passion. She has been kept from healthy of her dark warm eyes, not passionate, but soft, knowledge and graceful accomplishments, from loving, trustful. I never heard a harsh word fall all softening influences and ennobling thoughts, from her lips, nor saw her do anything unkind. until her mind has festered. When she is Hours upon hours we used to pass together in the young, she is shut up until she becomes un-cooling shade of the summer arbour, sometimes comfortable from fat; when she is old, she is turning over the leaves of an old story book, and worked until she becomes a skeleton. None sometimes talking of the strange things we had have any respect or love for her, nor would she be now worthy of it, if they had.

But I drop the pen in weariness, only saying, that if a Greek girl be such as I have described her, what must a Greek boy be?"

THE TWO ANGELS OF THE CITY.

At the time of which I write we lived in a large mansion in the midst of an old city. The house was old-fashioned, abounding in wide staircases and long passages. It had been the residence of my aunt's family for many generations, and she had spent the greater part of her life there. I

never knew how it was that I became an inmate of it, but the earliest and dearest associations of my life are connected with the place.

It was

read.

My other cousin, Emmeline, was little like her sister in such things, but there was a charm and fascination about her that few who saw her could resist. To Gertrude she was all in the world, and more than all. She had dark and very beautiful eyes, full of fervour and expression; sometimes they would flash like bright summer stars, and often would rush into their depths a flood of passionate light, that lingered for a few moments, and then died away into a calm, earnest, intense gaze. Her features were Grecian, and very beautiful, and her voice clear and soft, so that the ear that heard it almost hungered to drink again of its music. Emmeline was not so calm and quiet as her sister,— there was more of passion and fire in her nature, more of restlessness and vivacity.

My aunt was like a mother, to me so that I scarcely could have loved a mother more; but I had never known what it was to look up into my mother's face, and clasp her hand in mine, and bury my head in her bosom.

In the garden at the back of the house was a grass-plot and an arbour of lattice-work, around which grew up the sweet-scented jasmine, and spread its leaves in the summer time so thickly, as I had lived there many years, and my cousins almost to exclude the light of the sun. were growing up from girlhood to womanhood. entered through a low narrow doorway, and inside Gertrude was nineteen and Emmeline eighteen was a small table and a few rustic chairs. Many years old. It was in the summertime when there an hour of sunshine and joy I have spent in that came to live in our city a widow lady of the name cool and calm retreat. In the hot summer after- of Raymore, with her two daughters and her son. noons it was very pleasant to sit with a book upon We observed the strangers at the cathedral many my knees, and listen to the sweet song-birds that Sundays before we became acquainted with them, built their nests and lived unmolested in the sha- and how it happened the acquaintance took place dowy trees of the garden; and it was pleasanter at all I know not, but in the course of a few months still when the forms of two cousins were by my they became not unfrequent visitors at our house. side.

Arthur, the only son of the family, had pale and very thoughtful features, and masses of dark curling hair that clustered around his brows. He had particularly taken my attention whenever I had seen him in the cathedral.

Gertrude and Emineline were the only children of my aunt. They were both beautiful to me. Gertrude was one year older than Emmeline. There was a great difference between the two girls,-one was a timid, fearful thing, fond of readFrom the time the intimacy sprang up between ing quaint old story-books, and of listening to Mrs. Raymore and her family and ourselves, I ancient legends of the mythical beings of old. perceived a change in both Gertrude and EmmeThis was my cousin Gertrude; she had a light line, and then began to rise within my heart strange graceful step, and walked along the grass like the emotions, for which I could not account, even after fairies and elf-maids, about whom she so often the lapse of many years. I had observed for many would talk. Her heart was ever filled with the nonths that Arthur Raymore frequently looked to tenderer emotions of woman. Every word was that part of the cathedral in which we usually sat, spoken softly and kindly, as though she were fear- but I was too young or too thoughtless to underful lest she might in the slightest way wound the stand why. The truth, however, broke in upon sensitiveness of any with whom she was associated. me afterwards to my sorrow, for I had loved my There was an intensity of feeling in every glance cousin Emmeline with all my childish heart; but

I knew then too well that, although she had passed down from the clear blue arch of heaven; there hours with me (and to me none were happier), was no rustling of the leaves in the wind, there and had loved me as if I were her brother, yet was no sound above or below, but a deep solemn the warmer love for which my heart sometimes quiet rested over and upon all. longed would never be mine. There were two figures standing together in the And so the days passed along for many months, garden against the arbour, and one of them was and the visits of Arthur and his sisters to our Emmeline. Without her bonnet, for the night house were continued with little intermission, until was warm and clear, she was standing with her Arthur and I became as good friends as we were head drooping downwards, and before her was likely to be, and when at home I could easily per- Arthur. I could hear no words spoken, but I ceive (for I could not at times refrain from watch- could tell that he was speaking to her-to her ing him) that his eyes followed her wherever she whom I loved above all others then beneath the moved, and though it was not often I saw them stars, so near and yet so far from me, a vision too together and it was seldom that Arthur spoke true and too sad. long to her-yet by the earnestness of his voice, I went no more down stairs that night; there and the expression of his features, I knew he was darkness in my room, and darkness in my loved her. heart; the bell of the old cathedral told of the There was one night when this truth appeared flight of the hours, and still I lay sleepless and sormore distinctly to me. It was in the early sum-rowful. It was the first dark night that had ever mer time, when the roses and many other flowers fallen upon me. I could not help the tears that were abundant and beautiful. He and his sisters flowed freely; I could not help the restless unsahad been at our house the whole of the afternoon. tisfied achings of my heart, and it was long past When tea was over, we sat some time looking midnight before sleep come to my heavy eyes. over books of engravings and portfolios, belonging to my cousins. Arthur and Emmeline sat side by side, and I by the side of Gertrude, opposite to to them. Arthur's sister Ellen was playing some The months passed on. Arthur and his sisters air on the piano, but Emmeline and he still turned were still visitors at our house, and we had the over the leaves of a portfolio, and the few words same evenings over and over again, but I could he spoke to her were inaudible to any one else, see no change in either Arthur or Emmeline though I saw by Emmeline's drooping head and towards each other, and the kindness of my aunt crimson cheeks, that he was saying something to and cousins to me had nearly worn away the sad her unusual for him. impression of that bitter night.

The evening was wearing away, and the rest of the girls were busily engaged, each at her own work, but the conversation had suddenly hushed, and there was no sound in the room but the occasional rustling of the leaves of the portfolio as they were turned over by Arthur's hand, and from the parlour walls many pictures were looking silently down on that silent company.

At length Gertrude looked up from her work, and asked her sister to play a piece of music, of which they were very fond.

My first waking thoughts were of the past night; they clung to me and made me sorrowful, in spite of the natural lightness of my heart.

When the autumn came, it was my custom after tea to go into the secluded arbour, and sit there in its shade with a book on my knee till the stars sprang silently into the sky. One fair evening I had been sitting there as usual, and while I was so employed, Arthur and his sisters had called at the house, but I did not go in, and after reading for some time, I fell asleep. The wind was sighing sorrowfully through the leaves, covering the lattice work of the arbour.

Towards the hour of twilight I was awakened with the sound of voices near me in a low conver sation. I knew them too well, but I was fearful of moving away, lest I should be seen, for Emmeline and Arthur were standing close by the doorway, but not within it. There was deep earnestness of tone in Arthur's voice that I had never heard before, and a wild fervour of expression, as though he were speaking the last words his lips would ever utter. Now he was talking quickly, and then his voice fell into a low, earnest whisper, with a passion almost fearful to hear.

When Emmeline had ceased playing, she quietly left her seat, and went from the room unobserved by me, and soon afterwards Arthur too left us. A deep feeling of sadness came over me when alone with Arthur's sisters, and a dread of some impending sorrow, and I too rose and went to my room. It was a small chamber, and the window looked on to the grass-plot and garden at the back of the house. I stood for some minutes in the dark room, and the tears came into my eyes, for I felt very lonely and sad. I drew near to the window, and looked out into the garden. The sky was very "You know I have loved you, Emmeline," he bright and beautiful. Many stars were looking cried fiercely; "loved you long-loved you like

my life, like my soul; that my heart wishes to our house after that night; nor did Emmeline. know that you will give me all I desire-all for But I often had a feeling of pain that she should which I long and now you tell me that it cannot have so lightly cast away a heart that was devoted be. 0, Emmeline, Emmeline," he whispered, to her as Arthur's was.

And after a little silence, Emmeline replied in a low, sorrowful voice, You must not think that I am heartless. If you will have a sister's love from me, it is yours, but more I cannot give: do

"do you know that if you will not love me, my Soon after this he left the city, and I knew little whole heart will sink and fail and die! that with of him for many years. The summer came again the loss of you I lose all things else; and will you upon the earth; the birds sang in the garden as of now slay my heart with this unkindness?" old; and the jasmine twined round and over the arbour, luxuriant as ever; the same stars came tremblingly forth in the calm blue sky, and my two cousins still lived with my aunt in the old house. I had gone away into the world and left the quiet house and the cool arbour for the busy There was another silence, which was at length town and the noise of trade, but the recollection of broken by Arthur, who cried hastily and bitterly-those early and happy days was to me like letters Why do you ask my heart to be satisfied with from friends to those exiled in foreign lands. Gertrude and Emmeline had goown up into full and perfect womanhood.

not ask me for more."

a drop when it thirsts for an ocean. O pity me, and-and love me."

"I sympathise with you, if you will not refuse my sympathy; but if you will not accept a sister's love, I can offer you no more ;" but there was, I thought, a something more than sympathy in her sweet voice, but Arthur seemed not to know it: he did not speak, but stood motionless at a little distance from her, and Emmeline went on.

“You do not know your heart, Arthur; there are worthier objects of its love than I. You turn away: I know you are proud: I know your heart is noble, let it follow a nobler end than to love me. You can accomplish deeds that yet you think very little of. Go out into the world of men-be true to your own heart—have a high purpose, ceaselessly pursue it, and remember me not but in your prayers, for I am very weak and very sinful. You have honoured me, and indeed my heart feels far more than my lips can tell. When you have risen in the world, when you have achieved a great work, and eamed a name, or perhaps before, you will thank me for causing you this night's sorrow. Bury the past; go on to meet the future. My prayers will be for your happiness. Do not tell me more. Farewell; we are still friends." And Emmeline walked with a quick step to the house, leaving him And the standing there silent and motionless.

glory of the stars was naught to him, and he heard not the whisperings of the peaceful wind, nor felt its coolness on his bare aching brow, and his heart throbbed under the burden of a great love.

He stood long in the same position, and I dared not to move, for I knew he had a grief that alien lips. instead of relieving, would double. Then I saw him as he took a step forwards, and with his head bare and his hands clasped, his soul broke forth in a wild passionate utterance.

Arthur stood there no longer, but strode hurriedly away into the darkness. I saw him no more in

It was with strange feelings that I visited the city again, and walked in the old familiar places, and took my old pathway to the cathedral, with my cousins on either side me.

The evening after I arrived, I half-unconsciously stole away into the quiet graveyard, and my heart's thoughts flew backwards, and dwelt for long in the ark of the past. It was growing dusk; but when leisurely returning, I was startled at the sight of a light figure bending over a low tombstone, and until the moon rose in the sky, that form still bent over it; and still I stood, shielded from observation by the dark shade of the old yew-tree that had cast its mournful shadow over the graves at its feet for many years. I knew the figure was Emmeline, as she rose and turned away: her head was drooping in her bosom, and sorrow deep and strong was in her step. When her form had receded, I passed over to the grave, and on the tombstone I read, in worn letters, the name of Arthur Raymore.

This was many years since. Gertrude and Emmeline have now both found a resting-place side by side in the same cemetery in which Arthur lies. They had been throughout their lives the ministering spirits of the city wherein they dwelt, visiting the abodes of want and of sorrow, and

relieving the poor and the oppressed, and to this day they are known, and their memories are blessed, as the two angels of the city.

BEAUTIFYING BY ARSENIC.

horses.

Thus is their

fand the old alike, use it for this purpose. In Vienna, the drug is extensively used upon horses in order to produce the same effects. A pinch of AMONG the remarkable luxuries indulged in by the arsenic is sprinkled amongst their oats or hay, or human species, perhaps the most remarkable is that they tie a piece as big as a pea in a bit of linen, of arsenic eating! In this country arsenic is known and fasten it to the bit, when the bridle is put into only as a rank poison, and when medical men use the horse's mouth, where it is gradually dissolved it for curative purposes, they exhibit it in the mi-by the saliva, and swallowed. nutest possible dozes. But in Styria, Lower Austria, glossy, sleek appearance improved; and in country and the hilly region towards Hungary, many of districts, the horses are enabled, with the aid of the the peasantry eat arsenic regularly, in considerable little piece of arsenic, to ascend steep roads with quantities. The practice is one of some antiquity, heavy burdens. And the practice is continued for is continued throughout a long life, and is handed a length of time with impunity, both in men and down from father to son. The young peasants eat "The peasant R-," says Dr. Tschudi, arsenic for the purpose of improving their freshness" a hale man of sixty, who enjoys capital health at of complexion and plumpness of figure. Who present, takes for every dose a piece about two would have expected such an effect from the eat-grains in weight. For the last forty years he has ing of poison? And yet, on credible authority, continued the habit, which he inherited from his regular arsenic-eaters are generally remarkable for father, and which he will transmit to his children." their blooming complexions, and full, rounded, and But once begun, the practice must be continued. healthy appearance. The quantity of arsenic with If left off for a time, symptoms resembling those which eaters begin, is about half a grain. They of poisoning by arsenic at once show themselves; continue to take this quantity two or three times a loss of appetite, great flow of saliva, burning in week, in the morning fasting, till they become ha- the stomach, spasms in the throat, and oppression bituated to it. Then they cautiously increase the of breathing. There is only one mode of relief for dose, as the quantity previously taken seems to these painful symptoms-an immediate return to diminish in its effects. At length, they are able to arsenic-eating. Thus, like all other noxious habits, take two or three grains at a time with impunity, and even to the apparent benefit of their health; for they look blooming, healthy, and robust. A new and more winning lustre is imparted to the sparkling eyes of the youth, the lips assume a riper ruddiness, the cheeks are painted with fresher bloom,

fairly rooted in the system, it becomes an actual necessity of life. It is the same in the case of horses, to which arsenic has been regularly given. If they pass into the possession of persons who do not give arsenic, they soon lose their sleek, spirited appearance, fall off in flesh, and they can only be restored by recurrence to the use of arsenic.

"Which arsenic's sweet and cunning hand laid on," and the form becomes rounded and filled up, thus It is difficult to explain how these extraordinary attracting the admiration of the youths of the other effects of arsenic on the animal system are to be sex. Sometimes, however, the beautifier acts as a accounted for. But a writer in Blackwood (in the poisoner. For instance, Dr. Tschudi relates the interesting series of articles on "The Narcotics we following case as having occurred in his own prac-indulge in"), thinks it probable that, when experitice:--"A healthy, but pale and thin milkmaid, ments come to be made, they will show that the residing in the parish of H————, had a lover, whom quanity of carbonic acid given off by the lungs is she wished to attach to herself by a more agreeable diminished by the use of this drug. Supposing exterior. She therefore had recourse to the well-this to be the case, its effects are, first, that less known beautifier, and took arsenic several times a oxygen is required to be inhaled, and hence the week. The desired effect was not long in showing greater ease of breathing under all circumstances, itself, for in a few months she became stout, rosy-but which is especially perceived in climbing hills; cheeked, and all that her lover could desire. In and, second, that the fat of the food which would order, however, to increase the effect, she incau- otherwise have been used up in supplying cartiously increased the dose of arsenic, and fell a vic-bonic acid to be given off by the lungs, is deposited tim to her vanity. She died poisoned-a very instead in the cellular tissue beneath the skin, painful death."

and thus pads, plumps out, and renders fair the Arsenic is also swallowed by the same peasant- animal that uses it. But however this may be, ry, for the purpose of improving their wind. They the facts as to the use of arsenic by the peasantry say it enables them to climb long and steep heights of Styria, and its experienced effects upon them, without difficulty of breathing. The middle-aged are now, we believe, quite undisputed.

A PEEP INTO THE ROUEL TAN-PITS. tricts which, without always an assignable reason, attract craftsmen of one kind, to the EVERY traveller feels sure, after encounter-exclusion of all others. Here are inhabitants ing the perils of a pilgrimage, that the world sufficient for a large town all engaged in is in wide-mouthed expectancy to listen to operations that have leather for their result. his narrative. Partaking of the foible of the The inscriptions on the houses and the carts traveller, we assume that our readers, the introduce by hook or by crook the word world's most discerning moiety, will indulge leather.' Stop a pedestrian, and be sure, themselves with the incidents of an expedi- in his rejoinder to your inquiry as to your tion undertaken and accomplished into the route, you will hear something of leather. domains of Bermondsey. It is written on every passenger's brow; it Olfactory and visual intimations tell the is inhaled with every breath. A vague wayfarer when he is verging towards this thought, insensibly acquiring force and characteristic district of the metropolis. shape, steals over the mind, that leather is Breezes, impregnated with odours of various the primal object of life.

kinds, blow from every point of the compass. If we peep through the broad gates of one The most prominent odor, though far from the yard, we perceive the insignia of a colony of most disagreeable, is that of tan, which betrays careful housewives who have had a good at once the chief occupation of the natives. clean-up; an array of naked skins like house So strong is an occasional whiff from some cloths, stretched out and nailed to the wooden wide, field-like open yard, where the spent walls. Another yard displays a huge avenue tan has been made into the 'sixteen a penny of woolly skins, enough to turn a butcher tarfs,' which every London ear will recog-pallid. We conjecture it belongs to a ‘fellnise, that the incautious stranger might quail monger,' whose office, a special branch of at the prospect of going home with an integu- trade, it is to denude them of their wool. ment of leather, did he not know that living Some of the most unpleasant gusts come hide is unaffected by 'tan.' Thousands from these places, for, in order to get the upon thousands of square turfs are disposed wool off easily, the skins require to be in a like dishes, in long parallel racks, for open- half putrescent state. air drying. Soon the goodwife will put some On the outskirts of this outlandish country, of them into requisition, to make her fire just where the grass assumes courage to put smoulder, while she proposes to herself a up its head again, and kitchen gardens try Dame Trot peregrination through town. to wear a verdant aspect, we come to a busy Perfect traditional faith has she inherited nook, exemplifying, on the largest scale, the from her great-great-grandmother, that her avocations of the whole neighbourhood. A fire cannot possibly go out with a layer of community of two hundred souls make it this turf on the top. their daily rendezvous. The chiefs are well Penetrating by degrees nearer the heart known in the world of leather, as extensive of the territory, we are greeted at every step manufacturers, both for export trade and for with sights foreign to the north bank of the home consumption. With the courtesy distinThames. Strange black wooden edifices guishing our great manufacturing princes, we stud the landscape, whose 'lougher' boards have been enabled to make a crow-quill tracing gaping open from basement to roof, like of tableaux vivants, as interesting as any Venetian blinds of Patagonian dimensions, with which Vauxhall has delighted us, and or the pantomimic structures of harlequinade, daily exhibited at the ROUEL TANNERIES. give us a view of innumerable pendant hides within.

The wide entrance introduces you to a fine park, rather than to a hive of human indusEre long, we discover that we must have try. A lawn, fringed round with fruit-trees, stumbled on a part of the metropolis possess- lengthens out till it is bounded by the resiing features altogether unique, and having dence of one of the chiefs. Upon it a cow is few sympathies with the rest of the leviathan browsing, and a kid gambolling with a lamb, capital. It must be one of those curious dis- significant symbols of business. Skirting VOL. V.-M.