leading from the grand salon in which Amelia, surrounded by her ladies, stood to receive her guests, was filled with jewelled women of every age, with their cavaliers, and in the dancing-hall the music of a chosen band gave out its glad invitation. Here Charlotte, who was accompanied by the Baron and Madame de Stein, was joined by Schiller, who claimed her hand for the next dance, after which they sought their friends in the conversation-rooms. On their way, Charlotte told Schiller that her mother had sent her carriage to Madame de Stein's that afternoon, desiring her to return home the following morning.

The time of my visit has expired," added the lovely girl; "I shall be very happy to see dear old Lengefield again."

"But do you leave us without regret? Sweetest friend

Schiller's heart could no longer wear a mask-its deep love found expression in eloquent passionate words, that called up an answering echo in that of the sweet creature at his side. Long years afterwards, when Lolo, as he loved to call her, was his cherished wife, Schiller read to her these lines, written on quitting her that happy night ::

"What then I felt, what breathed, my memory hence
From that wild moment would in vain invoke-

It was the life of some discovered sense

That in the heart's divine emotion spoke ;
Long years imprisoned, and escaping thence
From every chain the soul enchanted broke,
And found a music in its own deep core,

Its holiest, deepest deep, unguessed before.
"Like melody long hushed, and lost in space,

Back to its home the breathing spirit came:
I looked, and saw upon that angel face

The fair love circled with the modest shame;
I heard fand heaven descended on the place)

Low-whispered words a charmed truth proclaim-
Save in thy choral hymns, O spirit-shore,"

Ne'er may I hear such thrilling sweetness more!"

The following summer found the poet again at Rudolstadt, and "in February, 1790, after a correspondence of many months, Charlotte became his wife." A few years after the marriage of Schiller, Caroline de Lengefield lost her aged husband, whereupon Wilhelm de Wolzogen returned from abroad, and in time received the reward of his generous devotion.

WASHINGTON IRVING AND THE SQUAW.-Irving used to relate that he was once very nearly killed by an Indian. Said he:-"When I was a young man, I was travelling in Canada with a friend. There were Inore Indians there then than there are white men now. One raw, chilly day, we were rowing in a canoe on the St. Lawrence, with an Indian for a guide. As we neared the spot where Ogdensburg now stands, he invited us to his wigwam to get something to eat. Securing the canoe to the shore, we followed him a short distance to his hut, where we found his squaw busily cooking venison. Our guide motioned us to a seat by the fire, and then proceeded to drink a large quantity of whisky. My friend watched him closely; but I talked to his wife, who at first gave short answers, glancing at her lord and master to see if he listened, which he seemed not to do, and then to talk more freely. The squaw was very ugly, having the overburdened look that you see among Indian women; so, from half pity, as she took the huge haunch from the fire, I rose to assist her. At the same moment her jealous husband raised a club, striking me on the head a blow that made me fall insensible at his feet. A he was about to repeat the blow my friend caught in in his arms, and, rushing from the wigwam, depoSed me in the canoe, and was taking me rapidly down the stream before our half-drunken pursuer reached the shore. I soon recovered my senses; but 1 never was polite to a squaw again.'

HONESTY THE BEST POLICY.

THE Duke of Buccleuch, in one of his walks, purchased a cow in the neighbourhood of Dalkeith, which was to be sent to his castle on the next day. The duke, in his morning dress, espied a boy ineffectually trying to drive the animal forward to its destination. The boy, not knowing the duke, bawled out to him, "Hie, mun, come here, and gie's a han' wi' this beast. I'll give you half I get." Come here, mun, an' help us, an' as sure as anything, The duke went and lent the helping hand. "And now," ," said the duke, as they trudged along, "how much do you think ye'll get for this job?" "I "I dinna ken," said the boy, "but I'm sure o' something, for the folk up at the big house are good to a' bodies." As they approached the house, the duke disappeared from the boy, and entered by a different way. Calling the butler, he put a sovereign into his hand, saying, "Give that to the boy who brought the cow.' The duke, having returned to the avenue, was soon rejoined by the boy. "Well, how much did you get?" "A shilling," said the boy, "an' there's half o' it to ye." "But you surely got more than a shilling?" said the duke. No," said the boy, as sure as death that's a' I got; an' dy'e no thinkit's plenty ?" "I do not," said the duke; "and, as I am acquainted with the master of the house, if you return I think I'll get you more." They went back; the duke rang the bell, and ordered all the servants to be assembled. "Now," said the duke to the boy, "point me out the person who gave you the shilling." "It was that chap there," pointing to the butler. The butler confessed, fell on his knees, and attempted an apology; but the duke indignantly ordered him to give the boy the sovereign, and quit his service instantly. "You have lost," said the duke, "your money, your situation, and your character, by your covetousness; learn henceforth that honesty is the best policy." The boy by this time recognised his assistant in the person of the duke; and the duke was so delighted with the sterling worth and honesty of the boy, that he ordered him to be sent to school, and provided for at his own expense.

COAL. It was once customary to make the seams of coal serve as landmarks or boundaries, the substance imbedded in the earth being imperishable. Coal as an article of fuel for general purposes was not thought of. The opinion formed of it as fuel was altogether unfavourable. An idea prevailed that its fumes corrupted the air, and exerted an injurious effect upon health. The consumption of coal in London in the year 1306 was enough, it was deemed, to prove injurious; so the king was petitioned to stop the consumption of the noxious article in the city. King Edward I., by royal proclamation, prohibited the burning of coal under severe penalties. As wood began to be scarce, the royal command was disregarded, so that a commission was appointed for the purpose of ascertaining what persons used sea-coal, with power to punish by fine for the first offence, and afterwards by the demolition of the offending furnace. Experience soon taught the great value of coal, and many persisted in employing it. This occasioned the passing of a law that made the burning of coal within the city to be a capital offence. One man was actually executed in the reign of Edward I. for the commission of this crime. The good monks, like ladies, believed their complexions would be injured by entering a room where coal was burning. We need not wonder that persons would not eat meat which had been roasted at a coal fire: they anticipated some injury from so doing.

TRAVELS IN MANY LANDS.

SOUTH AMERICA: THE GUANACO.

BETWEEN the physical characteristics of th Old and of the New World there exists an immense difference. A vigorous vegetation, abundant rather than delicate, extensive forests, wide plains of magnificent verdure, a soil everywhere irrigated and everywhere productive-these are the wealth of America. Nature has lavished upon her with a liberal haud those gifts which are the most useful to a rising people. With its vegetable treasures still waiting for the hand of man to cultivate and employ, every year adds to the preciousness of its inexhaustible fertility. The Indian the primitive owner of these vast territories-shows himself unconscious of the value of his possessions, or incapable of turning them to account. He drives no ploughshare through the soil; hunting is his livelihood, and war his holiday. The land, which is sufficient to support millions, serves only as a hunting-ground for a few scattered inhabitants; while the Old World is exhausted by long cultivation, and overloaded with an increasing population.

The most peculiar and striking features of South America are those flat regions-oceans of rich vege

tation-distinguished as llaños, selvas, and pamp Since the discovery of the new continent, says Hamboldt, in his "Pictures of Nature," its plains have become habitable to man. Here and there towns have sprung up on the shores of the steppe rivers, built to facilitate the intercourse between the coasts and the Orinoco district. Everywhere, throughout these vast districts, the inhabitants have begun to rear cattle. At distances of a day's journey from each other, we see detached huts, woven together with reeds and thongs, and covered with ox-hides. Innumerable herds of oxen, horses, and mules, estimated at a million and a half, roam over the stoppe in a state of wildness. This spectacle involuntarily reminds the contemplative observer of the adaptability granted by an all-provident Nature to certain plants and animals. Like the farinaceous fruits of Ceres, the ox and horse have followed man over the whole surface of the earth

from the Ganges to the Rio de la Plata, and from the sea-coast of Africa to the mountainous plains of Antisana, which lie higher than the Peak of Teneriffe.

But, although those plants and animals most ser viceable to man readily multiply in the New World, that great continent has its own distinguishing features; and the animal and vegetable life of its lofty heights and its primeval forests are especially

serviceable to man in that particular part of the globe. There is a special adaptability of certain animals, for instance, to certain localities. What the camel is to the sandy plains of Africa and Asia, is the llama to the table-lands and mountain chains of America. When alive it serves as a beast of burden; and when killed its flesh furnishes a wholesome and excellent food; while its hair is readily converted into a useful and comfortable fabric, which forms the principal clothing of the Indians. Herds of llamas are kept with very little difficulty. They are allowed to graze in the mountain during the day, and are shut up in an enclosure for the night.

Of the llama there are several varieties. That from which the common llama is derived is the guanaco, an animal found in all parts of the Andes, from the Straits of Magellan to the north of Peru. They live together in herds, sometimes of considerable extent, at others including not more than seven. They are light and graceful in form, of a pale brown in colour, but their hair is not so long as that of the domesticated species. Although less important in actual value than the tame llama, the guanacos are very frequently chased by the Chilian hunters. When thus pursued they exhibit some courage, and great strength and speed. Occasionally they will turn upon the dogs and hunters and show fight; but their real safety is in flight, for if they can once gain the rocky precipices they may defy the best trained hound and most practised hunter. When the guanaco finds itself pursued, it will stand as if uncertain how to act; till, pressed by the close proximity of its pursuers, it takes to flight, and speeds over the plain like the wind.

If taken when young the guanaco is capable of being domesticated, although it never loses its inclination for a wild life; but to tame a full-grown guanaco is beyond all the ability of man-it will not be charmed, charm he never so wisely.

The hunting of the guanaco is said to afford excellent sport, and Indians and Spaniards engage in it with considerable ardour. On the plains it is chased by the hounds, and with considerable adroitness the hunters cast their lassoes or looped cords, as buffaloes are captured on the prairies; but if the animal is pursued to its mountain fastnesses, the sport partakes of all the excitement and danger of the chamois-hunt in Switzerland, and is rarely attended with success.

REVERSES.

ON a dark, lowering afternoon in the beginning of winter, a young man might have been seen riding over an extensive prairie in the far west. While he was deliberating in his mind as to the best course to take, an elderly gentleman rode hastily by him. The young man called to him for information, wishing to know if there was any house in the vicinity at which he might pass the night, and, if not, as to the probability of his reaching the nearest village before the storm could overtake them.

"The storm has already commenced, sir," replied the other, and as he spoke the flakes of snow began to fall thick and fast. "There is no house of entertainment near; indeed, mine is the only house that deserves to be so called within a mile. If you will do me the favour to stop there, you will find yourself welcome. We can at least give you comfortable lodgings, which you would not find, I fear, anywhere else in this neighbourhood."

The young man thanked him warmly, but declined intruding on his hospitality, saying that he was accustomed to the deprivations of the pioneers, and could

no doubt rest comfortably in some of those rude cabins the other seemed to despise.

Oh, no! I could not think of allowing you to ride in search of shelter in such a storm as this threatens to be. I must insist on your accompanying me."

They soon reached the house, a pretty English cottage, standing on one of those knolls common in the western prairies; and, as Mr. Manning threw open the door of the room in which the family were assembled, he turned to his companion— "What name shall I say ?"

"Wardour, John Wardour, from Ohio," replied the young man.

"Ah!" said Mr. Manning, in a tone which said plainly that the name was a familiar one, and he fixed on him a scrutinising gaze; then recollecting himself, he turned to the group collected around the blazing fire, and introduced them to the stranger as-" My daughter, Miss Henrietta Manning; Miss Ward; Miss Lovell, my niece; Mr. Ward; Mr. Francis Manning,

my son.

Feeling reassured, after a while, by their apparent forgetfulness of his presence, he ventured to examine the group before him. Miss Manning and Miss Ward were about the same height, and if they had not been friends, might be called rival belles. Though Miss Manning's full, erect form, and majestic carriage, and the noble and perfect outline of her features would have induced almost every person to pronounce her the more beautiful, yet there were few but were glad to turn from the calm, haughty, and almost disdainful glance of her full blue eye to her more animated and easily pleased friend. Easily pleased, yes, that was the great charm that Kate Ward exercised; and whereas Henrietta could only count her tens, Kate could count her scores of friends. Little Carry Lovell, without possessing any great beauty or grace, was yet a greater favourite with all classes than either of the others; for, while Henrietta was called cold and proud, and Kate vain and capricious, by those who were clear-sighted enough not to be blinded by the vivacity of the one, or the beauty of the other, Caroline's gentle, unassuming, and considerate manner preserved her from all harsh criticisms. The second daughter in the numerous family of a poor physician, she had all her life been accustomed to work and think more for others than herself, and that had given a quiet, unselfish tone to her mind, which, with her cheerful disposition, charmed all who came in contact with her. Her father lived only a few miles from Mr. Manning; and she had ridden over to spend a few days with her cousin and Miss Ward, who had been an old school-mate and very intimate friend of Henrietta's when she was finishing her education in Philadelphia.

Mr. Francis Manning was rather a reckless, goodnatured young man, a great favourite with everybody, his father in particular, who indulged him in every freak or whim which his extravagant fancy dictated. Mr. Wardour had heard often of the family before, and he knew there was another son, Julian, the eldest of the family, a reserved and melancholy man in society, who had obtained the reputation of being very peculiar and eccentric.

Mr. Wardour had met Julian several times in the course of his travels, for he was an itinerant Methodist preacher, and had been very much interested in him on account of the resolution, self-denial, and energy he had shown in the course he had marked out for himself, and many kind deeds he had heard of his doing.

The group around the fire had also heard of Mr. Wardour, as every now and then a curious scrutinising glance at him testified; so he resigned himself

to circumstances and his own thoughts, their course being very rarely interrupted by an observation from any of the party till towards the close of the evening, when Carry Lovell, taking compassion on his loneliness, sat down by him, and entered into conversation. The most exquisite music in the world would have seemed discord to him contrasted with the effect of her sweet voice, burdened as he had been for many hours with a sense of loneliness which he had never experienced so thoroughly before, for never before had he been thrown with people who seemed to have so little sympathy with him. Out of gratitude he exerted himself to entertain her, and talked of his travels and adventures so interestingly that the earnest attention of Carry drew on her more than once a wondering glance from the cold proud eye of Miss Manning.

As soon as Mr. Wardour retired, Kate Ward gravely congratulated Caroline on the conquest she had no doubt made, and on the brilliant prospect open to her of becoming a Methodist clergyman's wife, especially dwelling on the fine opportunities for travelling that Iwould be afforded her. Caroline bore the raillery with her usual good humour, insinuating that it was caused by jealousy on the part of Kate who would have been as much interested as she was as if she had been a listener.

"He told me, among other things," continued Carry, "that he had been a missionary to the Indians, and that while there he had become acquainted with cousin Julian, and that he had never met a man for whom, on so short an acquaintance, he had formed so decided a friendship."

"Julian has a singular taste in selecting his friends," said Mr. Manning, rather contemptuously; and yet he felt more kindly towards Mr. Wardour for this discovery, for he knew better, and therefore appreciated more thoroughly than any one else, the purity and strength of his son's principles; and to be his friend he knew it was necessary to be a man of uprightness and intellect.

Mr. Wardour, who had reluctantly consented to stay on account of the inclemency of the weather, now busied himself in assisting Frank in making a sleigh.

Under his direction one was constructed which promised to answer all the expectations of the makers; and, when they were all collected round the fire in the evening, the subject of reverses of fortune being introduced, Mr. Wardour related a striking one as having occurred within his knowledge. "About fourteen years ago," he said, a lady came to our village in the western part of Ohio, who had married some years before one of the wealthiest men in New York. He died, leaving her with six children, the eldest a boy of about twelve, and—as she and all her friends supposed-in affluent circumstances; but through the villany of his partner, in whom he had always placed the utmost confidence, the widow found herself deprived of all her fortune; and so cunningly had the fraud been contrived that she could obtain no reparation. Thrown thus penniless upon the world, she might have starved, if a cousin of hers, who had married a gentleman in our village, had not sent for her, and offered her a home till she could find means to obtain one herself. She came, with all her children; and, in a few months, was able to establish herself as seamstress in a small house; and her eldest boy, who had given promise of becoming a fine scholar, was obliged to learn a trade. As he was about my age, my father, at my solicitation, took charge of him; and lately he has been able to relieve his mother almost entirely of the charge of the other children. But her trials and sufferings for the first years were very painful."

"That was a very sad lot," said Miss Ward. "What became of the wicked partner?"

"I don't know," replied Mr. Wardour. "He left New York a short time before the widow - Mrs. Dean's departure, and she has never heard from him. She told me that he had a lovely family, for whose sake he had probably committed the crime."

No one had noticed Mr. Manning's countenance, or it would have created some remark: his earnest attention, his start when the name of the widow was mentioned, and the dark shade that passed over his face; but he said nothing, and soon after, without his usual good-night, retired.

The next morning rose cold, clear, and bright; and after breakfast Mr. Wardour, declining the offer of a ride in the sleigh, which was pressed on him by the gentlemen, left the house, bearing with him the good wishes and kind feelings of all, even of the haughty Henrietta, who had regarded him at first with so much contempt.

About an hour after, the sleigh, so covered with surperb buffalo skins as to hide its rough outside, stood before the door, drawn by two fine horses, which Francis was holding in with all his strength, and calling impatiently for his sister and her friends to make haste. They came in time, as almost everything will, if one only has patience to wait for it, laughing and talking, wondering how they should all get in, and declaring that it was the most comfortable sleigh they had ever seen. Mr. Manning stood by, assisting, but with such a troubled, anxious countenance that his daughter asked him several times if he

were not well.

Mr. Wardour had passed the prairie, and was riding leisurely along on the main road, which wound around the foot of a hill at some little distance from a precipice overhanging a river flowing at its base. His eye was wandering carelessly over the scene, but his thoughts were with those whom he had left that morning, especially the gentle Carry Lovell, when he heard the loud jingle of bells and quick tramp of horses' feet, and saw close upon him the sleigh with its precious freight, drawn by the infuriated horses, with the reins loose about their necks, that were almost leaping

directly towards the precipice. It was his first thought to spring from his horse, and, seizing the reins, he contrived so to change their direction that they ran along the road, but it was some time before he could stop them.

When he succeeded, he was almost frightened at the situation of the occupants. Kate Ward was in a vio lent paroxysm of hysterics, which Carry Lovell, her self pale and trembling, was vainly endeavouring to soothe, while Henrietta lay motionless and apparently dead in the arms of Mr. Ward, and Francis was nowhere to be seen. He was thrown out soon after the horses first started, so Mr. Ward said, about half s mile further back. Turning the horses, which had been apparently much frightened, but now seemed quiet, Mr. Wardour led them back in the same direction they had come, and found Mr. Manning lying stunned and senseless in the road. His head had struck a stone, and was apparently much hurt. He was laid carefully in the sleigh, and sadly and slowly they proceeded

homeward.

Late in the evening, Mr. Manning sent for Mr. Wardour. He was so pale and haggard that the kind young man started; but Mr. Manning would not allow him to speak, and motioning him to a chair, said: "These last two days have been the most trying, and yet I hope the most beneficial ones I have ever passed. I never saw so clearly the worthlessness of those objects in whose pursuit I have passed my whole life. And, while I was standing over the almost lifeless

bodies of my children, I renewed a resolution which I have often formed, but never yet had courage to put in practice. I feel a confidence in you which induces me to tell you what, two days ago, I would rather have died than have breathed to any one, in the hope that you may strengthen and confirm me in_the resolve I know by experience to be very weak. But, first, you must promise never to reveal what I relate without my consent."

Mr. Wardour readily promised, and Mr. Manning continued

"You recollect the widow, Mrs. Dean, of whom you were speaking the other night? I was her husband's partner! You would not blame me so much, perhaps, if you knew all the circumstances. But I will not attempt to justify myself. I will only say that I had no choice between taking the step I did and utter poverty, and that I have scarcely known a peaceful moment since. Though nothing could be proved against me, the public feeling was so strong, and showed itself so openly in the coolness of my old friends, that I was glad to leave the city, and retreat to this wilderness. By some accident, Julian, who was spending a few days in New York, heard of what I was accused. He recalled some circumstances which proved my guilt conclusively, and hastened homeward to entreat me to make restitution. I was several times on the point of yielding, but the thought of my other children restrained me. Now I am resolved to continue firm. Poor Henrietta! She little knew what agony I was enduring while she was talking the other night. Neither she nor Francis must have a suspicion of the truth. I have written to Julian, who will be here to-morrow, probably, and then we can decide what to do."

"You had better try now to sleep a few hours, if possible," said Mr. Wardour; "you seem very much in need of rest."

"Yes," replied Mr. Manning. "I have not slept for three nights. I will follow your advice."

Nothing could exceed the joy of Julian when he heard his father's resolution, except his sorrow at his brother's precarious situation. Nothing could be done while they were all so anxious about him. And in the meantime Julian exerted himself to obtain a professorship, then vacant in a college in one of the Eastern States, and being eminently qualified, was successful. So that by the time Francis-who contrary to the opinion of the doctors, did recover, thanks to his robust constitution-was well enough to hear of their loss of fortune, Julian had not only a comfortable but a delightful home to offer to his family in one of the pleasantest New England villages.

Six weeks after the eventful ride, Henrietta was standing alone by her open window, with the bright moonlight falling in floods over her exquisite figure and statue-like face. The air was cold, but she felt it not; for Mr. Wardour had left her not an hour before, and she had at last yielded willingly to a discovery she might have made some days before. But, though she had suspected it, she could not endure the thought that the proud, aristocratic Henrietta Manning should love the poor Methodist, the son of a mechanic. And so filled was her mind with the delightful visions of her future life, which her fancy pictured before her, that it was morning before she closed her eyes.

She was aroused by a kiss on the forehead. "I have come to bid you good-bye, Henrietta," said the voice of her cousin Carry. The room was so darkened that neither could see the other. "6 'Father has come for me sooner than I expected: and I would not have wakened you, but I wanted to tell you something before I went. Mr. Wardour was here last night, you know?"

'Why, a great deal, ma belle cousine. He came to ask me I may as well say it in plain English-to marry him, and of course I said yes;' and so I wanted to tell you first, and ask you to be bridesmaid. Will you?

"Yes, yes, certainly. When is it to take place?" "Next spring, I think; I don't know. Good-bye. Father is impatient, I fancy, by this time;" and, with a hasty embrace, Carry left her cousin alone to the pangs of unrequited love.

For nearly the whole day, her room, on the plea of a headache, was closed to all who came to ask for her; and the sun was setting before she could summon resolution to meet any one. When, at last, she ventured to the parlour, where Francis was sitting in an easy chair, with Kate by him, pretending to read to him, their gaiety seemed so discordant to her feelings that she retreated to a sofa in a dark_corner; and, throwing herself upon it, begged to be left unnoticed. Julian had been closeted nearly all day with his father, settling his business for him, as he was intending to set out the next day to prepare his new home for the reception of his father, brother, and sister. But now his firm, quick tread was heard approaching.

"I am glad to see you down," said he to Henrietta, sitting by her, and drawing her towards him. "I have some rather disagreeable news for you; and you too, Francis;" and he went on to announce to them the complete loss of all their fortune; and told them of the home he had secured for them.

They both bore the intelligence much better than Julian had expected. Henrietta indeed seemed perfectly indifferent. Her mind was so filled with her peculiar sorrows, that she hardly realised this misfortune. That they were to change their residence was all that made an impression on her, and at that she was pleased.

"Now, Kate," began Francis, with an earnest troubled look.

"Now, Frank, I hope you are not going to accuse me of being mercenary. If you are, I will never forgive you. I have enough for us both, and Henrietta too, at least to begin with; and with your wonderful genius I should not wonder if we were as rich as Rothschild before long."

Ah, Kate, that was all nonsense of mine; for I would not like father to know how badly I felt, more for you than myself, though. To think that I should have nothing but my own poor self to offer you, after all; and it is a very serious matter to be a poor man's wife, as, if you venture to try it, you will find."

"I never intend to be a poor man's wife, at least not long; and therefore I am resolved to marry a man of such remarkable genius. I know I am not fitted in the slightest degree for that elevated station; and so I give you fair warning that I can neither mend nor make, bake nor brew, nor spin, nor do any of those notable acts of housewifery that all young ladies are bound to know; and for all that I am determined to marry you, and no one else."

That Francis was willing, no one can doubt; and, when April came with its south winds and showers, they were married; and, in the course of time, Kate's prophecy was fulfilled, for Francis showed, if not genius, great skill and energy in his business. The day after Francis' marriage (Carry and Mr. Wardour had been married a week or two before), Mr. Manning and his daughter left the old home for the new with less regret than, six months before, either would have thought possible.

Henrietta had never been fond of society, and therefore neither her father nor Julian thought it strange