what's this you've been about?" It was still "Poor dear!" said Mrs. Burtonshaw, lovingMr. Cumberland's porch, but it was a porch lux-ly, smoothing Zaidee's beautiful hair, and thinkuriantly mantled over with the fantastic wreath- ing of the refractory Sylvo, who could not now work of a vine. The bit of paper was henceforth be induced to devote himself to Zaidee. Sylvo not an idea of Mr. Cumberland's, but a thing had his repulse fresh in his mind yet, but did called, in the dialect of picture-dealers," a Steele." not condescend to inform his mother why he reMary seized upon it eagerly for the album, in garded her recommendation so little; so Mrs. which already Percy Vivian figured, and Mr. Burtonshaw expended a great deal of sympathy Steele threw down his pencil. upon Zaidee's unfortunate attachment, and constantly called her "poor dear!"

"Come in and see my picture, will you?" said the artist; "I'll introduce you to Shenkin Powis, who makes all that row about architecture. That's his book, is it?—it's all along of him you are going to build. Does ornament make me happy, Mrs. Burtonshaw ?-now, when do you see an ornament on me? Ask him with his moustache there. Are you 'appy, young gentleman? He has a better right, his young squireship, than a poor old fellow like me."

CHAPTER XVI.—IMPROVEMENT.

Mr. Shenkin Powis was a man of some note in the world. Mrs. Cumberland had a luncheon prepared for him, and waited to receive him with a very pretty compliment; while old Jane Williams lingered on the staircase, anxious to waylay the visitor, and inspect him, to discover what relationship he bore to the house of Powisland. The disappointment of both these watchers was great, when Mr. Shenkin Powis shook hands with Mr. Cumberland on the lawn, and left this hospitable mansion undemolished and unvisited. But though Mr. Cumberland's design had "I have sent Parkins to drive him to Richmond," passed out of his hands, and become "a Steele," said Mr. Cumberland, as he came in; "he could his intention was unchanged. Our philosopher not wait-he had an appointment. I am a little drove into London, was introduced to Mr. Shen- disappointed in him, sister Burtonshaw-clever kin Powis, and drove out again, bringing with undoubtedly, but a crotchety man-a crotchety him that luminary of architectural morality, man. The fact is, my genius will not go in lead while Mary's pretty face, full of sunny mirth, ing-strings. Think of the man trying to con looked out from the bow-window, and Zaidee, re- vince me that, unless I pulled it down and reserved and silent, her ears tingling once again to built it from the foundations, it would be better the stranger's familiar name, sat behind. Mr. to leave the house as it is. He does not approve Cumberland stood on the lawn with his visitor, of rounding an angle by thickening the masondooming to destruction this hapless square house, ry; it is not sincere. I grant the necessity of with its four corners, and projecting a Gothic truth in form—that it is the beauty of it; but castle in its stead. Mrs. Cumberland, reclining think of a sincere wall, sister Burtonshaw! No: on her sofa, comforted herself that it was a I find I must originate and execute by myself; "beautiful idea;" but the whole feminine popu- the result will show." lation of the house, except herself, watched the two gentlemen on the lawn as they might have watched an invading army, with earnest hostility and eager vigilance. I wonder how they can look at all these pretty innocent trees," said Mrs. Burtonshaw, "and that grass that is like velvet, and everything so settled and comfortable; I wonder they have the heart to look at them, Maria Anna! and to think that, in a day or two, there will be nothing but dust, and hammers, and masons, and all sorts of people. What does Mr. Cumberland mean by a square being a heathen institution? We are not living in a square; and I am sure there is Belgravia, and Grosvenor Square, and all the rest of them, which are just the very best places one can live in; but Mr. Cumberland, of course, will never be like other people. Mary, my love, we will have to go away."

"Then you will go on, Mr. Cumberland," said Mrs. Burtonshaw, "though even Mr. Shenkin Powis knows better! Well, I am sure I have told you what I think, and if you will not hear common sense I cannot help it. But we must go away, you know; we cannot stay when you have workmen all over the house. The children want a change, too; they want change of air, poor dears. We will go to Sylvo's place, Mr. Cumberland; and when you have cut up all the poor pretty lawn, and destroyed everything, you will send for us to come home."

But Mr. Cumberland was quite beyond the reach of Aunt Burtonshaw's innocent sarcasm. He was measuring, and planning, and making very rude sketches with a great pencil which one of the workmen, brought here on an errand of investigation had left this morning. Mr. Cumberland made his design for the Gothic porch "I would rather not go away, Aunt, Burton- over again, putting particular emphasis on its shaw," said Mary. "Papa's new freak became roof and its benches. "We would want to resomewhat more serious if it involved this neces-fuge for the destitute, no great indiscriminate sity.

"But, my love, we cannot help ourselves," said Aunt Burtonshaw. "I think we will go to Sylvo's place, Elizabeth; you would like to see Sylvo's place, my dear child; now I am sure you would, though you do not like to say it."

"But I do like to say it," said Zaidee, with a smile of wonder; "I should like very well to see Sylvo's place, Aunt Burtonshaw, if we must leave home."

shelter for the houseless poor, if this plan were universally adopted," said Mr. Cumberland; "the greatest possible incentive to private charitybest plan that could be adopted for giving each family a little community of friendly depend ents. Depend upon it, sister Burtonshaw, you will hear of this before the year is out."

But Mrs. Burtonshaw had gone to seek Sylvo, to prepare him for the honor about to be done to his place. Sylvo received the proposal some

what gruffly, but not without satisfaction. He himself for the most joyous hospitality; he felt was pleased to have a regular beauty," to make that he would rather astonish Mansfield, when his place famous among his neighbors; and per- that excellent savage came to visit him, on his haps Sylvo had an idea that he had been suffi- arrival. Two beautiful cousins do not fall to the ciently rude and resentful, and that now it might lot of every man; the curve of Sylvo's mousbe time to melt a little towards Zaidee, and give tache relaxed, and those admirable teeth of his her another chance. "People say you should slightly revealed themselves; he tried a pun after never take a woman at her first word," muttered the fashion of Mr. Steele, and made such a deSylvo, as he lounged with his cigar among the plorable failure that the attempt was followed by trees, and recalled with complacency his moth- infinite plaudits; and on the whole he could not er's flattering explanation of Žaidee's silence and help a comfortable conviction of his own attracthoughtfulness. "Why can't she be honest, and tions, mental and physical. Sylvo was returnsay as much?" said Sylvo; "but I suppose it's ing to his place improved by the society of gewoman's way." He was very well satisfied with nius and feminine refinement, in the best temper this conclusion. The young gentleman was not and best hopes imaginable. It was quite a brilof an inquiring mind in general-and he gra- liant day for Sylvo, the day which made him sole ciously resolved upon giving Zaidee another cavalier of this little travelling party; he grew chance. quite elated with his important position as he drew nearer home.

Sylvo's place! where the only society is the gentleman savage whom Aunt Burtonshaw is so And Sylvo was not disappointed in his expecmuch afraid of," said Mary; and Mary shrugged tations. Mr. Mansfield was astonished when he her shoulders, and pouted her red lip. "Yes, I stalked in, in his morning costume, redolent of shall be very glad to see Sylvo's place, my dear cigars, and was ushered into a drawing-room Elizabeth," said Mrs. Cumberland; we will full of ladies. Mr. Mansfield's astonishment was carry female influence, and, I trust refinement, so extreme indeed that he well-nigh made a there: it will do Sylvo good, I am sure." Only quarrel with Sylvo, who "might have let a man Zaidee said nothing either of satisfaction or ap- know before he went right in among them," Mr. proval. "She thinks the more, poor dear," said Mansfield thought. The beautiful cousins made Aunt Burtonshaw. a great sensation in the neighborhood of Sylvo's And it was a very fortunate change for Zaidee place, where they shook off his attendance rather this removal; it carried her away from the daily unceremoniously, and wandered by themselves excitement-the secret anxiety, which constant- through the flowery lanes and fields. It was a ly had fresh fuel added to raise it higher. Mary great refreshment to each of these young hearts; might pout, but she could not help herself; and they expanded once more to each other, and from perhaps it was no harm to Mary either, this go- this little pause and moment of observation ing away. The preparations were made very looked back upon the time which had just hastily, for Mr. Cumberland was taking vigorous passed. It was a time of infinite interest and measures. The door was impassable before the importance to both of them: to Mary the crisis little party were ready; they had to make their of her life; to Zaidee a great and strange trial, escape by the window, after all, according to Mrs. by means of which the crisis of her life also was Burtonshaw's prophecy; and even the window to come. While Mr. Cumberland's porch rose would not have been left to them had they stay- with its odd Gothic pinnacles on the square ga ed another day. From the noise and dust and ble, which it was his intention to mould into disturbance of Mr. Cumberland's improvements, conformity with the lines of nature. Mr. Cumthey went gratefully through the bright country, berland's household found a very pleasant change on their short summer's day's journey to Sylvo's in Sylvo's place; and Sylvo had quite made up place. Sylvo was quite in great spirits, laughing his mind, by this time, when and how he was to great "ha, ha's" from under his moustache, no offer to Zaidee "another chance." one could tell for what reason, and preparing

REMARKABLE DISCOVERY.-James Crabtree, disinterred was saturated with water; and probapit-sinker to Messrs. Ackroyd, of Burkinshaw bly from this circumstance, combined with close Bottom, in sinking a pit at Morley, near Leeds, confinement, it had been enabled to sustain its last Monday, found a live frog in the centre of a half-torpid life through countless ages.-Leeds large coal, 78 yards below the surface, consider- Mercury.

ably below the Morley tunnel, to which it is

close adjoining. The frog is still very lively. FULL FIG.? May not this term, applied to dress, When found it was very dark in color, but was owe its derivation to the costume of fig-leaves on Wednesday becoming like the common every-adopted by our first parents? The slang characday species. The eyes are very bright, and sur-ter of the phrase inclines me to hazard this conrounded with a gold ring. It has four claws on jecture.

its fore feet, and five (webfooted) on the hind While I am on the subject of dress, I should feet. Its mouth is closed, or firmly shut, but it like to have an explanation of the term "dressed has two vents, apparently nostrils, on the top of to the nines," common in some parts of the its nose. The seam of coal from which it was country. — Notes and Queries.

From the Times.

MISS NIGHTINGALE.

wards, the most terrible of human abodes those who know that all thought of amusement or even of relaxation was banished from

We have been requested to publish the her mind; that all conversation, save on the following correspondence :

one subject of her mission, was deemed by her
vain and useless, are convinced not only of the
sincerity and devotion of her character, but also
of her rare gifts of intellect and moral strength,
which place her among the few who have
conferred a lustre on her sex. But even en-
thusiasm and devotion would have done little
at Scutari without a practical ability and an
innate of influencing those around her.
power
Miss Nightingale landed in the Bosphorus,
and was, of course, distrusted. The temper
of inspectors and deputy-inspectors may be
judged of from their contemporary reports
and conduct. We are happy to remember
that her earliest labors were rendered success-

"49, Belgrave-square, July, 1855. "Madam,-There is but one testimonial which would be acceptable to Miss Nightingale. "The one wish of her heart has long been to ful through the material assistance of the Sick found a hospital in London, and to work it on her own system of unpaid nursing. For this and Wounded Fund, while we acknowledge purpose money will be needed. and I have sug- the benefits of her advice and help in rendergested to all who, like yourself, have asked for ing it more widely useful. For some time my advice in this matter to pay any sums that she labored almost unaided, but soon her sucthey may feel disposed to give, or that they cess had disarmed opposition at the scene of may be able to collect, into Messrs. Coutts's her labors, while it had made her celebrated bank, where a subscription list for the purpose is at home. We need not say that she then reabout to be opened, to be called the Nightin-ceived the countenance of the magnates of gale Hospital Fund,' the sum subscribed to be presented to her on her return home, which will enable her to carry out her object-i. e, the reform of the nursing system in England.

"I remain, Madam, yours faithfully.
"ELIZABETH HERBERT."

the Anglo-Perote world, who made the discovery that she was an excellent person. Since those gloomy days Miss Nightingale has labored with equal courage and success in the hospitals of the Crimea, and has had the gratification of watching the returning health of our army, and those great improvements in medical and sanitary administration which Dr. Sutherland has described. It was not till her work was done that illness prostrated a frame always somewhat feeble, and compelled her to cease from exertions now happly little needed.

In November last, when the first news of the horrors which attended the reception of the wounded from the Crimea thrilled through the hearts of the nation, a lady landed at Scutari on a mission of mercy and devotion, from which through many long months of trial she has never shrunk. There are reputations We know not whether it be Miss Nightinwhich have suddenly sprung up, no one knows gale's intention to return immediately to Enghow; there are individuals who, as it were, land. She may, perhaps, believe that for one through some popular mania have suddenly earnest spirit there is always work where the become celebrated, while those conversant with causes of calamity are so various; perhaps a their career and character have had to rest recurrence of new disasters may be present content with listening silently to the gregarious to a mind too sensitive in its apprehensions. enthusiasm of the world and the ludicrous eu-But, as her arrival in her native country and logies poured forth on the favorite of the her return to labors of more ordinary benevohour. Such characters are to be met with lence must take place at no distant period, always, and during the present war they have some persons who honor her character, and abounded exceedingly. We believe that not wish to commemorate her exertions, are anxonly the cynical by disposition, but even men ious to present her with a testimonial of a of the world in general, were at first slow to kind on which her heart is set. A letter give their tribute of praise to Miss Nightin- from Mrs. Sidney Herbert, which we publish gale's labors, for fear that false enthusiasm or to-day tells us that Miss Nightingale has been a love of the world's applause should prove to long anxious to found a hospital in London, be the weak basis of what seemed a noble and to work it on her own system of uncharacter. But all such doubts have now paid nursing. As the recompense for past passed away. Those most intimate with this labors which this lady most values is the gifted lady-those who have watched her in opportunity for future exertion, it has been her quiet and unobtrusive toil by day, and determined, if possible, to supply the funds her nightly wandering through those long for such a hospital by private contributions;

DXCIV.

LIVING AGE. VOL XL

8

and for this purpose a subscription is to be | opportunity offers, urge them to similar works opened at Messrs. Coutts's, the sums collect- and a similar life. Till of late there has been ed to be presented to Miss Nightingale on little scope in England for any philanthropy her return, to enable her to carry out a plan of a higher kind than the giving away of Individuals made isolated efforts to which cannot now be said to be untried. At money. Scutari the ladies who accompanied Miss relieve the suffering, to raise the fallen, to Nightingale labored with a constancy almost help those struggling to rise; but they labored as untiring as her own; and, though much or in obscurity and with indifferent success, and most of this devotion may be due to her influ- were far less honored by the charitable world ence and example, yet the fact is proved that than the chairmen of the great societies who such gratuitous services are to be obtained, vicariously benefited their kind through the not for a few days or weeks, but for the steady medium of an office, a committee, a secretary, labor of many months, in a distant land, amid and a yearly meeting in May. Now there the terrors of strange diseases and hateful are signs of a deeper benevolence, a more forms of death. We believe that, encouraged earnest devotion, a more seated conviction of by the success of Scutari, many ladies would the necessity of personal labor, and, above all, be willing to devote themselves to the labors a freedom from the miserable fear of the of such an institution as it is proposed to world's criticism or ridicule. That there will found. In neighboring countries the Sisters be plenty of unpaid nurses ready to join Miss of Charity are useful and honored visitors in Nightingale's work of mercy we feel fully every hospital. It is not, indeed, desirable to sure; that the example they will have before have any servile mimicry of the usages of other them will be a high and noble one the world lands and creeds. There is nothing so barren will not doubt. The services of the lady who as imitation, for all true excellence must have is still toiling in the East have been so great, an originality. We may therefore rejoice that the system of Miss Nightingale is a new one, and requires in its votaries no unnecessary promises, and only such an amount and duration of service as they may feel disposed to yield. Yet the same spirit which prompts the Sisters of Charity in other lands must live in the hearts of Englishwomen, and will, when

and her success so conspicuous, that the public might well intrust her with the means of carrying out her views, even without a close examination of their feasibility; but from such an examination we think that she and those who advocate the institution we have recommended need not shrink.

From The Athenæum.

IS IT COME?

Is it come? they said on the banks of Nile,
Who looked for the world's long-promised day,
And saw but the strife of Egypt's toil

With the desert's sands and the granite gray.
From pyramid, temple, and treasured dead

We vainly ask for her wisdom's plan; They tell of the slave and tyrant's dread,Yet there was hope when that day began.

The Chaldee came with his starry lore,

That built up Babylon's crown and creed; And bricks were stamped on the Tigris' shore With signs which our sages scarce can read. From Ninus' temple and Nimrod's tower

The rule of the old East's empire spread,
Unreasoning faith and unquestioned power-
But still, Is it come? the watcher said.

The light of the Persian's worshipped flame
On ancient bondage its splendor threw;
And once on the West a sunrise came,
When Greece to her freedom's trust was true.
With dreams to the utmost ages dear,

With human gods and with godlike men,
No marvel the far-off day seemed near

To eyes that looked through her laurels then.

The Roman conquered and revelled, too,
Till honor and faith and power were gone;
And deeper old Europe's darkness grew

As wave after wave the Goth came on.

The gown was learning, the sword was law,
The people served in the oxen's stead;
But ever some gleam the watcher saw,
And evermore, Is it come? they said.

Poet and Seer that question caught

Above the din of life's fears and frets;
It marched with letters-it toiled with thought,
Through schools and creeds which the earth
forgets;

And statesmen trifle, and priests deceive,
And traders barter our world away;
Yet hearts to that golden promise cleave
And still, at times, Is it come? they say.

From Household Words.

SOMETHING LIKE A DRAMATIC AUTHOR. JOHNSON - we call him Johnson, because that is not his name, and we would rather not be personal - Johnson called upon us the other day, on purpose to present us with a neatly-bound copy of his collected works. We were extremely busy at the time, and so we told him; but Johnson was not easily got rid of. Assuring us he would not detain us many seconds, he took a seat, and—as the time-piece on our mantel-piece can witness-entertained us for one hour and ten minutes with the story of his grievances.

Johnson had written, he assured us, no less than five successful plays—all of which had been acted, and all applauded to the echo. "And now, sir," he continued, "what's the use of it? Five plays, sir, all successful! And yet, sir, every one of them forgotten! Here, sir," and Johnson dealt a vigorous blow on the unconscious and neglected volume. "Here, sir, I bring them out in a collected form, and not a copy has been asked for! Depend upon it, sir, it's all up with the drama. There was a time when men who wrote but one play gained celebrity; and here, sir, I've written five, sir -five !"

matists was certainly a somewhat strange one. Poor Johnson! We had promised him posthumous and undying fame for his five dramas his "five, sir-five!" as he so proudly dwelt upon their number; and, for the life of us, we could not help laughing at our prophecy, as we asked ourselves, how many plays of all the hundreds the great Spaniard wrote, are heard of now. Nay, how many were there that even long survived their author. A per-centage, truly, most disheartening to Johnson!

At once we mentally ran over all we knew of Lope de Vega-the "Prodigy of Nature," the "King of Comedy," the "Spanish Phoenix, as he was styled by his various critics - the man whose name became admitted into the Spanish language as an adjective expressing the extreme of excellence. At once we turned to different memoirs of the poet, and looked over the astounding arithmetical calculations that in different lands, at different times, have been made to state the number of his works. And if the reader does not know already, we should like to hear him guess how many plays he thinks it possible that Lope de Vega wrote. We have prepared him, doubtless, to suppose the number large; but, in spite of all our warnings, we defy the boldest guesser to come near the truth. Let him think of a number that may seem preposterous. It will be much below the mark. Nay, let him even work out that mysterious problem in mental arithmetic which we remember puzzling over in our school-boy days, and, having thought of a num ber, double it, add ten to it, and so on-we forget, exactly, the true formula. Still will the total, in all probability fall considerably short of the number of plays composed by Lope de Vega.

We condoled with him as we best could, and tried to hold out brilliant visions of the justice to be done to him by generations yet unborn: but it was useless; Johnson would not be comforted. Grateful, however, for our sympathy, he did the kindest thing he could have done -he left us; not, though, till we had given the most solemn promise that we would, at our very earliest leisure, read through the whole of the collected works, from title-page to Finis. We placed the copy of the works of John- The lowest calculation that seems based on son on the shelf behind us; and there, for seve-anything like solid grounds, is that given by M. ral days, it stayed as unmolested and unno- Damas Hinard, in an admirable memoir of the ticed as its thousand brethren that still encum-poet, prefixed to a French translation of his bered the warehouses of Johnson's publisher. plays; or rather some of his plays, for we should One morning, however, we thought that we would look at it, and see what Johnson really had produced, for we confess we had forgotten the very names of his plays quite as completely as it seemed the public had. Accordingly, we looked along our shelves for it; but for some time in vain. The volume was a thin one, and must, we supposed, have slipped behind its bulkier neighbors. We were just giving up our search as hopeless, when all at once we caught a sight of it, and in such company, that it made us smile despite ourselves, as we remembered the poor fellow's sad complaints, that he the author of no less a number than five plays—was still unread-forgotten!

Johnson was squeezed between two volumes of the works of Lope de Vega!

The accidental juxtaposition of the two dra

like to see the man who could translate them all, in one life-time, supposing all to be extant. M. Hinard informs usa statement in which Schah, the German historian of the Spanish drama, and others coincide-that Lope de Vega wrote the prodigious number of fifteen hundred plays!

Fifteen hundred plays! Written by one man's hand-conceived by one man's brain! Well may another of his biographers, Mr.G.H. Lewes, say: "It really takes one's breath away to hear of such achievements." But we have not yet done. At the imminent risk of having our ve racity impugned, we must go on to tell what else Lope de Vega wrote. As though the fifteen hundred plays were not enough for one man's work, we find he wrote besides about three hundred interludes and autos sacramentales (a species of dramatic composition re