himself, every word that he was going to say. I himself accompany one of the firm on a visit But he left her with the conviction that it to Chewton, with a view to seeing on the was impossible for any young lady in her un- spot what could be done with a hope of disfortunate position to show a greater or more covering the missing register. touching degree of natural sensibility, tempered by beautiful resignation and admirable good sense, than she had done. She had listened with marked attention to the possibilities he had hinted at of error or fraud in the statements made, and had cordially adhered to his declarations of the propriety of taking every possible step with a view to discovering the real truth. "Ah!" said old Slow to himself, as he left the drawing-room, "such a girl as that, with one half of the Lindisfarn property, would have been a pretty catch for my young friend Fred. It is a sad business, a very sad business." But before leaving the doctor's house, Mr. Slowcome caused himself to be again shown into the study; and set before the doctor his very strong desire that Dr. Lindisfarn should "I would go myself, Dr. Lindisfarn," he said, "if my presence were not imperatively required in Silverton, or if Mr. Sligo were not in every respect as competent as myself to do all that can be done. But it would be a great assistance to us, if you would consent to accompany him, both on account of your knowledge of the people and the localities, and more especially because your authority, as rector of the parish, would be exceedingly useful to us." To this proposal the doctor, who was by no means loath to pay yet another visit to the scene and subject of his ecclesiological labors, and who began to speculate on the possibility of finding or creating a disciple in Mr. Sligo, made no difficulty. And it was decided that the visit should be made, as unexpectedly as possible, on the morrow. MISS WATT, the only surviving child of the greatest British bibliographer, Dr. Watt, has lately died at Glasgow in a workhouse. Hardly a fit place this, for the country to have let the daughter of such a man die in; hardly a fitting reward by our country for the production of a work, of which, the latest writer on bibliography (Mr. S. Austin Allibone), confirming the opinion of many predecessors, has said, “Having examined every article pertaining to British authors (about 22,500) in the work, we consider our selves qualified to give an opinion. the Bibliotheca of Dr. Watt will always deserve to be valued as one of the most stupendous literary monuments ever reared by the industry of man.' Last year, a petition was presented to Lord Palmerston, praying for a grant of £100 a year, for the benefit of Miss Watt. The petition was signed by Alfred Tennyson, John Ruskin, Thomas Carlyle, George Grote, Sir Frederick Madden, Holman Hunt, Mrs. Gaskell, and many another name of note. An answer to it was promised in February, but none came till last week, some days after the death of the poor lady had been announced to one of the Premier's secretaries. Then a fellow-secretary wrote to ask if Miss Watt could be supported on £50 a year; if so, that It was sum might probably be given to her. Venezuela, for the purpose of inspecting an estate DR. SEEMAN, who has been several months in From The Saturday Review. OLD LETTERS. NEXT to going to a funeral or a wedding, one of the most melancholy tasks is the examination of old letters,—not old letters belonging to others, but letters once upon a time addressed to yourself or written by yourself. It is wonderful how they accumulate, -and that, owing to perfectly distinct causes. The prudent have a horror of burning business letters. The warm-hearted cannot bring themselves to destroy letters from friends. We do not mean that only men laboring under imbecility or notorious for hardness of heart, neglect to preserve their letters, but that, in a general way, motives of prudence or instincts of affection tend to rescue letters from the waste-paper basket or the fire. Space is limited, or it is doubtful whether some persons.would ever destroy any letters at all. Table-drawers grow plethoric with ancient correspondence, desks spring open under the pressure of epistolary congestion, india-rubber bands, with a sudden explosion, flatly refuse any longer to hold in confinement the tightly packed papers committed to their charge. It demands a painful exercise of ingenuity to pick out the letters you received yesterday and must answer to-day, from amongst letters received months, nay, years ago,―waifs and strays of social life, whose writers are perchance dead and buried. At such a juncture, it becomes imperative to disregard prudence and repress affectionate impulses. You must do something decisive. The time has arrived for holding an inquest on these defunct communications from friends, relatives, and strangers, and, with a few exceptions, consigning them to annihilation. And, after all, how little comfort does the letter of a friend who has passed away give to an aching heart! The familiar handwriting, the characteristic thoughts and fancies, the tokens of a true and faithful attachment, often seem to add poignancy to the bitter sense of solitude and isolation. The yearning "for the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is gone," comes back upon us with renewed intensity, and the faded lines upon the outstretched page become dimmer as we gaze. We doubt the wisdom of preserving a multitude of such memorials. Choose out a very few from the | melancholy pile before you, and reverently burn the remainder. But your own letters, what will you do with them, should they fall into your hands? Suppose an admiring sister or doting mother has treasured them up, and the rich spoil is carefully returned to you, will you burn them unread, with the modest conviction that they are worthless? Or will you, with anxious circumspection, fold them anew in foolscap paper, tie the parcel up with trustworthy red tape, and store it away in your fireproof closet, alongside of the family title-deeds, and the silver soup-tureen privately presented to your grandfather, the dean, by the unanimous vote of the chapter, in testimony of their affectionate respect? If you are wise, you will do neither the one nor the other. You will snuff the candles and stir the fire, and quietly look them through. It is said that when death is very imminent, not introduced gradually by pain or disease, but suddenly brought home by unexpected peril, there will flash through the mind in rapid succession the series of events that make up the history of a life. It may be so. But certain it is that a heap of old letters, written at different periods of your past life, when duly examined and read, will present to you some such representation of the scenes and thoughts of youth and manhood and middle age—a spectral diorama, for the most part sad, yet softened here and there by touches of tenderness, and not without a wholesome lesson to a man whose heart retains a little of the freshness of other days. How your Take up that venerable packet of letters, scribbled hastily and joyously when you were in the pride of early manhood. You remember something about them! How clever your friends thought them! sisters praised them! How even that parent you loved best, though she could not approve of all she read in them, confessed she felt proud of the bright sallies of fancy, the original thoughts carelessly flung out, filling those foolscap sheets! What do you think of them now? Do not look so much ashamed of yourself, but hold up your head and reply. Barring a certain joyous fluency common to youthful letter-writers, when they have something to say, barring here and there a sparkle of pleasantry reflected from the page of some favorite author, we fear your verdict will be summed up in the word, rubbish. Nay, handwriting of the family solicitor, a man of here and there you will see something less clear head and comprehensive views, who, innocuous, possibly a spice of jaunty profan- with the best intentions, landed you in the ity thrown in by way of bravado,-possibly a quagmire of a Chancery suit, and then was bit of ill-natured gossip, veneered by a few inconsiderate enough to fall ill and die, leavadditions from your own imagination,-possi- ing you to scramble out as best you might. bly some contemptuous scoff at that respect- This feat you accomplished after two years' able old uncle, whom you were always racking anxiety, and emerged a rather wiser, quizzing behind his back, and who heaped and very much poorer, member of society than coals of fire on your head, by leaving you you were before. Those letters of the much in his will a comfortable income for life. respected family solicitor irritate like a blisLook through the letters page by page; do ter. Burn them immediately, and expedite they not make you feel a trifle uncomfortable? their combustion with the poker. After all, How silly is that attempt at wit-how shabby the poor man meant well; he was neither a that sneer-how feeble that show of logical knave nor a fool, but only studied your argument! Well, you were a good deal young- affairs through those abominable lawyer's er in those days. But then, are we always so glasses. Turn to something else. Here is a sure that, twenty years hence, we may not carefully-preserved correspondence. "Letlook back upon our present epistolary efforts ters connected with my fracas with Colonel with something, be it ever so little, of the Filbert." Filbert, late of the Demerara mingled self-reproach and shame with which Rifles, was, at the time of the fracas, leading we regard the letters of our early manhood? director and honorary secretary of the "SanBut what is this neatly assorted and care-ta Vacua Silver Mining Company, Peru." fully-labelled packet? For the most part, How did that little misunderstanding arise? copies of letters of your own on a rather im- It was a commonplace affair enough. The portant family "complication." See how colonel made acquaintance with you at the the first is headed. "Copy of my First Letter club; then used your name to get into socito my Sister M. on her intended marriage with ety; and having succeeded, spoke of you as Mr. J J." Then another. Copy a young friend from the country-raw, but of my Second Letter to my Sister M., etc., etc." not ungentlemanly,-whom the colonel had -and so on-a dozen or so of admirably- been particularly requested to "keep an eye composed and forcibly argued remonstrances upon." Whereupon arose angry words against this most preposterous union. But and angrier letters. Friends interposed, and, Sister M." was meekly obstinate, and Mr. J—— J—humbly pertinacious; and so they married; and truth to say, the marriage has turned out fairly happy. Mr. J- J was promoted, in due time, from a clerkship to a partnership. Mrs. J J, or "Sister M.," is blooming still; and on New Year's Day, you purchase a cabful of appropriate toys, and distribute them, in an ungainly manner, to a small but obstreperous mob of nephews and nieces, amongst whom on that occasion, at least-you are tolerably popular. We have no admiration for foolish marriages, but in the present instance, you will admit, on glancing over your letters, re Sister M.'s marriage, that, for a young man, the style was decidedly pompous, and the matter unquestionably priggish; so the sooner that budget is burnt the better. 66 Then comes a mass of business letters they make your flesh creep even now-in the as is not uncommon, fanned the flame of strife. There was even talk of a duel,—for men fought duels in those days,—hence the draft of a rather absurd will that drops from among the letters. But in the midst of the angry correspondence and the officious attentions of friends inconveniently anxious for your honor," the Santa Vacua Silver Mining Company" crumbled into nothingness, and Colonel Filbert, late of the Demerara Rifles, escaped to Brussels, much in debt to West End tradesmen, in the temporary disguise of a footman in livery. What is this dusty roll of manuscript, much corrected and interlined? The draft of an article entitled "May-Day Dreams. By a Young Freethinker. Chapter I."tendered to one of the leading magazines of the day, in sanguine expectations of a prompt and hearty welcome. The copy of a note to the editor is pinned to the manuscript, inti 4 Do you mating, in a vein of quiet confidence, and with that ugly barrister with a cast in his gentlemanly familiarity that, should he pre-eye, and had retailed to him half the foolish fer poetry, you would be happy to oblige things. you had told her in the warmth of him. Somehow or other, the editor never your heart. Was it true? Who can say acknowledged the receipt of the article, nor now? But she would not or could not deny replied to your letter. For a year or two it, and so you parted. What a fury you you laid the blame on the imperfect postal were in, and yet how wretched? arrangements of the locality. Then you remember how you sternly denied yourself gradually came to the conclusion, that your the luxury of shaving for three days, and style was too original for the respectable old then started for a six months' solitary sojourn periodical you had honored by your notice. in North Wales? And then, how you felt it Now, after the lapse of so long a time, you wonderfully dull, and in a week returned to perfectly understand why the "Young Free- the family mansion, to the utter discomposthinker's May-Day Dreams" did not exactly ure of your loving parents, who had meansuit the respectable old periodical, and are time invited two maiden aunts to occupy not sorry that you did not devote your ener- your vacant apartment, on a long-promised gies to scribbling the thirteen additional visit of a couple of months? Well, angry chapters that were dimly fermenting in your you were with Jessie, no doubt. But still, youthful brain. Throw the packet aside, you did not burn her letters, nor the lock of burn it by all means,-and take another. soft brown hair, which, if we mistake not, Here is a rather bulky pile of letters in a lurks coiled up in that envelope with the woman's hand, graceful, clear, and flowing. black edge. And Jessie, what became of How came these letters to be preserved? her? It matters not. You will never see Cannot you summon up before your mind's her again. Fold up the letters very gently, eye the little hand that traced those char- and put them by. acters, and the eyes of violet blue, so tender, yet so playful, that once gazed upon those mildewed sheets? Why did you keep those letters? There had been a bitter quarrel. You had heard that-who shall we say?- and seek repose. Jessie had laughed at you, made fun of you The candles are low in the socket. The fire burns dim. The grate is choked up with half-burnt letters. You may lock your desk, and sweep up those ashes of the past, also proposes to substitute benzine oil for linseed and other oils, over which it possesses great advantages. A NEW COPPER PAINT.-A new pigment, says the Mining Journal, calculated at the same time to increase the resources of the decorative painter, and to afford a ready means of preserving iron and other metals, has recently been introduced at Paris by Mr. L. Oudry, of the Auteuil Electro-Metallurgic Works. He first TO PURIFY INFECTIOUS AIR.-At the late obtains an absolutely pure copper by throwing meeting of the British Scientific Association at down the metal by the galvanic process; he then Newcastle, Dr. Richardson said the best way to dereduces the precipitate to an impalpable powder, stroy organic poison in rooms was to place iodine by stamping. This powder is then combined in a small box with a perforated lid. During the with a particular preparation of benzine, and epidemic of the small-pox in London, he had Though not used in the same way as ordinary paint; beauti- seen this used with great benefit. ful bronzed effects are produced upon it by means so powerful as chlorine or brominé, we may reof dressing with acidified solutions and pure mark iodine is less offensive, and not quite so incopper powder. The articles painted with the jurious to gilding or other metal work. Dr. Murnew material have all the appearance of electro-ray Thompson said charcoal was now used in the bronze, whilst its cost is less than one-sixth; it hospitals in India, with beneficial effect. It was will last from eight to ten years. Mr. Oudry hung up in bags from the rafters. POETRY.-The Knotted Cords, 146. Light on the White Hills, 146. Song of the Croaker, 191. A Mother's Waking, 191. Palingenesis, 192. Greenbacks, 192. SHORT ARTICLES.-Liability of the Government of Great Britain for the Depredations of Rebel Privateers on the Commerce of the United States considered, 154. Cultivation of Cinchona Trees in India, 154. Remarkable Equivoques, 157. The Calabar Poison Bean, 157. Something Lacking, 157. POSTAGE.-Hereafter we shall pay postage on "The Living Age" only when Six Dollars is paid in advance for a Year. Persons paying a smaller sum must pay their own postage. FIRST SERIES LIVING AGE, 36 vols., Morocco backs and corners, Cloth Binding, $90 a Set. WE have, at last, with great regret, sold the stereotype plates of the First Series of The Living Age, to be melted by type-founders. We have a small number of copies of the printed work remaining, which we shall be glad to receive orders for so long as we can supply them. Persons desirous of buying odd volumes or numbers, to complete their sets, would do well to order them without delay. 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