mountain-side lies in full sunlight, dotted | old white archway and out upon the terover with olives, and with the strange race, rocky wall above, hanging gardens effect of their shadows, which lie like of lemons below, which leads straight into black stains on the ground. As I climb the village of Roquebrune. One has now higher up my mule-path, this view is al- turned one's back on the Mentone side, ways behind me, with some slight variety and it is hard to say which view is the in its loveliness. But with the forest of most beautiful. Nothing, perhaps, can olives on their low stone terraces ali surpass the wonderful natural beauty, in round, above and below the path, it is form and color, of Monte Carlo and Moalmost difficult to find eyes for anything naco, lying like exquisite cameos on a setelse. They are so beautiful, with their ting of blue sea, the rich mountain-sides solemn shade, with gleams of sunlight rising into rugged crags behind them. making way through the maze of small, The Tête du Chien shines softly out beshining, grey-green leaves; with their yond; and one knows that hidden by the dark, rugged stems, often very old and nearer mountain is Turbia, the Roman large. As far as the eye can reach, this tower, itself like a great rock, that comwood extends; there must be thousands mands the whole coast. It may perhaps of trees on this mountain-side alone. be said here that the loveliest view we had But it is not only still life on my mule- at all of Monte Carlo was from Turbia. path. Suddenly, perhaps, round a turn in We had gone up into clouds, and when the road, a little flock of sheep comes hur- we reached Turbia, even the tower itself rying suddenly down. They are very was invisible in sweeping mists. But as small, gentle creatures, with long, soft we stood in a thick mantle of cloud, lookhair — it can hardly be called wool-darking down towards the sea, suddenly under brown or cream-white. Their wild-look- a low round arch of cloud we saw a vision ing shepherd, with his dark Italian face, has a polite word of greeting for the stranger as he passes by. One day, one of these flocks was led by a tiny child, with a cropped head, a frock down to his heels, and a branch of mimosa in his hand. He walked first among the sheep, their little white faces crowding and pushing softly round him. He might have been David, leading his father's sheep for the first time out of Bethlehem. Then there are women, in bright handkerchiefs, picking up olives under the trees; and one often meets a mule or large ass, the rightful owner of the path, stepping down with a gingerly grace over the stones. He bears on his back an immense load of sticks or grass, or a little barrel of wine slung on each side; he probably has one ear set forward, the other back, to show that no advantage must be taken of his good-nature; and he looks at the stranger with a doubtful, intelligent eye, while his master or mistress gives a friendly nod and bon jour. The most picturesque part of the mulepath itself ends at a little platform with a tall iron cross, and a chapel of the Madonna with a grated door. Here one can sit down on the low wall, and look back from the beautiful road, over the soft, restful coloring of that ocean of olives. The sun shines warmly, but a wind with a touch of ice in it, Riviera-fashion, comes stealing round the corner. Then the road goes climbing for a little way between orchard walls, and soon passes under an of rocks, trees, shining buildings, boats with white sails - - a summer scene, in bright sunshine, stretching out into a sea as blue as heaven. We had not gone up into the clouds for nothing. That day, from the terrace at Roquebrune, Monaco and Monte Carlo lay in a soft blue haze, which added magic to their beauty. Nature certainly, in a rather unprincipled way, seems to do her best to deepen the attraction of that beautiful circle of the Inferno. Roquebrune itself has the same curious, narrow, climbing streets as the other little towns on the Riviera. It is much larger, cleaner, and more civilized than Castellar or Gorbio; it is also much more cheerful and in the world. There is a good road up to it from the other side, from which the village lies smiling above its terraces of vines and lemons. I have seen the church, which is really handsome, described as assez coquette. Plenty of dirt and ruins, however, are to be met with on the steep and arched way up to the old castle, another stronghold of the Lascaris. The children who went with me were obliged to give me up at the locked door of the castle, but kindly called "Ma delon," who came with her key, and tramped, in a resigned, contemptuous sort of way, up steps and along ramparts. She had a conscience, however, and led her tourist into every curious corner. She was herself something of a character ; she was dirty, weather worn, and slipshod; she knitted as she walked, and her words were few. "Jolie vue" was her highest term of admiration for the brilliant panorama of sea, mountains, and Monte Carlo at her feet. She confessed that the church was assez bien pour le pays. In old feudal times, in wild days of Lascaris, Grimaldi, and invading Saracens, "Roccabruna" must have been a very important fortress, small but strong, Now its roofless walls tower, rather sad and neglected, over the village that crowds up close about it, and it is of no use or comfort or glory to any one but Madelon and her tribe of assistant guides. The distant view is hardly more beautiful than that from the terrace below. It seemed to me that the castle had only one privilege of its own, and many people would not think it worth the climb, that is, looking down upon the roofs of the village at its feet. It was the most curious view of roofs I had ever seen, old, ruinous, scattered with quaint chimneys, every different color and state of red fluted tiles, stained with mosses and weather, from grey and orange to scarlet and crimson. It was a very singular foreground to Madelon's jolie vue; but for it, one need hardly say, she had no eyes at all. Old women and children seemed to be the chief inhabitants of Roquebrune; most of the people, no doubt, were out working on their terraces, among the precious olive and lemon crops. The narrow streets were hot and still. An hour of Roquebrune was enough; and I presently found myself among the olives again, going lingeringly back to Mentone as I had come up from it, by the mulepath. CHINESE MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. Sexual selection, which has doubtless greatly influenced the development and advancement of certain races, has been inoperative in China during many centuries, because, under the prevailing usages, the contracting parties have, before espousal, no opportunity to judge of the strength, beauty, or intelligence of their consorts. Romantic love has no part in marriage or its issue. This may be one of the causes of China's arrested civilization, and of the astonishing fact that her astute people have invented nothing and discovered nothing during hundreds of years. Although polygamy is legal, it is practically so expensive and inconvenient as to be uncommon among the masses. Under the law no man may have more than one wife, though he may add to his household any number of helpmeets. The wife, brought home with unique ceremony, may under no circumstances be superseded in her well-defined sphere, the penalty of an attempt to put an inferior in her place being a hundred blows. In all cases the marriage engagement is made by the senior members of the families concerned, and is usually made without the knowledge of the future husband or wife. Marriage being essential to the continuance of the line of worshippers before the lares and penates, a man who will not marry is reckoned guilty of filial impiety. Spinsters are unknown and bachelors are few. The universal and intense desire for posterity in the male line of descent leads to much selfsacrifice on the part of parents, in order to secure wives for sons, and causes them to make provident arrangements for their marriage at an early age. Betrothals of expected infants, conditional upon their being of different sexes, are not rare. Among the poor it is not uncommon for a newly born daughter to be given away, that a girl of another clan may be taken by the mother, reared at her breast, and bestowed upon her son in after years. In many families there is at least one little daughter-inlaw that is being brought up in the house of her future husband. Parents of moderate means endeavor to provide wives for their sons by the time they are twenty years old, while but few keep a daughter after she is sixteen. Those who have a marriageable son, and the means of meeting the expense of taking a daughter-in-law, place their case in the hands of an old female friend or of a matrimonial agent, called a go-between, who finds among her acquaintances that which is required by her client. The parents of the two young people do not meet for conference, and are not usually known to each other even by name. The negotiation is conducted by the go-between, who is the sole medium of communication between the two families. When all details have been settled, a sum of money is carried from the parents of the groom to those of the bride, and the betrothal is com pleted. This pact can under no circumstances be legally broken by either party. Even the discovery of fraud on the part of the agent does not vitiate the contract. When the bride knows that she is to be married, she must evince by word and manner the deepest melancholy, and she gains commendation and repute if her lamentations are poetical. How much of a girl's distress is real and how much of it is piously feigned can be guessed only by those who understand how deeply Chinese character is affected by Chinese customs. Popular Science Monthly. DEATH AS THE LITTLE Love-God, 642 THE LAST METAMORPHOSIS OF MEPHIS- SONNETS, MISCELLANY,. 642 642 TOPHELES, 642 642 For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents. DEATH AS THE LITTLE LOVE-GOD. SUNSET and moonrise mingling in the sky Made dreamlight, and beside the village well The maidens sat, singing the songs that tell Of love; and then a troop of knights went by. And with them rode a boy, right roguishly, A little archer wight, who in his selle Turned as they passed, and shot a shaft that fell Full in a maiden's budding breast; her cry Rose sharp and sudden, and at the sound outrung Her light companion's laughter; and he, too, The sweet boy-bowman, smiled, as marksmen do, Though bitterly, methought, for one so young. But she the shaft had struck still sighed and sighed As one in pain, and not long after died. THE LAST METAMORPHOSIS OF MEPHISTOPHELES. CANDID he is, and courteous therewithal, Athwart the sunbeams, all things evil and base WITH pipe and book at close of day, It matters not what book on knee, It matters not meerschaum or clay. It is "enough merely to be " What though our modern skies be gray, For "soothing Death "to succor me, But ask thus much, O! Fate, of thee, A little longer yet to stay With pipe and book! R. LE GALLIENNE. SONNET. EVOLUTION. THE sun had set, and in the mellow light When, in the east, a ruddy fire, and lo, New light! The full-faced moon was climbing slow The sullen sky. The star, one moment bright, law, Which lifts another up? Do all things draw SONNET. TO THE LIBERAL UNIONISTS OF 1887. YE, who to virtue and your country vowed, Reject, denounce dishonored party ties, And side by side with ancient enemies Confront the Jacobin onset blind and loud Nor snared by sophist tongue nor clamorcowed, England's brave sons, pursue your high emprise So much the more, the more the unjust, the unwise Rain on you fire from faction's low-hung cloud. Against you march Revolt and Rapine's brood: That sect its scope remoter knows not yet; WHEN do I love you most, sweet books of mine? In strenuous morns when o'er your leaves I pore Austerely bent to win austerest lore, Forgetting how the dewy meadows shine; Or afternoons when honeysuckles twine About the seat, and to some dreamy shore Of old Romance, where lovers evermore Keep blissful hours, I follow at your sign? Yea, ye are precious then, but most to me Ere lamplight dawneth, when low croons the fire To whispering twilight in my little room, And eyes read not, but sitting silently I feel your great hearts throbbing deep in quire, And hear you breathing round me in the gloom. R. LE GALLIENNE. From The London Quarterly Review. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING." coming aware of an air breathing on us from some region higher and fairer than the common world of men some sphere "where deep thought is a duty, and Love a grown-up god." It but satisfies expec tation pleasantly to find this impression justified by the reality. THE literature of our day is rich beyond all precedent in biography. Never, perhaps, has public curiosity been keener as to the private history of famous people, and never has there been a more obliging readiness to meet that curiosity. There But while we are grateful to Mr. Ingram are, however, some recent instances in for his courage in giving us the "initial which the surviving friends of distin- biography" of Mrs. Browning, and while guished persons have declined to gratify we would not cavil at the inevitable shortthe popular craving for details of their comings of a work for which the material lives; and it is to the most noticeable of was but scanty, we may permit ourselves such instances that Mr. Ingram invites the expression of a regret that his attiour attention, in stating that during the tude should be much more critical than twenty-seven years that have elapsed since sympathetic towards the religion, most Mrs. Browning's death, "nothing even real and intense, which ruled the whole claiming to be a biography of her has been existence of this greatest known poetess. published," though a few fragments of her Some spiritual sympathy is needed to deal literary correspondence have been given adequately with the life of one whose perto the world. It is no accidental or negli-sonality was so suffused, so interpenegent omission. Remembering the shy trated, with the Christianity of Christ. and tender mystery which involved the poetess during all her life which was never lived in the world's eye-we may guess that those who still live to mourn this rare woman are little disposed to unbar the doors and let the broad day into the sacred shrine where her beloved mem-historical the Old Testament narrative of ory is treasured. Such a feeling is worthy of respect; yet we cannot be sorry that at last a writer has been found to gather together, from more than twenty different sources, the fragments of information relating to that too brief existence, and to piece them into a mosaic, from which we can see how perfectly the character of Elizabeth Barrett Browning harmonized with her work. Not of her, as of many another great lyrist, could it be said that, giving "the people of her best," she kept the worst for herself and her home. Her soul was white — an eyewitness of her life has lately said; not in the low conventional sense of purity was she pure, but in the loftier sense that in her spirit things ignoble and impure could find no lodgment—all was clean and lofty. Such testimony does not surprise one familiar with her writings. Hardly can we read three pages of hers without be • Elizabeth, Barrett Browning. By John H. Ingram. (Eminent Women Series.) London: W. H. Allen & Co †T. A. Trollope. She who could acknowledge what was good and excellent in thinkers so loose as Leigh Hunt, and moralists whose conduct was so faulty as George Sand's, should not be described as "bigoted" and "superstitious," because she accepted as the fall, and retained her belief in the existence of angelic intelligences. Those whose "Christianity is confined to Church and rubrics " might indeed have found her charity too wide, her views too unfettered for their taste. It is odd to find her indirectly censured for her recognition of the divine hand in the incidents of her life, every one of which she regarded, we are told, "as a direct interposition of the Deity." An apter phrase than this might be found to describe her happy consciousness of the Heavenly Father's ceaseless care, Earth's crammed with Heaven, And every common bush afire with God, But only he who sees takes off his shoes. Because she saw and worshipped, shall it be lawful to speak of her "excess of faith" her"? Few were those whom she judged as leading her to misjudge "the best about more hardly than they deserved - many those whose faults her compassion condoned. For her errors of judgment, her impulsive nature and secluded life are |