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Education being impossible, religious conversion impracticable, judicial, political, and territorial reforms already effected, there remains still, in the estimation of our author, other conquests to make; there is the soil to be grappled with and fertilised, there are roads to create, the climate to be set at defiance, nature itself to be seized by the body and to be subdued. Hence it is that railways will do more to metamorphose Hindhustan than ages of political and religious teaching.

Sir Hugh Rose, who has the credit of reorganising the new native army, reduced from seventy thousand to forty thousand, spoke, on relinquishing his command of that army, as might naturally be expected, in couleur de "rose.' "It is," he says, "an efficient, obedient, and welldisposed native army, who, young as they are, have already done good service in the field." "These results," he adds, "could not have been obtained if the patronage of the army had not been devoted exclusively to military merit."

India is now under the rule of the Queen of England, more liberal ideas regarding the utilisation of the soil, opening communications, and colonising the country, are being introduced. Public works are extended, industry cherished, and the peasant, as far as possible, relieved from that old bane, the money-lender and usurer. Civilisation is gradually taking the place of mere government. But it behoves us to watch narrowly that army whose legions have ever been our danger, and which has again swollen up into such dimensions, that but for the presence of more than sixty-five thousand Europeans, we should be once more at the mercy of the Sepoy. The discontented among them, especially among the jemadars and subahdars, are, it is well known, numerous. It is time that this army should be replaced by an army of industrials. In the enormous native force which we maintain in India, and which is now practically under the guidance of the home government for the time being, we cherish a twofold peril, fostering a ruinous expense, and proclaiming that the era of peace in India has still to dawn.

And this is not surprising, for the greatest of all questions remains yet to be solved, and that not only between England and India, but between India and all Europe, whether GOOD or EVIL are to dominate over so many millions of human beings, whether the doctrines of Bhowanie and Kali or of Christ are to obtain the ascendancy. It would be doubting Providence not to believe that the triumph will be with GOOD.

A REVERIE AMONG THE ALPS.

BY NICHOLAS MICHELL.

HAVE mountains language? Yes, they speak to man With tongues ne'er mute through long-revolving timeGrand poems writ, when Nature's youth began,

By God's own finger, glorious and sublime.
Mountains to teach humility were given,

Mountains are spirits' stepping-stones to Heaven;
They rose 'mid dread convulsions, storms, and thunder,
A pride, a fear, a beauty, and a wonder.

I gaze upon

those masses, lifting high

Their brows like an eternity in stone,
To hold communion with the bending sky-

Those speakers in the infinite alone,

Whose words are tempests, and whose glances fire,
Darting from clouds electric round each spire.
Sure mountains breathe, like ocean's endless roll,
Nature's sublime religion o'er the soul.

Lo! Rosa standeth with his shield of snow,

His giant breast all mailed with iron frost;
Tempests may rave, and lightnings flash below,
Defying all, his spear on high is tost;
He shouts to Cenis, whose cloud-flag unfurls,
And wrathful Viso, who his av'lanche hurls,
While Jungfrau, battling in his icy car,
His cannon-voice of thunder sounds afar.

The king above his subjects solemn sits,
Majestic as stupendous and alone;
The wandering cloud, like some small insect, flits
Around the pillars of his steadfast throne:
Mont Blanc looks forth in mightiness, his eye
Claims nothing worthy of him save the sky,
Owns, raised like an archangel o'er the sod,
Only one higher, Him who made him-God.
They who have gazed on towering Alpine peaks,
In their stern nakedness and savage pride,
Where, sailing o'er the storm, the eagle shrieks,
And rolls the lauwen* echoing wild and wide;
Have seen the cataract down foaming, flashing,
Like the white mane of that pale courser dashing
Across the clouds in awful Patmian dream,

While o'er the spray, red, arching foam-bows gleam:
They who have gazed with thoughts that dare to burn,
Souls that love nature, fancies that aspire,
To common scenes and mortals will return,
Bearing within an unconsuming fire-
The fire of recollection, evermore

To warm, delight, all mean things rising o'er;
Wild as first chaos, but without its gloom,

That scene will haunt their spirits to the tomb.

*The avalanche.

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PARIS was very different to Madeleine from what it had been in her more juvenile days. She was then a spoiled child, with no aim but amusement, no object but admiration. Dress was her only serious study, everything else was but valued according to the advantage derived from it in society. Her frivolous and unprincipled mother had never checked her in any folly, and her father, who doated on her, never saw any fault in her; indeed, he saw but little of her at all, for he was seldom at home, as he found more congenial society elsewhere.

For a very few days Madeleine had been contented to drive about the well-remembered streets, to take Agnes to the fashionable shops, at which their mother used to deal, though Agnes was very reluctant to go to these establishments, and only went to keep her pouting sister in good humour, fearing lest Alfred should be annoyed by any outbreak of temper on the part of Madeleine, whose disposition was very far from even.

Poor Agnes had a good deal to bear with in her sister's never-ending caprices, her frequent crossness, without any apparent reason for being cross, and the sudden fits of passion into which she was accustomed to fall. Even Agnes's habitual serenity and self-control sometimes almost gave way under these, to her, serious domestic inflictions. But when inclined to be angry at Madeleine, Agnes invariably called to mind her destitute and desolate position; a poor orphan, without a home except that afforded her by her husband and herself, with no protector but them, since her mother was lost to her.

"Poor girl!" she would say to herself, "I must have patience with her, she is so entirely dependent upon us, in all respects, that it is my duty to bear with her, and it is also my duty to prevent her unfortunate ebullitions of temper from vexing my dear Alfred, who is so kind to her My father is said to have been a sensible man, I wonder he did not perceive and endeavour to control this disposition of hers to give way to every gust of ill humour, every little disturbing feeling that may pass through her ill-regulated mind. I trust that a merciful Providence may enable me to bring up my own darling little girls better."

and to me.

The indulgence of bad temper is not enumerated among the cardinal sins, but it really deserves a place among them. It certainly does more universal harm, and causes more universal misery, than crimes of the deepest dye. These may have a more terrible effect on a few, create a more fearful sensation on the public mind, but if these capital crimes have their hundreds of victims, bad temper has its thousands, its tens of thousands, its millions perhaps. Wretched must be the home, however splendid, where bad temper reigns; happy the home, however humble,

into which it has never crept! Good temper is the brightest gift of God; good temper is the greatest blessing in domestic life.

Oh blest with temper whose unclouded ray

Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day,

says the poet, and every child should be taught to get these lines by heart.

It is not pleasant to live amidst frequent storms of thunder and lightning, amidst constant drizzling rain, or cold, dark, foggy days, accompanied with occasional heavy snowstorms. To the first may be likened sudden fits of passion; to the second, a nagging, crabbed temper; to the third, a sullen, morose, gloomy disposition.

Madeleine's temper partook most of the thunder and lightning class; and when the tempest, generally short-lived, was over, all was clear, and fresh, and bright as are the sky and the air after a thunderstorm. The reaction may be very charming sometimes, and there may be people who prefer these alternations of storm and shine, but calm, sunny weather is, upon the whole, preferable.

The barometer kept pretty steady with Madeleine for a few days, then it began to fall. Everything was "triste," everything badly arranged; she went with her party to public places, but she did not happen to meet with any one she had formerly known, and this was a great disappointment to her.

66

Agnes," she said to her sister one day, "we really must bestir ourselves to get into a little society while we are here. Captain Howard, and his friend the Honourable Captain Greville, who has joined him. since we came to Paris, and Alfred, of course, are all very well, but 'toujours perdrix,' you know, 'ne vaut rien.' It is terrible to be so stupid in Paris, we might almost as well be at Woodbury."

"I wish we were back at Woodbury," replied Agnes; "I do not see anything very enchanting in Paris."

"Ah! because you do not know it. Let us go and pay a visit to the duchess, papa's friend, and you will soon be introduced into a pleasant circle."

Agnes looked horror-stricken at this proposition.

"The duchess-that duchess-that woman who caused so much disunion between our unfortunate parents! Madeleine, how can you think for a moment of seeking her?"

66 Why not? She did not make mamma run away-she did not kill poor papa. She was very sorry for his death. She gives the most charming entertainments; I am sure you would be delighted with them if you were to go to them."

"Nothing would induce me to go, Madeleine. I could not bring myself to associate with persons of her character, however agreeable their manners might be."

"What a stupid prude you are, Agnes! You were born to be the abbess of a convent of one of the very strictest orders; even then, I dare say, you would have been imagining all manner of mischief between the nuns and the father confessors. You are the counterpart of that detestable old fright, Miss Meenie, of whom I have heard papa speak with such horror."

Madeleine was getting into a rage, and Agnes's quiet smile increased

her anger.

"I can't bear your tiresome ways. Alfred is quite right in saying that you know nothing of the world-nothing at all !”

Agnes coloured, and for a moment looked annoyed; she then replied, calmly :

"Alfred is quite right; I know very little of society, but I know what is right and what is wrong, and I do not wish to improve my acquaintance with the world by associating with people of improper character."

"Bêtise! as if you were an angel come down straight from heaven, and everybody else were-were-devils!" half shrieked Madeleine, stamping her little foot on the floor.

To what pitch her wrath might have carried her cannot be known, for at that moment Captain Howard entered the room, carrying a small parcel in his hand done in coloured paper. up Madeleine recovered her

temper with wonderful celerity, though the traces of excitement still remained on her pretty face.

"Though this is not 'le jour de l'an,' ladies," he said, "I have ventured to bring an humble offering to each, which I hope you will do me the honour to accept."

He opened the parcel, and presented Agnes and Madeleine each with a beautiful fan of the most exquisite workmanship. Howard handed his gift to Agnes first, who, on opening the tissue paper in which it was wrapped, and taking the fan from its case, looked exceedingly surprised; then, holding out her hand to the donor, she exclaimed:

"What a magnificent fan! A thousand thanks for your great kindness in thinking of me, dear Captain Howard; but really this is too costly a present. What shall I do with such a splendid fan in the solitude of a country-house?"

"In the first place, it is by no means too handsome for your use; in the second place, why do you call me so formally Captain Howard? Am I not your cousin, and have I not, therefore, a claim to be called Edgar ?"

"Well, Edgar be it henceforth, with all my heart; but, remember, I must then be Agnes."

"And now, Miss Stuart," he said, turning to Madeleine, whose eyes were fixed upon the beautiful fan in her sister's hand, "will you deign to make use of this one?"

And he undid the paper, opened a delicately-embossed rose-coloured case, and brought forth a fan equally handsome as the one he had given Agnes, but more delicate in its tints. Madeleine received it with almost childish delight, gracefully fluttered it before her for a few moments, and then, her face radiant with smiles, held out her hand, in imitation of her sister, to Captain Howard, saying:

"Not one thousand only, but ten thousand, ten million of thanks, for this charming bijou, dear Captain-Edgar, for, if you are my sister's cousin, you know you must be mine also."

"I am only too happy to acknowledge the relationship,” replied Howard, with evident gratification.

"But what am I to give you in return, mon cher cousin?" asked Madeleine, coquettishly.

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