy, I had learnt from her happiness some useful lessons. They have led me astray there in Paris,' I said to myself. There are true hearts to be found, there are minds as pure as those of infants. The enjoyment of the moment is not all that there is in life. There are feelings that do not end with the end of the year. It is possible to love a long time-perhaps for ever.'

"In contemplating the love of William and Eva, I recovered my simple peasant nature of former days. I took to dreaming of a wife, virtuous, candid, assiduous at her work, adorning my home with her cares and her good order. I could see myself proud of the gentle serenity of her features, that revealed to all approaching her, the wife faithful, and even a little austere. Such, certainly, were not my Parisian reveries at the close of a joyous night spent with my comrades. A horrible misfortune fell like a thunderbolt upon Eva Meredith. This time I comprehended less quickly the new lesson every day was teaching me.

"Eva remained seated at her window, with her sad eyes mournfully fixed on heaven. This position, so usual to all who are in a reverie, excited at first very little of my attention; but its lengthened continuance alarmed me at last. With my book open on my knees, I regarded Mrs. Meredith attentively; and quite sure that her eyes would not surprise mine, I examined her attentively. Eva gazed upon the sky; my eyes followed the direction of hers.

"Ah,' said I to myself, musingly, she believes she will go thither, again to meet him.' Then I took up my book again, with the thought of what a happy thing it was for the weakness of woman that ideas

of such a nature could come to the relief of their affliction.

"I have told you that my sojourn among the students had put bad notions in my head. Every day, however, I saw Eva in the same attitude; and every day my reflections returned to the same subject. By degrees, I began to think that the dream she indulged in was a pleasant one. I began to be sorry at not being able to believe such a dream to be true. The soul -heaven-eternal life-all that the curate had heretofore spoken of—once more crossed my imagination while I remained seated before that open window. I said to myself, 'What the old Curè pointed out to me has more consolation in it than the cold realities of science have allowed me to indulge in.' Then I looked on Eva, who ever looked on heaven, while the bells of the village church sounded in the distance, and the rays of the setting sun gilded the cross of the belfry. I returned often to sit by that poor widow, who persevered in all her griefs, as in her holy hopes.

"What!' I thought, 'Does love so great address itself to nothing more than a little dust, already mingled with the earth? Have all these sighs no other object? William is gone, in his young years, with his fresh affections, with his heart even yet in its first flower. She had not loved him but a year-but a little year!-and all is over for her! There is nothing above our heads but air. Love-that sentiment so lively within us-is not a flame placed in the dark prison of our bodies, where it shines, burns, and then is extinguished, when the frail wall that incloses it may fall to pieces! A handful of dust, and there is all that remains of our loves, of our hopes, of our thoughts, our passions, of all that breathes, moves, and exalts itself within us!'

"And there came a great silence in the depths of my soul. In truth, I had ceased to think. I became as it were asleep, between what I could no longer deny and what I would not yet believe. At last, one evening, just as Eva joined her hands to pray, on the most beautiful starry night that it was possible to see, I know not how it happened, but my hands were joined too, and my lips half-opened to murmur a prayer. On this occasion, by some happy chance, Eva Meredith for the first time took notice of what was going on around her, as

if a secret instinct informed her that my thoughts were about to place themselves in harmony with hers.

"I thank you,' she said, holding out her hand to me. 'Remember him, and pray, thus, sometimes for him!'

"Oh, madam, that we could meet each other again in a better world, whether our lives have been long or short, happy or sorely tried!'

"The immortal soul of William is there, on high!' she said to me, in a grave voice, while her glance, at once sad and brilliant, was again fixed on the heavens.

"From that hour, in fulfilling the duties of my profession, I have often seen men die; but to survivors I have always addressed some consoling words on a better life than the present; and these words have become my thoughts!

"At last, a month after these silent events, Eva Meredith gave birth to a son. When, for the first time, they placed her baby in her arms, William, exclaimed the poor widow; and tears--those wholesome tears, too long denied to her sorrows, fell in torrents from her eyes. The infant received the much-loved name of William; and his little cradle was always placed by the side of his mother's bed. Henceforth, Eva's glance, that had always been turned from the earth, began to turn towards the earth again. She looked on her son as she had looked on heaven. She bent over him to catch the likeness of his father. God had permitted a perfect resemblance between William and his son, whom he was never to see. It made a great change in the little household. Eva Meredith, who had only consented to live for the child's sake-to await until the existence of her child

was

now, I could well perceive, desirous still to live, since she felt her living protection necessary to his little being. She passed her days-her evenings-in sitting by his cradle; and when I came to see her, oh! how she then would talk to me, and question me as to the attentions necessary for it-would set forth its little ailments to me, and ask what was necessary to save it from the slightest suffering. She dreaded for her child the warmth of the sun's rays, the most trifling chilliness in the air. Bending over him, she covered him with her body, and warmed him with her kisses. One day I thought I almost

saw her smile on her child; yet she would never, while rocking his cradle, sing him to sleep; but called one of her women, and said, 'Sing my son to rest.' Then she would listen, and let her tears fall gently on the forehead of her little William. Poor infant! he was beautiful, gentle, easy to rear; but, as if the afflictions of his mother had reached him even before his birth, this child was mournful; he rarely cried, but he never laughed; he was calm, and calmness at this age makes us think of suffering. It seemed to me as if all the tears shed over his cradle had frozen on his little soul. I should like to have seen the arm of William caressing and encircling his mother's neck; I wished to see him return the kisses she showered on him so prodigally. 'But of what am I thinking?' said I to myself. 'Ought I to require this little creature, not yet out of his first year, to understand that it has come into the world to console and love this woman?'

"It was, I assure you, ladies, a sight that moved the heart, to observe this mother, young, pale, and weak, who had renounced all future for herself, as it were, take up her life again, for the sake of a little infant who could not yet even say, 'Thank you, my mother.' How wondrous the human heart! how much it makes out of so little! Give it but a grain of sand, and it will raise up a mountain; nay, at its last throb, show it but an atom for its love, and quickly it will begin to beat again: it stops not for ever until all around is void, and when even the shadow of what was dear to it has disappeared from the earth.

"Eva would lay her infant on the carIpet at her feet; and while looking at its gambols, would say to me-'Mr. Barnaby, when my son grows up, I should like him to be a distinguished, well-educated man. I shall select for him some noble career. I will accompany him through all-over sea, if he be a sailor; to the very Indies, if in the army. I hope for him glory and honour; and look forward to the day when I can throw myself into his arms, and say with pride, I am his mother. Will it not be so, Mr. Barnaby? He will permit me to accompany him? A poor woman, who needs nought but silence and solitude for her sorrows, will be in no one's way. Am I not right?' And then we used to discuss the different careers open to his choice, and

mentally saw, at the moment, twenty years pass over the head of the infant child, forgetting both of us that those twenty years would render us old people, and wear out our little share of the best days of life. But we had no thought of ourselves; we cared not for being young and happy, would youth and happiness but come to him.

"While listening to these pleasant dreams, I could scarcely help regarding with a shudder the child on whom depended so much of another existence. In spite of myself, a vague inquietude took possession of my mind; yet I thought, 'She has shed tears enough. Surely the Heaven she prays to will yield to her some small portion of happiness!"

"Such was our position, when a letter reached me from an uncle, the only relative remaining to me. He belonged to the faculty at Montpellier, and summoned me to that learned town to complete my initiation in the mysteries of my profession. Such a letter, though in the form of a request, was equal to a command. My departure was inevitable. One morning, my heart heavy with anxiety at the isolation in which I should leave the widow and her little orphan, I entered the white house to take my leave of Eva Meredith. When I told her that I was about to quit her for a long period, I cannot say that her countenance showed even a slight shade of sadness. Since the death of William Meredith, her beautiful face had worn an expression of melancholy so profound, that it was impossible to remark anything there but a smile; as for sadness, it was always there.

"Depart!' she exclaimed; 'your care has been so useful to my child.'

"The poor creature had no thought of regret at this separation from the only friend left to her! The mother regretted only the physician who had been useful to her child. I complain not of that. To be useful is a recompense sweet to the devoted. 'Adieu!' she resumed, holding out her hand to me. 'Wherever you go, oh, may God bless you! And if it be His will that you should one day be unhappy, may He, at least, place near you a heart as compassionate as your own.'

"I bent my head over the hand of Eva Meredith, and parted from her with deep

emotion.

"The child was lying in front of the