richness, quaintness, and heaviness of the furniture would probably be no excuse in your eyes, my fair reader, for the accumulated rubbish and dirt everywhere to be seen, and almost felt. Folios were strewn on couches, carpets, chairs-everywhere, in fact, where they could find room to locate themselves, dividing the empire of the room with musical instruments of every description; and if not repulsed by the dust and cobwebs, you might, on handling these folios, ascertain that they were the musical and vocal works of all the great masters. The walls were closely crowded with brackets, which upheld effigies and busts of the votaries of music and song, many, nay, most of them, united by the spider's busy toils. The sole occupant of this musical lumber-room sat dreamily discussing his breakfast. He was young; very young, would be your verdict at first sight; but after being with him for a short time, you would say, six-and-thirty for six-and-twenty years, and add, that time had dealt gently with him. Truly, Prince Paul took life easily, and no one knew better how to do so; he had many likings, which others made it their study to gratify; besides these, he had a master passion, and this he took into his own hands-it was music. He was a profound egotist, and was so without giving offence by it. He was the "enfant gâté" of Europe; his handsome person, large fortune, and elegant taste, were favourite topics of the day. At the time of which I am speaking, he was staying in Brussels, wavering between a projected visit to Naples or to London-for, amongst other things, he had learnt to appreciate our smoky metropolis; and whilst in the act of stirring his chocolate he was trying to come to a decision. Believe me, dear reader, it was an effort, a great effort, because it broke in on the dolce far niente which Prince Paul knew how to enjoy so perfectly. Something else was destined to disturb his repose that morning. A knock at the door elicited a languid "Entrez,” in reply, and Père Latour entered, waiting for no second invitation, well knowing himself to be always sure of a welcome. "A la bonneheure!" exclaimed Prince Paul; "sit down, mon cher, I have much Prince Paul folded his white hands. Anything from you, mon père, as you know. But a little tale! Eh bien! commencez donc, ce sera piquant, du moins." "Years ago," said the priest, "a sturdy English yeoman left his native land, and came to seek a home in Germany. His doings prospered, and in due time he married; his chosen wife was a very young, romantic girl, who had never left her native village on the Rhine, for-" "Pardon me, revered father," interrupted Prince Paul; "but will you excuse me if I ask whether you offer me this lively storiette for the libretto of a new opera? ou bien, is it that you do not like to say to ce cher Paul, you do wrong,' and would point the moral for my benefit? If it be so, say it, mon ami, and spare me the recital so touching, so tender, of the yeoman and his romantic wife." And as he concluded, he flung—yes, reader-he actually flung his embroidered fez at the sacred person of Père Latour! But the composure of the latter was not to be easily disturbed on this particular morning; gravely he caught the cap, more gravely still did he restore it to its audacious owner, saying, as he did so "Paul, you were my pupil once, and you loved me; it is but a small thing that I ask of you this day; give me your attention for five minutes only, and I shall have done." "Bon!" said the prince, settling himself; but incorrigible, as he ever was, he could not avoid taking up a curiouslychased chronometer that lay near, saying, “ Allons, Père Latour, I count the minutes." "Awhile they lived happily," continued the priest, taking up the thread of his narrative; "but, by some accident, the girl became acquainted with a great singer (whose remains lie in the little churchyard of Laeken), who speedily discovered that she possessed a fine voice, and great capacity for singing. Unhappy Louise! dazzled by the kindness of the great cantatrice, she asked herself but one question, Was it possible for her, also, to shine on the great world's stage; to hear her name, also, echoed throughout Europe? "Vain dream! The stern islander, her husband, extorted from her a promise that she would, under no circumstances, turn the newly-discovered gift to account. You smile, Prince Paul; but such things have been, such things are. "When their only child, Valdovie, attained her fourteenth year, her father was carried off by one of those inscrutable dispensations of Providence, to which we can but bow our heads; and Louise brought her child to this country. You will easily guess that, disappointed in her own visions of greatness, the mother eagerly sought their fulfilment through the instrumentality of her daughter. In order that the child might have masters, and a thorough musical education, she deprived herself of all the luxuries, and, indeed, many of the necessaries of life. At this moment she is dying, content in the assurance that Valdovie will keep her word, for she has promised to adopt the profession for which she has been so carefully educated. Now, Prince Paul, I come to you to aid me to enable this child to earn her bread." "Eh, mon père," said the Prince, with a genuine look of amazement; "but what can I do? can I transform her into a prima donna ?" "I would have you hear her first, judge of her capabilities, and then you will help her on the road to fame." "Bon!" this with a shrug of the shoulders. "I see it must be; evidently the fates combine to prevent my leaving your dull metropolis. But let us lose no time, mon père; we will go at once in search of this syren in embryo. Lead the way, if you please." "Yes," replied Père Latour; "we will go at once.' CHAPTER II. YES, I can sing it," said the girl, wearily; "do you wish to hear?" "If mademoiselle will be so good," was the answer. She took her place at the small pianoforte and prepared to comply, whilst her companion rose and walked to the end of the room. I can't tell you what he expected, but as the rich tones of Valdovie's voice rose and fell in "Casta Diva," he faced round and listened intently. She left off, and silently he put into her hand "Una voce poco fa," which she sang, and at the conclusion he said, "Imperfect; your heart was not in that soug, mademoiselle." She shook her head, and he continued, "One more, if you please, and I will no longer detain you." As the last notes of Mendelssohn's "Infelice died away, he rose and said, “As you are doubtless aware, mademoiselle, your voice is very fine; it is of a rare quality, and not wanting in compass; you have every facility, and yet you will do nothing if you do not work. Work, mademoiselle! work at "Una voce poco fa;" sing nothing else, and then let me hear it again. Again let me urge you not to allow your And saying this energies to sleep." Prince Paul bowed and left her. But before we do the same, would it gratify you, my reader, to know a little about Valdovie? I can tell you, because I have heard of her from a kind and gentle woman, who loved her while she lived, who loves her memory now. In person she was small, and so slight that you feared a breath of air for her, more especially when remembering that her mother died of consumption. That she was very handsome no one who saw her for a moment could doubt; black hair, dark eyes, a clear olive skin-try and make up to yourself an ideal beauty with these characteristics included, and I suppose you will have as faithful a portraiture of Valdovie as it is now possible to give; what cannot be described is the varied expression, and the play of feature; of these let every one judge for himself. Like other women, her character was plentifully stocked with inconsistencies, but she had a warm loving nature, which was now suffering under the loss of her mother. And let us leave her now to work, work, work, till the brain is dizzy and the room seems to fly round. "You do not say what you think of her," said the priest, somewhat impatiently, as Prince Paul walked silently on. "Père Latour, she will never do-it is folly to think of it." "Not do? What do you mean? can she not sing?" 66 "Si, si, it is not that the organ is there but the strength is wanting. I tell you she will not live a year- bah!-amonth." "Can this be?" said Père Latour; nay, surely not you must be mistaken." "I am not; I would hail any chance of my being so. But we will take care, you and I; we will work, and she shall work, but not too much-doucement, mon père, doucement." "And yet you urged on her the necessity for prompt hard work! You amaze me." "Ah ça! do you not see it is even better for her to work hard than to sit down grieving for that which cannot be undone ?" "You are right, you have acted wisely but let us be gentle with her. Such care for one so young, so unfit to bear it! Eh, que dis-je ?" CONCLUSION. CAN you guess, kind reader, what now must be my sad task? Too truly had Prince Paul said that Valdovie would die. All that now remains of her is sheltered in a retired nook of the Campagna, near Rome. The flowers which cluster on her grave were originally placed there by her two friends; but the "immortels" are from the hands of strangers who hear of her beauty, her youth, and her devotion to her art. I have little more to say of Prince Paul, he, too is dead, mourned and regretted by many who loved the brilliant scholar musician, and gentleman. If you do not recognise him it is because I have not done justice to his memory and Père Latour Well, he passed away quietly and in peace. What more can I add? The tale of a short life is told, and my part is played out. ESTELLA. THE ALGERIAN LION.-The fare may have been commonplace, but the conversaion was remarkable. Its subjee was what might have been expected from the circumstances and the company, for even mine host was something of a lion slayer, and forest behind the house in a quiet unpreoften of an evening strolled ou into the tending way to look for a shot, as a man might who had a rabbit-warren handy. But what chiefly struck me was that they appeared to be on terms of intimate acquaintance with all the lions of the neighbourhood. It seemed as though there was not a lion within a radius of fifty miles that was no pers nally known to some one of the trio. His appearance, his habits, his consort, his family, and the period at which the next little addition to it might be expected-all these were detailed with a freedom and minuteness that would have made the London correspondent of a country newspaper jealous. I noticed, too, that this intimacy with the king of beasts produced a familiarity of expression in speaking of him, calculated to upset notions derived from "Peter Parley's Tales about related did not, upon the whole, increase Lions." The anecdotes also that were one's respect for the animal; and some of them attributed to him a low sort of humour not hitherto noticed by naturalists, and a taste for practical joking quite incompatible with true dignity. It is, it would appear, a pleasant pr ctice of the lion to present himself suddenly to timid travellers in his dom nions, and accompany them for some distance growling and showing his teeth, until they are reduced attained he leaves them uninjured. Stories to a state of extreme terror, which end of this sort are very common in the Algerian newspapers, and my companions mentioned several instances of the same kind, but always on hearsay evidence. I could see that they placed lit le faith in such yarns, which I expect are merely expansions of what is almost an everyday occurrence in these part-that of simply meeting a lion on the high road. It is true roads and paths; but because he finds them that he does show a preference for beaten easier and more comfortable walking than the tangled thickets at each side of him.→ Fraser's Magazine. FAMILY COUNCIL.. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE COUNCIL. HE present number completes the Midsummer volume; and I have gain to congratulate you on the success you have attaired, and the improvement you have made in all the departments of the "Friend." Go on in the right spirit, and you will render your own Magazine second to none in entertaining and instructive literature. Essentially a Magazine for the Family, the "Friend" holds faithfully to the principles it, from the first. endeavoured to inculcate. In Original Composition, Original Music, Original Poetry, and Original Family Pastime, your Magazine has long held a first place in the estimation of its subscribers; and it is with more than ordinary feelings of pleasure I find the Council Board enlarging month by month. I may, however, be allowed to refer, more particularly to one or two points. In prose and poetic compositions let me hope that no Councillor will forward any thing for insertion without carefully editing it; and, if need be, re-writing it. Anything worth doing at all is worth doing well. Especially let me request all the Councillors to attend more carefully to their caligraphy. Nothing is so annoying to an Editor as indifferent handwriting. Many a good paper is rejected simply because the writing is difficult to decypher. A word to the wise. In the Definitions, remember that one good example is worth twenty indifferent ones. The Definition Prize has not of late received the encouragement it deserves. If this prize is to be given in future, it must be more warmly and generally encouraged. The Family Pastime is referred to elsewhere. In future a full month will be given for the solving of the questions propounded; so that the answers for the riddles in May will appear in July, and those for June in August, and so on throughout each volume. It gives me great pleasure to state that the circulation of the Magazine improves monthly, and that I am daily in the receipt of congratulatory compliments on my editorial management. That this state of things may long continue is the earnest desire of, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council, June 1, 1864. Your affectionate Friend, THE PRESIDENT. The words italicized you will please combine in an intelligent sentence, whose meaning shall be distinct from that which they alrea ly convey. OFFERINGS FROM OUR COUNCIL. FLOWERS IN THE CITY. To tell truth, I do not think city life is well suited for the production of essaysthat is, at the time being. Thought and observation are alive then; but it is aft rwards, in the quiet of home, that the results, often valuable, can alone be noted down with ease and pleasure. If I discourse on anything, it must be on a very hacknied subject, yet one in which I happen just now to be much interested. Country-born myself, how can I traverse the neighbou ing squares, and pass unheeding by my poor fellow country people, immured there behind the iron-railings in the centre of each quadrangle? We know -they and I-that spring has come; the lengthening days, the lessening cold, the nameless spell in the air, are full of the news, though the dull, high houses and hard pavements, and incessant rumble of carts and carriages do their urmost to shut it out and deny it. Happily, they cannot succeed; every day the soft, bright green is increasing on the branches, and buds and flowers are creeping out on every side. It may be a fancy of mine, most likely it is, but in a garden, in the full flush of opening spring, it always seems to me as if the stir of the wakening vegetation was audible, especially after one of those kindly showers that only fall at such a time. They do me good every time I pass them, those poor fellow-exiles of mine! They are so utterly dissimilar from their surroundings, so innocent and childlike in the midst of the money-making, bustling crowd that battles outside their enclosure. It is good to see them in the country; but to gain all that flowers and trees have to give, to learn all the true and tender lessons they have to teach, we must meet them in the town. Undimmed cheerfulness in rain or shine; untired patience in adversity; unnumber d offices of kindness to the careless and ungrateful; unwearied performance of daily duty, year by year, year by year, without slack or fail;-such are a few of the wise and happy precepts daily whispered to me through the pit less iron railing. Would that I could more fully profit by them-more clearly trace their effect in my own prac ice! Would, above all, that their highest, best mission were more gratefully, more worthily recognized by me and by all whose eyes rest on these exiles from fairer and more genial homes! for Wherefore have they birth? To comfort man, to whisper hope SCOTTISH SUPERSTITION. country among farmers, contracting for A FEW years ago I was going about the a supply of buttermilk for a manufacturing purpose, and during my travels I visited Argyleshire. One fine morning in April I arrived at the farmhouse of Rannachan, about four miles from the town of Campbleton, then tenanted by a very decent man named Templeton. Just as I entered the farm-yard I met one of the servants, who told me that his master was in the potato field, adding, "Go into the house; there is no one in but the old woman, his mother, and I will send him to you." I went in, and on entering the door found the old woman sitting on a seat in the middle of the floor, cutting seed potatoes. She had a flannel mutch on her head, as the song has it, "Shaped like a closkin' hen;" and across her nose was placed a pair of spectacles with a piece of brown paper over the right eye although the glass was still in it. On bidding her good morning, I remarked it was rather a lonely place to live, so far from any neighbours. "Oh," said she, "the last place we was in would be far lonelier as this; it was in the middle o' a glen. But I needna care noo; I'm an auld woman come to that time o' life when the grasshopper becomes a burden; I have lost the sicht o' one o' my een a' the gither." After drawing her breath for a few minutes, she asked if I had come far that day, and what did I want? I told her I had only travelled from Campbleton, and I was in the way of purchasing milk, if we could agree about it. "Oh, yes," she said, "you'll get a drink of milk." |