comfort can do with a very small share of it herself. When her husband does not dine at home, it is surprising what odds and ends are sufficient to make up the dinner. Perhaps the best part of it is a large slice of bread-and-butter; for it is wasting the servants' time to make them cook when there is nobody to be at the table. But she makes up for this at tea: that is a comfortable meal for the every-day married lady. The husband, a matter-of-fact, impassive fellow, swallows down his two or three cups in utter unconsciousness of the poetry of the occasion; while the wife pauses on every sip, drinks in the aroma as well as the infusion, fills slowly and lingeringly out, and creams and sugars as if her hands dallied over a labor of love. With her daughters, in the mean time, grown up, or even half-grown up, she exchanges words and looks of motherly and masonic intelligence: she is moulding them to comfort, initiating them in every-dayism; and as their heads bend companionably toward each other, you see at a glance that the girls will do honor to their breeding. The husband calls this "dawdling," and already begins to fret. Let him : he knows nothing about it.

lament as those who will not be comforted. Even common acquaintances look round them, when they enter the house, with uneasiness and anxiety

"We miss her when the morning calls,

As one that mingled in our mirth:
We miss her when the evening falls-
A trifle wanted on the earth!
"Some fancy small, or subtle thought,

Is checked ere to its blossom grown;
Some chain is broken that we wrought,
Now she hath flown!"

And so she passes away-this every-day mar-
ried lady—leaving memorials of her common-
place existence every where throughout the
circle in which she lived, moved, and had her
being, and after having stamped herself perma-
nently upon the constitution, both moral and
physical, of her descendants.

SIGN

ANECDOTE OF A SINGER. IGNORA GRASSINI, the great Italian singer, died a few months since at Milan. She was distinguished not only for her musical talents, but also for her beauty and powers of theatrical expression. One evening in 1810, she and Signor Crescentini performed together at the Tuileries, and sang in "Romeo and Juliet."

แ

Twenty thousand francs!" said one of her friends--" the sum is a large one."

"It will serve as a dowry for one of my little nieces," replied Grassini quietly.

It is surprising the affection of the daughters | for their every-day mother. Not that the sentiment is steady and uniform in its expression, for sometimes one might suppose mamma to be forAt the admirable scene in the third gotten, or at least considered only as a daily act, the Emperor Napoleon applauded vocifernecessary not requiring any special notice. But ously, and Talma, the great tragedian, who wait till a grief comes, and mark to what bosom was among the audience, wept with emotion. the panting girl flies for refuge and comfort; After the performance was ended, the Emperor see with what abandon she flings her arms round conferred the decoration of a high order on that maternal neck, and with what a passionate | Crescentini, and sent Grassini a scrap of paper, burst the hitherto repressed tears gush forth. on which was writen, "Good for 20,000 livres. This is something more than habit, something-NAPOLEON." more than filial trust. There are more senses than five in human nature-or seven either there is a fine and subtle link between these two beings a common atmosphere of thought and feeling, impalpable and imperceptible, yet necessary to the souls of both. If you doubt it if you doubt that there is a moral attraction in the every-day married lady, irrespective of blood-affinity, carry your view forward to another generation, and interrogate those witnesses who are never mistaken in character, and who never give false testimony-little children. They dote on their every-day grandmamma. Their natures, not yet seared and hardened by the world, understand hers; and with something of the fresh perfume of Eden about them still, they recognize instinctively those blessed souls to whom God has given to love little children.

This is farther shown when the every-day married lady dies. What is there in the character we have drawn to account for the shock the whole family receives? The husband feels as if a thunder-cloud had fallen, and gathered, and blackened upon his heart, through which he could never again see the sun. The grownup children, especially the females, are distracted; "their purposes are broken off;" they desire to have nothing more to do with the world; they

Indeed few persons were ever more generous, tender, and considerate toward their family than this great singer.

Many years afterward, when the Empire had crumbled into dust, carrying with it in its fall, among other things, the rich pension of Signora Grassini, she happened to be at Bologna. There another of her nieces was for the first time presented to her, with a request that she would do something for her young relative. The little girl was extremely pretty, but not, her friends thought, fitted for the stage, as her voice was a feeble contralto. Her aunt asked her to sing; and when the timid voice had sounded a few notes. "Dear child," said Grassini, embracing her, "you will not want me to assist you. Those who called your voice a contralto were ignorant of music. You have one of the finest sopranos in the world, and will far excel me as a singer. Take courage, and work hard, my love: your throat will win a shower of gold." The young girl did not disappoint her aunt's prediction. She still lives, and her name is Giulia Grisi.

I

berries in the holly bower." However this may have been, the season and the time seemed indelibly impressed upon his mind. In all his long confinement to the house, his thoughts continually turned to outward objects, to the external face of nature and the season's change, and evermore his little word of hope was this, 'When the summer comes!"

[From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.] WHEN THE SUMMER COMES. ONCE knew a little boy, a little child of three years old; one of those bright creatures whose fair loveliness seems more of heaven than of earth-even at a passing glimpse stirring our hearts, and filling them with purer and holier thought. But this, the little Francie, He kept it up throughout the long winter, was more of a cherub than an angel, as we and the bleak cold spring. A fairy little carpicture them with his gladsome hazel eyes,riage had been provided for him, in which, well his dazzling fairness, his clustering golden hair, wrapped up from the cold, and resting on soft and his almost winged step. Such he was, at | cushions, he was lightly drawn along by a servleast, until sickness laid its heavy hand on him; ant, to his own great delight, and the admirathen, indeed, when, after days of burning, wast- tion of many a young beholder. But when any ing fever-hours of weary restlessness-the one-attempting to reconcile him the better to little hand at last lay motionless outside the his position-expatiated on the beauty or comscarcely whiter coverlet of his tiny bed, the fort of his new acquisition, his eager look and fair, still head, pressed down upon the pillow, word would show how far he went beyond it, and the pale face gazing with the silent wonder as, quickly interrupting, he would exclaim, of returning consciousness on the anxious ones "Wait till the summer comes-then Francie around it; then, indeed, a bright yet pitying will walk again !" look would flit across it, or dwell in the earnest eyes—a look such as we assign to angels in our dreams, when some fond fancy seems to bring them near us, weeping for mortal griefs beyond their remedy.

During the winter there was a fearful storm: it shook the windows, moaned in the old trees, and howled down the chimneys with a most menacing voice. Older hearts than Francie's quailed that night, and he, unable to sleep, lay

It was a strange sickness for one so young-listening to it all-quiet, but asking many a the struggle of typhus fever with a baby frame; but life and youth obtained the victory; and quicker even than hope could venture to expect, the pulses rallied, the cheeks grew round and rosy, and the little wasted limbs filled up again. Health was restored-health, but not strength: we thought this for a while. We did not wonder that the weakened limbs refused their office, and still we waited on in hope, until days, and even weeks, passed by: then it was found that the complaint had left its bitter sting, and little Francie could not walk a step, or even stand.

Many and tedious and painful were the remedies resorted to; yet the brave little heart bore stoutly up, with that wonderful fortitude, almost heroism, which all who have watched by suffering childhood, when the tractable spirit bends to its early discipline, must at some time or other have remarked. Francie's fortitude might have afforded an example to many; but a dearer lesson was given in the hopeful spirit with which the little fellow himself noted the effect of each distressing remedy, marking each stage of progress, and showing off with eager gladness every step attained, from the first creeping on the hands and knees, to the tiptoe journey round the room, holding on by chairs and tables; then to the clinging to some loving hand; and then, at last, the graceful balancing of his light body, until he stood quite erect alone, and so moved slowly on.

question, as his excited fancy formed similitudes to the sounds. One time it was poor little children cruelly turned out, and wailing; then something trilling, with its last hoarse cry; then wolves and bears, from far-off other lands. But all the while Francie knew he was snug and safe himself: no fears disturbed him, whatever the noise may have done. Throughout the whole of it he carried his one steadfast hope, and, in the morning telling of it all, with all his marvelous thoughts, he finished his relation with the never-failing word of comfort, "Ah! there shall be no loud wind, no waking nights, when once the summer comes !"

The summer came with its glad birds and flowers, its balmy air; and who can paint the exquisite delight of the suffering child that had waited for it so long? Living almost continually in the open air he seemed to expect fresh health and strength from each reviving breath he drew, and every day would deem himself capable of some greater effort, as if to prove that his expectation had not been in vain.

One lovely day he and his little playfellows were in a group amusing themselves in part of the garden, when some friends passed through. Francie, longing to show how much he could do, entreated hard to be taken with them "along the walk, just to the holly bower." His request was granted, and on he did walk; quick at first, then slowly slower: but still upheld by his It was in autumn this illness seized on the strong faith in the summer's genial influence, little one, just when the leaves were turning, he would not rest in any of the offered arms, and the orchard fruits becoming ripe. His though the fitful color went and came, and the nurse attributed it all to his sitting on a grassy pauses grew more and more frequent. No; bank at play on one of those uncertain autumn with a heavy sigh he admitted, "Tis a very, days; but he, in his childish way, always main- very long walk now; but Francie must not be tained "It was Francie himself-eating red tired: sure the summer is come."

And so,

determined not to admit fatigue in the face of the season's bright proofs around him, he succeeded in accomplishing his little task at last.

Thus the summer passed away, and again came the changing autumn, acting on poor little Francie to a degree he had never reckoned on, and with its chill, damp airs, nearly throwing him back again. With a greater effort even than before, he had again tried the walk to the holly bower, the scene of his self-accusing misdemeanor as the cause of all his sufferings. He sat down to rest; above his head, as the autumnal breeze swept through them, "the polished leaves and berries red did rustling play;" and as little Francie looked upward toward them, a memory of the former year, and of all the time that had passed since then, seemed for the first time mournfully to steal over his heart. He nestled in closer to his mother's side; and still looking up, but with more thoughtful eyes, he said, “Mamma, is the summer quite gone?" "Yes, my darling. Don't you see the scarlet berries, the food of winter for the little birds?" | "Quite gone, mamma, and Francie not quite well?"

the superintendent that he had just sustained a great, almost ruinous loss, in notes of the Bank of England, and commercial bills of exchange, besides a considerable sum in gold. He had, it appeared, been absent in Paris about ten days, and on his return but a few hours previously, discovered that his iron chest had been completely rifled during his absence. False keys must have been used, as the empty chest was found locked, and no sign of violence could be observed. He handed in full written details of the property carried off, the numbers of the notes, and every other essential particular. The first step taken was to ascertain if any of the notes had been tendered at the bank. Not one had been presented; payment was of course stopped, and advertisements descriptive of the bills of exchange, as well as of the notes, were inserted in the evening and following morning papers. A day or two afterward, a considerable reward was offered for such information as might lead to the apprehension of the offenders No result followed; and spite of the active exertions of the officers employed, not the slightest clew could be obtained to the perpetrators of the robbery. The junior partner in the firm, M. Bellebon, in the mean time arrived in England, to assist in the investigation, and was naturally extremely urgent in his inquiries; but the mystery which enveloped the affair remained impenetrable. At last a letter, bearing the St. Martin-le-Grand post-mark, was received by the agent, M. Alexandre le Breton, which contained an offer to surrender the whole of the plunder, with the exception of the gold, for the sum of one thousand pounds. The property which had been abstracted was more than ten times that sum, and had been destined by the French Precious was that heaven-born word of child-house to meet some heavy liabilities falling due ish faith to the care worn mother, to cheer her in London very shortly. Le Breton had been then, and, with its memory of hope, still to sus-ordered to pay the whole amount into Hoare's tain her through many an after-experiment and anxious watch, until, at last, she reaped her rich reward in the complete realization of her bright one's hope. Precious to more than her such words may be, if bravely stemming our present trouble, whatsoe'er it be-bravely endurng, persevering, encouraging others and ourselves, even as that little child-we hold the The letter went on to state that should the thought, that as the revolving year brings round offer be acceded to, a mystically-worded adits different seasons, as day succeeds to night-vertisement-of which a copy was inclosedand even as surely as we look for this, and know it-so to the trusting heart there comes a time -it may be soon or late, it may be now, or it may be then-when this grief or grievance will have passed away; and so 'twill all seem nothing-when the summer comes!

His mother looked away; she could not bear her child to see the tell-tale tears his mournful little words called up, or, know the sad echo returned by her own desponding thoughts. There was a moment's silence, only broken by the blackbird's song; and then she felt a soft, a little kiss, upon her hand, and looking down, she saw her darling's face-yes, surely now it was as an angel's-gazing upward to her, brightly beaming, brighter than ever; and his rosy lips just parted with their own sweet smile again, as he exclaimed in joyous tones, "Mamma, the summer will come again!"

[From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.] VILLAINY OUTWITTED-FROM THE

to the account of the firm, and had indeed been severely blamed for not having done so as he received the different notes and bills; and it was on going to the chest immediately on his return from Paris, for the purpose of fulfilling the peremptory instructions he had received, that M. le Breton discovered the robbery.

was to be inserted in the "Times," and then a mode would be suggested for safely—in the interest of the thieves of course-carrying the agreement into effect. M. Bellebon was halfinclined to close with this proposal, in order to save the credit of the house, which would be destroyed unless its acceptances, now due in about fourteen days, could be met; and without the stolen moneys and bills of exchange, this

RECOLLECTIONS OF A POLICE OF- was, he feared, impossible. The superintend

FICER.

THE
HE respectable agent of a rather eminent
French house arrived one morning in great
apparent distress at Scotland Yard, and informed
VOL. I.-No. 6.-3 D

ent, to whom M. Bellebon showed the letter, would not hear of compliance with such a demand, and threatened a prosecution for composition of felony if M. Bellebon persisted in doing so. The advertisement was, however, inserted,

if you wish to re-examine the place, I can of course enable you to do so."

He laughingly complied, and we arrived at the house arm-in-arm. We were admitted by an elderly woman; and there was a young man

and an immediate reply directed that Le Breton, the agent, should present himself at the Old Manor-House, Green Lanes, Newington, "It will, I think, be advisable; and you will, unattended, at four o'clock on the following if you please," I added, as we emerged into the afternoon, bringing with him of course the stip- street, "permit me to take you by the arm, in ulated sum in gold. It was added, that to pre-order that the official character of my visit may vent any possible treason (trahison, the letter not be suspected by any one there." was written in French), Le Breton would find a note for him at the tavern, informing him of the spot a solitary one, and far away from any place where an ambush could be concealed--a mustached clerk-seated at a desk in an where the business would be concluded, and to inner room writing. He eyed me for a moment, which he must proceed unaccompanied, and on somewhat askance, I thought, but I gave him foot! This proposal was certainly quite as in- no opportunity for a distinct view of my features; genious as it was cool, and the chance of out- and I presently handed M. Bellebon a card, on witting such cunning rascals seemed exceed- which I had contrived to write, unobserved, ingly doubtful. A very tolerable scheme was, "send away the clerk." This was more nathowever, hit upon, and M. le Breton proceeded urally done than I anticipated; and in answer at the appointed hour to the Old Manor-House. to M. Bellebon's glance of inquiry, I merely No letter or message had been left for him, and said, "that as I did not wish to be known there nobody obnoxious to the slightest suspicion could as a police-officer, it was essential that the be seen near or about the tavern. On the fol- minute search I was about to make should be lowing day another missive arrived, which stated without witnesses." He agreed; and the wo that the writer was quite aware of the trick man was also sent away upon a distant errand. which the police had intended playing him, and Every conceivable place did I ransack; every he assured M. Bellebon that such a line of con- scrap of paper that had writing on it I eagerly duct was as unwise as it would be fruitless, in-perused. At length the search was over, apasmuch as if "good faith" was not observed, parently without result. the securities and notes would be inexorably destroyed or otherwise disposed of, and the house of Bellebon and Company be consequent-le ly exposed to the shame and ruin of bankruptcy.

Just at this crisis of the affair I arrived in town from an unsuccessful hunt after some fugitives who had slipped through my fingers at Plymouth. The superintendent laughed heartily, not so much at the trick by which I had been duped, as at the angry mortification I did not affect to conceal. He presently added, "I have been wishing for your return, in order to intrust you with a tangled affair, in which success will amply compensate for such a disappointment. You know French too, which is fortunate; for the gentleman who has been plundered understands little or no English." He then related the foregoing particulars, with other apparently slight circumstances; and after a long conversation with him, I retired to think the matter over, and decide upon the likeliest mode of action. After much cogitation, I determined to see M. Bellebon alone; and for this purpose I dispatched the waiter of a tavern adjacent to his lodgings, with a note expressive of my wish to see him instantly on pressing business. He was at home, and immediately acceded to my request. I easily introduced myself; and after about a quarter of an hour's conference, said carelessly-for I saw he was too heedless of speech, too quick and frank, to be intrusted with the dim suspicions which certain trifling indices had suggested to me-"Is Monsieur le Breton at the office where the robbery was committed ?"

"No: he is gone to Greenwich on business, and will not return till late in the evening. But

"You are quite sure, Monsieur Bellebon, as you informed the superintendent, that Monsieur Breton has no female relations or acquaintances in this country?”

Positive," he replied. "I have made the most explicit inquiries on the subject both of the clerk Dubarle, and of the woman-servant.”

Just then the clerk returned, out of breath with haste, I noticed, and I took my leave without even now affording the young gentleman so clear a view of my face as he was evidently anxious to obtain.

"No female acquaintance!" thought I, as I re-entered the private room of the tavern I had left an hour before. "From whom came, then, these scraps of perfumed note-paper I have found in his desk, I wonder?" I sat down and endeavored to piece them out, but after considerable trouble, satisfied myself that they were parts of different notes, and so small, unfortu nately, as to contain nothing which separately afforded any information except that they were all written by one hand, and that a female one.

About two hours after this I was sauntering along in the direction of Stoke-Newington, where I was desirous of making some inquiries as to another matter, and had passed the Kingslaw Gate a few hundred yards, when a small discolored printed handbill, lying in a haberdasher's shop window, arrested my attention. It ran thus: "Two guineas reward.-Lost, an Italian grayhound. The tip of its tail has been chopped off, and it answers to the name of Fidèle." Underneath, the reader was told in writing to "inquire within."

"Fidèle !" I mentally exclaimed. "Any relation to M. le Breton's fair correspondent Fidèle, I wonder?" In a twinkling my pocket

66

"Mais, mon Dieu !" she exclaimed again as I displayed the aged beauty I had brought for her inspection, "why, that is not Fidèle !"

book was out, and I reperused by the gas-light | presence of her husband, Madame Levasseur's on one of the perfumed scraps of paper the fol- anxieties concentrated themselves upon the exlowing portion of a sentence, ma pauvre Fi-pected Fidèle." dèle est per " The bill, I observed, was dated nearly three weeks previously. I forthwith entered the shop, and pointing to the bill, said I knew a person who had found such a dog as was there advertised for. The woman at the counter said she was glad to hear it, as the lady, formerly a customer of theirs, was much grieved at the animal's loss.

"What is the lady's name?" I asked.

"I can't rightly pronounce the name," was the reply. "It is French, I believe; but here it is, with the address, in the day-book, written by herself."

“Not, marm ?" I answered, with quite innocent surprise. "Vy, ere is her wery tail;" and I held up the mutilated extremity for her closer inspection. The lady was not, however, to be convinced even by that evidence; and as the gentleman soon became impatient of my persistence, and hinted very intelligibly that he had a mind to hasten my passage down stairs with the toe of his boot, I, having made the best possible use of my eyes during the short interview, scrambled up the dog and basket, and departed.

"No female relative or acquaintance hasn't he?" was my exulting thought as I gained the road. "And yet if that is not M. le Breton's picture between those of the husband and wife, I am a booby, and a blind one." I no longer in the least doubted that I had struck a brilliant trail; and I could have shouted with exultation, so eager was I not only to retrieve my, as I fancied, somewhat tarnished reputation for activity and skill, but to extricate the plundered firm from their terrible difficulties; the more especially as young M. Bellebon, with the frankness of his age and nation, had hinted to meand the suddenly-tremulous light of his fine expressive eyes testified to the acuteness of his

loved and amiable girl depended upon his success in saving the credit of his house.

I eagerly read—“Madame Levasseur, Oak Cottage; about one mile on the road from Edmonton to Southgate." The handwriting greatly resembled that on the scraps I had taken from M. le Breton's desk; and the writer was French too! Here were indications of a trail which might lead to unhoped-for success, and I determined to follow it up vigorously. After one or two other questions, I left the shop, promising to send the dog to the lady the next day. My business at Stoke-Newington was soon accomplished. I then hastened westward to the establishment of a well-known dog-fancier, and procured the loan, at a reasonable price, of an ugly Italian hound: the requisite loss of the tip of its tail was very speedily accomplished, and so quickly healed, that the newness of the ex-apprehensions-that his marriage with a longcision could not be suspected. I arrived at the lady's residence about twelve o'clock on the following day, so thoroughly disguised as a vagabond Cockney dog-stealer, that my own wife, when I entered the breakfast parlor just previous to starting, screamed with alarm and surprise. The mistress of Oak Cottage was at home, but indisposed, and the servant said she would take the dog to her, though, if I would take it out of the basket, she herself could tell me if it was Fidèle or not. I replied that I would only show the dog to the lady, and would not trust it out of my hands. This message was carried up-stairs, and after waiting some time outside—for the woman, with natural precaution, considering my appearance, for the safety of the portable articles lying about, had closed the street-door in my face-I was re-admitted, desired to wipe my shoes carefully, and walk up. Madame Levasseur, a showy-looking woman, though not over-refined in speech or manners, was seated on a sofa, in vehement expectation of embracing her dear Fidèle; but my vagabond appearance so startled her, that she screamed loudly for her husband, M. Levas

That same evening, about nine o'clock, M. Levasseur, expensively, but withal snobbishly attired, left Oak Cottage, walked to Edmonton, hailed a cab, and drove off rapidly toward town, followed by an English swell as stylishly and snobbishly dressed, wigged, whiskered, and mustached as himself: this English swell being no other than myself, as prettily metamorphosed and made up for the part I intended playing as heart could wish.

M. Levasseur descended at the end of the Quadrant, Regent-street, and took his way to Vine-street, leading out of that celebrated thoroughfare. I followed; and observing him enter a public-house, unhesitatingly did the same. It was a house of call and general rendezvous for foreign servants out of place. Valets, couriers, cooks, of many varieties of shade, nation, and respectability, were assembled there, smoking, drinking, and playing at an insuffer ably noisy game, unknown, I believe, to Englishmen, and which must, I think, have been invented in sheer despair of cards, dice, or other implements of gambling. The sole instruments of play were the gamesters' fingers, of which the two persons playing suddenly and simultaneously uplifted as many, or as few as they pleased, each player alternately calling a number; and if he named precisely how many fingers were held up by himself and opponent, he marked a point. The hubbub of cries—“ cinq,"