a

they are stabled is only about fifteen miles from the city; quite a pleasant drive.” "I shall feel quite delighted," I replied as unconcernedly as I could. Lord A

never dreamed I had done those fifteen miles behind his 1200 guinea horse; for the suspicion I entertained then became a certainty-that Malefactor had been stolen for the job by Cantering Jack.

Such is the personage-he still exists-that furnished me with the character of Conn, the hero of the "Shaughraun."

[Miss Browne is one of the most remarkable examples of the victories which perseverance and strength of will can achieve over great physical and social obstacles. She was born iu Stranorlar, county Donegal, on January 16, 1816. An attack of small-pox deprived her of eyesight in infancy, but as she grew up she managed to teach herself and to get others to teach her, and she had at an early age intimate acquaintance with the chief masters of English literature. Her father was but a village postmaster, and she had to seek for a means of livelihood for herself. She began by sending a poem to the Irish Penny Journal, which was accepted. She next succeeded in obtaining admission to the Athenæum, Hood's Magazine, the Keepsake, and other periodicals. The editor of the first-named journal proved a warm friend of the struggling young poetess, and did much to call public attention to her works. In 1844 she ventured on the publication of a collection of her poems, under the title The Star of Atteghei, the Vision of Schwartz, and other Poems.

Miss Browne left Ireland in 1847, and has since resided either in Edinburgh or London. She has also written Lyrics and Miscellaneous Poems; Legends of Ulster; The Ericksons, a tale; The Hidden Sin, a novel (1866); and a sort of autobiography, entitled My Share in the World (1862). She enjoys a small pension from the civil list bestowed upon her by the late Sir Robert Peel. The poems of Miss Browne deserve attention altogether apart from the personal circumstances of the authoress. They are lucid in style, smooth in rhythm, and full of picturesque imagery.]

THE RETURNING JANISSARY.

There came a youth at dawn of day
From the Golden Gate of the proud Serai:-
He came with no gifts of warrior pride,
But the gleam of the good sword by his side,
And an arm that well could wield;

But he came with a form of matchless mould-
Like that by the Delphian shrine of old-
And an eye in whose depth of brightness shone
The light by the Grecian sunset thrown

On the dying Spartan's shield ;-
For the days of his boyhood's bonds were o'er,
And he stood as a free-born Greek once more!

They brought him robes of the richest dyes,

And a shield like the moon in autumn skies,
A steed that grew by the Prophet's tomb,
And a helmet crown'd with a heron's plume,
And the world's strong tempter-gold;
And they said-"Since thou turnest from the
towers

Of honour's path and pleasure's bowers,
Go forth in the Spahi's conquering march-
And gold and glory requite thy search,
Till a warrior's death unfold
For thee the gates of Paradise,
And thy welcome beam'd by the Houris' eyes.'
"And where will the yearning memories sleep,
That have fill'd mine exiled years
With a voice of winds in the forest free,
With the sound of the old Ægean Sea,
Through echoing grove and green defile,
On the shores of that unforgotten isle
Which still the light of my mother's smile
To her wanderer's memory wears-
And the voices ever sounding back
From my country's old triumphal track?

The faith that clings with a deathless hold
To the freedom and the fame of old,
Will they rest in a stranger's banner-shade,
Though a conquering flag it be?
Will they joy with its myriad hosts to tread
On a land that once was free?

Take back your gifts," the wanderer said"And leave at last to me

That far land's love-for ye cannot part
His country from the exile's heart!"

They said "Thine isle is a land of slaves;
It gives no galley to the waves-
No cry with the battle's onset blent-
No banner broad on its breezes sent-

No name to the lists of fame;

Thy home still stands by its winding shore,
But thy place by the hearth is known no more;
The evening fire on that hearth shines on,
But the light of thy mother's smile is gone-

For a stranger bears her name

And, bright though her smile and glance may be, They're not like those that grew dim for thee."

"I know that my country's fame hath found
No rest by her storied streams—
For cold is the chain for ages borne,

And deep is the track its weight hath worn!
The serf hath stood, in his fetters bound,
On hills that were freedom's battle-ground;
And my name is a long-forgotten sound

In the home of my thousand dreams;—
For change hath passed o'er each household face,
And my mother's heart hath a resting-place
Where the years of her weary watch are past
For the step that so vainly comes at last.
But far there shines through the shadowy green
Of the laurels bending there,

One beckoning light-'tis the glancing sheen
Of a Grecian maiden's hair;
Alas, for the clouds that rose between

My gaze and one so fair!
Alas! for many a morning ray

That passed from life's misty hills away!"

So spake the Greek, but the tempter said

"Why seek'st thou the flowers of summer

fled?-

The years that have made thy kindred strange Have they not breathed with the breath of change On thine early chosen too?

They have bound the wealth of that flowing hair—
They have crossed the brow with a shade of care;
For thy young and thy glad of heart hath grown
A matron, saddened in glance and tone-

From whose undreaming view
Life's early lights have fallen-and thou
Art a long-forgotten vision now."

There rose a cloud in his clear dark eye, Like the mist of coming tears

Yet it passed in silence, and there came
No after-voice from that perished dream:
But he said "Is it so, my land! Thou hast
No gift for thy wanderer but the past,
And a dream of a gathering trumpet's blast,
And a charge of Grecian spears!
That bright dream's promise ne'er may be-
But the earth hath banners broad and free;
There are gallant barks on the western wave-
And fields where a Greek may find a grave:
With a fearless arm, with a stainless brand,
With a young brow I depart

To seek the hosts of some Christian land-
But I go with an exile's heart.—
Yet, oft when the stranger's fight is done,
And their shouts arise for the battle won,
This heart will dream what its joy might be
Were it won but for Greece and Liberty!"

THE LAST FRIENDS.1

I come to my country, but not with the hope That brightened my youth like the cloud-lighting bow,

For the vigour of soul, that seemed mighty to cope With time and with fortune, hath fled from me

now;

And love, that illumined my wanderings of yore,
Hath perished, and left but a weary regret
For the star that can rise on my midnight no

more

But the hills of my country they welcome me

yet!

The hue of their verdure was fresh with me still, When my path was afar by the Tanais' lone

track;

From the wide-spreading deserts and ruins, that fill The lands of old story, they summoned me back; They rose on my dreams through the shades of the West,

They breathed upon sands which the dew never wet,

For the echoes were hushed in the home I loved best

But I knew that the mountains would welcome me yet!

The dust of my kindred is scattered afar

They lie in the desert, the wild, and the wave; For serving the strangers through wandering and

war,

The isle of their memory could grant them no

grave.

1 One of the United Irishmen, who lately returned to his country after many years of exile, being asked what had induced him to revisit Ireland when all his friends were gone, answered: "I came back to see the mountains.

And I, I return with the memory of years,

Whose hope rose so high, though in sorrow it set; They have left on my soul but the trace of their |

tears

But our mountains remember their promises yet! Oh, where are the brave hearts that bounded of old? And where are the faces my childhood hath seen? For fair brows are furrowed, and hearts have grown cold,

But our streams are still bright, and our hills are still green;

Ay, green as they rose to the eyes of my youth,

When brothers in heart in their shadows we met; And the hills have no memory of sorrow or death, For their summits are sacred to liberty yet!

Like ocean retiring, the morning mists now

Roll back from the mountains that girdle our land;

And sunlight encircles each heath-covered brow, For which time hath no furrow and tyrants no brand:

Oh, thus let it be with the hearts of the isle-
Efface the dark seal that oppression hath set;
Give back the lost glory again to the soil,
For the hills of my country remember it yet!

WHAT HATH TIME TAKEN? What hath Time taken? Stars, that shone On the early years of earth,

And the ancient hills they looked upon,

Where a thousand streams had birth; Forests that were the young world's dower, With their long unfading trees;

And the halls of wealth, and the thrones of powerHe hath taken more than these.

He hath taken away the heart of youth,

And its gladness, which hath been, Like the summer sunshine o'er our path, Making the desert green;

The shrines of an early hope and love,
And the flowers of every clime,
The wise, the beautiful, the brave,

Thou hast taken from us, Time!

What hath Time left us? desolate
Cities, and temples lone,
And the mighty works of genius, yet
Glorious, when all are gone;
And the lights of memory, lingering long,
As the eve on western seas-
Treasures of science, thought, and song-
He hath left us more than these.

He hath left us a lesson of the past,

In the shades of perished years;

He hath left us the heart's high places waste,
And its rainbows fallen in tears.

But there's hope for the earth and her children still,
Unwithered by woe or crime,

And a heritage of rest for all,

Thou hast left us these, oh Time!

Sir Garnet Joseph Wolseley, K. C. B., G.C.M.G., is the son of Major G. J. Wolseley, and was born at Golden Bridge House, near Dublin, on June 4, 1833. He entered the army in 1852, and was engaged in that and the following year in the Burmese war. In the Crimean campaign he distinguished himself by almost reckless bravery; was wounded severely; and received the Legion of Honour and the order of the Medjidie. He next took part in suppressing the Indian mutiny, and was mentioned in despatches and raised to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. During the Chinese campaign he acted as quartermaster-general.

Red River in 1870, Sir Garnet was given the chief command. The success with which he carried out the operations of this campaign established his reputation; and from that time forward he has been selected on such occasions as demanded great military skill and high qualities as a leader. He was the successful commander of the expedition against the King of Ashantee in 1873-74; and on his return to England received the thanks of parliament and a grant of £25,000; and the Corporation presented him with the freedom of the city of London, and a sword valued at one hundred guineas. He was soon afterwards sent to Natal to arrange some difficulties of administration and colonial defence: in 1878 he was made administrator of Cyprus; and in 1879 he was despatched again to South Africa, to

Sir Garnet Wolseley has written a Narrative of the War with China in 1860, from which we give quotations; The Soldier's Pocket-Book, a work on field manoeuvres; and he came forward in 1877 as the editor of a rather poor novel, styled Marley Castle. He has also written various articles in the magazines.]

SACK OF THE SUMMER PALACE.

satins, and embroidery, were open to them. Indiscriminate plunder and wanton destruction of all articles too heavy for removal commenced at once. When looting is once commenced by an army it is no easy matter to stop it. At such times human nature breaks down the ordinary trammels which discipline imposes, and the consequences are most demoralizing to the very best constituted army. Soldiers are nothing more than grown-up schoolboys. The wild moments of enjoyment passed in the pillage of a place live long in the soldier's memory. Although, perhaps, they did not gain sixpence by it, still they talk of such for years afterwards with pleasure. Such

Upon the 7th of October, at daybreak, we fired twenty-one guns from the high earthen ramparts, near which we halted the evening before, and upon which we had kept large fires burning during the night. These measures were adopted for the purpose of intimating to our cavalry and the French the position we had taken up. A cavalry patrol, under an officer of the quartermaster-general's department, started, as soon as it became light, with orders to ascertain their position and communicate with the French, who were found to be at the Summer Palace, our cavalry being about two miles to their right. Sir Hope Grant, accompanied by Lord Elgin, rode thither in the course of the day for the purpose of seeing General Montauban, who said that as soon as he learned Sir Hope Grant's intention of marching upon Youen-ming-youen, he also made for that place, and fell in with our cavalry during his march, when both proceeded together until they reached the large village Hai-teen, which is situated close by the palace.

Our cavalry brigadier, naturally disliking the idea of getting his men entangled in a town of which he knew nothing, skirted it to the eastward, whilst the French proceeded direct through it and reached the palace gates. About twenty badly armed eunuchs made some pretence at resistance, but were quickly disposed of and the doors burst open, disclosing the sacred precincts of his majesty's residence to what a Chinaman would call the sacrilegious gaze of the barbarians. A mine of wealth and of everything curious in the empire lay as a prey before our French allies. Rooms filled with articles of vertu, both native and European, halls containing vases and jars of

ordinary routine of existence passed under the tight hand of discipline, that it becomes a remarkable event in life, and is remembered accordingly. I have often watched soldiers after the capture of a place wandering in parties of threes or fours through old ranges of buildings, in which the most sanguine even could scarcely hope to find anything worth having; yet every one of them bore about them that air of enjoyment which is unmistakable. Watch them approach a closed door; it is too much trouble to try the latch or handle, so Jack kicks it open. They enter, some one turns over a table, out of which tumbles perhaps some curious manuscripts. To the soldier these are simply waste paper, so he lights his pipe with them. Another happens to look round and sees his face represented in a mirror, which he at once resents as an insult by shying a foot-stool at it; whilst Bill, fancying that the "old gentleman" in the fine pictureframe upon the wall is making faces at him, rips up the canvas with his bayonet. Some fine statue of Venus is at once adorned with a moustache, and then used as an "Aunt Sally!" Cock-shots are taken at all remarkable objects, which, whilst occupying their intended positions, seem somehow or other to offend the veteran's eye, which dislikes the in statu quo of life, and studies the picturesque somewhat after the manner that Colonel Jebb recommends to all country gentlemen who are desirous of converting their mansions into defensible posts. The love of destruction is certainly inherent in man, and the more strictly men are prevented from indulging in it, so much the more keenly do they appear to relish it when the opportunity occurs. Such an explanation will alone satisfactorily account for the ruin and destruction of property which

follows so quickly after the capture of any place; tables and chairs hurled from the windows, clocks smashed upon the pavement, and everything not breakable so injured as to be valueless henceforth.

Soldiers of every nation under heaven have peculiarities common to all of the trade, and the amusements which I have just described are amongst them. The French most certainly are no exception to the rule. If the reader will imagine some three thousand men, imbued with such principles, let loose into a city composed only of Museums and Wardour Streets, he may have some faint idea of what Youen-ming-youen looked like after it had been about twenty hours in possession of the French. The far-famed palaces of a line of monarchs claiming a celestial relationship, and in which the ambassador of an English king had been insulted with impunity, were littered with the débris of all that was highly prized in China. Topsy-turvy is the only expression in our language which at all describes its state. The ground around the French camp was covered with silks and clothing of all kinds, whilst the men ran hither and thither in search of further plunder, most of them, according to the practice usual with soldiers upon such occasions, being decked out in the most ridiculous-looking costumes they could find, of which there was no lack, as the well-stocked wardrobes of his imperial majesty abounded in such curious raiment. Some had dressed themselves in richly-embroidered gowns of women, and almost all had substituted the turned-up mandarin hat for their ordinary forage-cap. Officers and men seemed to have been seized with a temporary insanity; in body and soul they were absorbed in one pursuit, which was plunder, plunder. I stood by whilst one of the regiments was supposed to be parading; but although their fall in was sounded over and over again, I do not believe there was an average of ten men a company present. Plundering in this way bears its most evil fruit in an army; for if when it is once commenced an effort is made to stop it, the good men only obey; the bad soldiers continue to plunder, and become rich by their disobedience, whilst the good ones see the immediate effect of their steadiness is to keep them poor. I do not believe that it is attended with such demoralizing effects in a French army as it is in ours. The Frenchman is naturally a more thrifty being than the careless Britisher, who squanders his money in drinking, and "standing drink" to his com

Nankin is but the shadow of its former self. Barely a tenth part of the houses once standing are now in existence.

Its walls are old, but massive, and are about 18 miles in circumference; but no more than a third of the inclosed space had ever been built upon, the other two-thirds being under tillage, or devoted to purposes of interment.

The walls are of brick, with the lower portion in many places of sandstone; they average from 40 to 60 feet in height, and are generally about 40 feet in thickness. The city is nearly triangular in shape, the apex being towards the river. A small range of hills stand within the city, extending down the western face, in some places abutting upon the walls. There are now six gates, each defended by a triple line of ramparts, which at those places are over 100 feet in thickness.

We were allowed to wander about the city unquestioned, the only difficulty ever experienced being at the gates, where the officers in charge occasionally stopped us, and put us to some annoyance in order to pass either in or out. Even Chinamen are not permitted to enter without a passport, which those employed as coolies, carrying in supplies, have sewed to the front of their jackets, so as to be visible at all times. Crowds of idlers invariably followed us, and the opprobrious epithet of fan-qui (foreign devil) was far more generally used than I expected to have found by a people professing to be our Christian brethren. When Kau-wan was asked how it was that the follower of the new dynasty persisted in retaining and using constantly the soubriquet which the imperialists had always had for the English, he said that these words were a sort of intonation natural to a Chinaman when he saw any foreigner; that, in fact, it was more an exclamation of astonishment than of intended rudeness. He hoped, however, that when all the people became more accustomed to our presence it would be entirely discontinued.

The Tartar quarter formed a regular forti