in the full confidence that it would be employed for honourable and benevolent purposes. As Charles rambled homeward in a state of intoxication, he muttered to himself,

"What care I! Sixty thousand pounds will stand many such a night as this, and perhaps bring heaps of winnings, when my stars are favourable. And then my wife, all hail, my pretty little prudish wife! If she's not handsome and brilliant, why she's pretty,-deuced pretty; and her habits won't dip very deeply into my pocket. Besides, she'll be able to keep me within bounds. I fancy I hear her saying, 'Charles, my dear Charles, is this a state in which to come home to your loving Ellen?' or 'Charles, you're very extravagant, very; I know we shall come to ruin, Charles, if you go on like this and I shall say 'Ruin, my dear, there can be no ruin where you are, love. You are a fortune to anybody, my darling! Ah, ha! how exceedingly interesting! Charles, you're a great scoundrel- upon my word you are!" Thus stammering out his ridicule, he reeled against the door of his chambers; and admitting himself by a latch-key, he soon fell into a deep and unnatural slumber.

How differently the nights were spent at Windmere! A day never passed in which Ellen did not think seriously of the sacred duties upon which she was soon to enter; she strove by constant exercise of mind and soul to prepare herself for the solemn obligations of a wife. And nightly she offered up prayers to Heaven for the welfare of him whom she looked upon as her future protector.

Time passed on, and if Charles's letters spoke truly, he loved ardently enough. He was an entire man of the world, and knew precisely what chords to touch; he was well aware that his conduct to Ellen would be known to his uncle, and would inaterially influence his disposition; and therefore with the view of keeping favour with the Squire, he continued to practise a cruel deception upon the heart of a virtuous and loving girl.

In her letters to her cousin, Ellen had always mentioned her attachment to Mr. Langford in the strongest terms; and Alfred had felt much anxiety respecting the

growing strength of feeling which he had observed. He had not, however, ventured to throw out any suspicions respecting Charles Langford's character, because he felt that as yet they were bare suspicions, and might be uttered to the injury of an innocent man. Alfred was a thoughtful and intelligent boy, of most ardent attachment; and from the trials he had undergone in his boyhood, and the kindness he had received from his cousin and her father, he felt towards her all the strength of a brother's love. When, however, he received a letter from his cousin telling him that she was engaged to Mr. Langford, he felt a sudden shock, and accused himself of having neglected to make inquiries upon the grounds of the suspicions he entertained. He determined therefore to lose no opportunity before he either disabused his mind of prejudices, or endeavoured to save his cousin from an unhappy union.

In his professional career, Alfred was making rapid progress. He pursued it not merely as a labour or a means of gain, but as a science which he deeply loved. He rose early in the morning, and perusing books of authority in science, making experiments in chemistry, or dissections in anatomy, he made such rapid progress as to gain the esteem of all around him. Dr. Montague found him a very material assistance, especially as Alfred, while he did not neglect the established and orthodox principles of medicine, enthusiastically read upon all the new discoveries emanating from men high in the walks of the profession, and brought these under Dr. Montague's attention in a manner which enabled him to keep up to the spirit of medical progress without the drawback of much reading in the midst of excessive duties.

Dr. Montague's family consisted of five children, three of them being daughters, and two sons. One of the sons held a position under Government, in a foreign port, the other had recently taken holy orders. Of the daughters one had married, and re.. sided in the city of Edinburgh, the other two remained at home, and were frequently Alfred's companions.

One day an opportunity arose for Alfred to glean some particulars about the character of Mr. Langford, which was somewhat unexpected. Dr. Montague's bro

ther had been invited to dine with him, and Alfred was requested to be of the party. After dinner, the conversation went the usual round of topics. At length Mr. Montague said, "I had some very unpleasant business last week; with a scoundrel of a fellow who has borrowed a large sum of money from me, but from whom I can get nothing. He has an uncle somewhere, from whom, I believe, he has large expectations. But let him inherit them when he may, he will rush headlong to ruin; for he is an unprincipled spendthrift and gambler, and is associated with a class of men who would ruin him even if he had the best intentions."

"Is his name Langford ?" inquired Alfred, eagerly.

"It is," said Mr. Montague, "a most incorrigible rascal. He was introduced to me some years ago; and by a blandness of manner, and apparent integrity of principle, he won his way to my heart, until I regarded him as a friend, and as such I lent him money to an amount which is serious to me. Instead of paying me back, he constantly proposes to borrow more. I found that among my circle he has been guilty of acts of great dishonour-he has made many poor creatures miserable who were weak enough to listen to his flattery, and for some time caused a complete consternation in a nucleus of society hitherto held together by the purest ties !"

"He has been to Windmere, lately," suggested Alfred, with an air of increased anxiety.

"He has!" said Mr. Montague. "You know him, then ?"

"No, no!" said Alfred, turning exceedingly pale; "but some one who is dear to me does."

"Another act of dishonour, I'll aver." said Mr. Montague.

"I tremble to think of it," said Alfred, quite overcome with emotion. He rose from the table and left the room, heedless of some remarks that were addressed to him, while Dr. Montague and his brother marvelled much at the cause of his excitement.

Alfred gained his chamber, and throwing himself down upon a chair, said—"Now I must resolve upon instant action."

(Continued at page 181.)

ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.

NOTHING is more neglected than the education of girls. Custom and the caprice of mothers determine it altogether. A careful education of boys is thought necessary for the public good; though it is frequently as defective as that of girls. Women in general have feebler minds than men; the weaker the mind is, the more important it is to fortify it. They have not only duties to fulfil, but duties which form the basis of social life. Is it not women who are the blessing or the ruin of families; who regulate the detail of domestic affairs; and who, of course, govern what most nearly relates to man? Thus they have a decided influence on the happiness or unhappiness of those who are connected with them. A judicious, industrious, religious woman is the soul of her family. Men, who exercise authority in public, cannot by their deliberations affect the general good, if women do not aid them. The occupations of women are not less important to the public than those of men; they have families to govern, husbands to make happy, and children to educate.

It is ignorance which renders women frivolous. When they have arrived at a certain age, without habits of application, they cannot acquire a taste for it; whatever is serious appears to them sad; whatever demands continued attention, fatigues them.

Idleness and weakness thus being united to ignorance, there arises from this union a pernicious taste for amusements. Girls brought up in this idle way have an illregulated imagination. Their curiosity, not being directed to substantial things, is turned towards vain and dangerous objects. They read books which nourish their vanity, and become passionately fond of romances, comedies, and fanciful adventures. Their minds become visionary; they accustom themselves to the extravagant language of the heroines of romance, and are spoiled for common life.

To remedy all these evils, and to ensure their happiness in after life, it is necessary to begin the education of girls with their earliest infancy. FENELON

EVENINGS, AT HOME; OR, WINTER IN SPITZBERGEN.*

(Continued from page 119.)

THIRD EVENING.

I need not assure you that all the four children, Max, Gustavus, Maria, and Julia, awaited the progress of the story with the most anxious curiosity. They talked the whole morning about it, and inquired among themselves how it would go with poor Ivan and his friends, when Max recollected what an obligation he had taken on himself to try and explain to his sisters what causes the difference in the length of the days and nights. He and Gustavus had promised this. The confidence of their father, as well as the expectation of their sisters, were important to both of them; they felt themselves dignified by so honourable a commission.

Max was of a penetrating mind; what he knew he knew thoroughly; for it was a principle with him to learn everything accurately, and never to stop in his views half-way. With Gustavus this was not the case; he could indeed comprehend anything much easier than the more tardy Max, but also on this account he forgot again much sooner what remained firmer in his brother's memory. Both had made more than common advances in geography; to examine maps and study them, was for them no labour, but a pleasure. They sat down to them with full as much delight as other children have in sitting down to enjoy pictures. But they knew not only countries and seas, rivers and mountains, but also the relation of the earth to the other heavenly bodies and planets; they knew the circumference of the earth, and its place in respect to the sun. Their father, to whom this kind of knowledge was most agreeable, had brought forward his sons very far in this branch of human science. He did not, therefore, ask too much when he requested of both of them that they would explain this subject to their sisters. He could, in this way, best learn whether his two sons themselves thoroughly understood what they were to make plain to others.

From the German of C. Hildebrandt, by E. G. Smith.

However great was the expectation of the boys to know the fate of the unhappy voyagers, yet they felt still greater desire to fulfil their promise. Max, especially, thought about it the whole morning, how he should perform his commission, and Gustavus went cordially hand in hand with him. of this one thing. The sisters, indeed, Both of them thought only often laughed when they noticed their brothers' unusual soberness. Julia made many a sportive attack on them, and probably Max and Gustavus would have erred in their purpose, if they had not felt father's confidence in them. themselves too greatly flattered by their

Finally; after a long examination and consultation-for their father left them

alone purposely, without giving them the slightest aid their plans were ready for communicating the information. Maria and Julia were called, and their father himself came in to correct many things, or to make them still clearer, which were

probably not wholly clear to his sons. large table on one side by means of a had the same direction with the actual support under it, so that the flat surface course of the earth, or, as Max expressed himself in scientific language, parallel with it.

Max and Gustavus had inclined the

In the middle on this table level, was fastened a large gilt ball by a peg, on the projecting point of which hung down of the thread, a parti-coloured ball was a yard and a half of thread. On the end fastened, and a circle drawn on the table with chalk, so large that it marked out the course of the ball which hung on the thread,

Both of the girls, their pupils, looked at this apparatus; it was probable, in their view, that the gilded ball might represent the sun, and the parti-coloured one the earth. It proved to them that Max and Gustavus had thought it all over, and drawn it out correctly.

With a somewhat important mien, Max came forward to the table. "You know, Maria and Julia," he began, "that the sun is fixed-that the earth revolves around it, and completes its course in a year. The direction in which it goes round the sun, I will now show you; and you will yourselves wonder how clear and evident

will be made to you the difference of the length of the days and nights. Look at this ball; it represents the sun, which is fixed in the central point of this circle. This other ball denotes the earth, and you observe on it in the middle a line.

MARIA. Which no doubt represents the equator on the line?

Gus. Yes. Here you see two letters, N and S, by which are designated the North and South Poles. On the ball are, besides, some parti-coloured lines which I have drawn, and which may represent the portions of the globe.

MAX. Now look sharp. The earth stands now as you see here, unequally lower than the sun, which naturally stands as much above.

MARIA. So it does!

MAX. The North half of the earth is turned to the sun. It is therefore longer shone on by the sun in this direction than the South half; and the region about the North Pole has the sun hardly out of sight, while the South Pole scarcely receives anything of it.

JULIA. Very correct and clear.

Gus. Now, therefore, it is summer on the North half of the earth; the sun stands at its height, and the days are the longest. But now look close. Now the earth begins its course. It makes a circuit on this chalk line around the sun, and turns like a ball, that is, running on at the same time around itself once in twenty-four hours, -a motion from whence, as you see, day and night takes place. The whole northern half, especially the North Pole, is always yet longer shone on by the sun than the South Pole.

MAX. The earth continues to rise higher, until it has the same direction with the sun, that is, the same elevation or height. The northern half, in this way, every day will be somewhat less shone on by the sun. The days become shorter, the nights longer, until the earth, about the 22nd of September, comes in the same direction with the sun, and the days and nights are of equal length.

Gus. And then we have the beginning

of autumn.

MAX. Now the earth goes farther, continually rising higher, and naturally it must appear to us as though the sun came to stand constantly lower. The North

Pole is hardly any longer shone on by the sun, and the nearer the regions of the northern half lie to the Pole, so much longer are the nights, and so much the shorter are the days; while, on the other half of the earth, exactly the opposite takes place. This portion now is longer shone on by the sun, and, as you see, the South Pole has the sun continually upon it. If the earth now, about the 22nd of December, has reached the highest point, then we have the shortest day, or the beginning of winter. From this time the earth goes deeper again, the sun appears to rise higher, the days increase, and the earth, on the 21st or 22nd of March, comes again into the same direction with the sun,-day and night are equal,—the earth sinks deeper,-the sun comes up higher, until we again reach the end of June; and, with the longest day, we once more have the beginning of summer.

FATHER. You have performed your commission very well. I hope your sisters have understood you. As soon as I have time, I will draw a table on the globe there, by which you will know accurately how long, in any region of the earth, is the longest day and the longest night.

JULIA. It is very clear to me. I should hardly have trusted the commission to my brothers.

MAX. Hem! it is not so very hard. One must only himself see rightly into the matter.

FATHER. Very true. But there is one thing more-how great the distance is at which the earth revolves around the sun. You can conclude from this that, at every beat of the pulse, we move nearly four miles.

JULIA. That is what I call going ahead! FATHER. Certainly; for the distance which the earth passes around the sun, or its orbit, as it is called, amounts to more than one hundred and twenty millions of miles (or about two hundred and ninety millions of English miles).

And now to go back to our unfortunates, whom we left yesterday in a situation of the greatest possible danger. The dread shock, and the violent leap, the sudden silence, and the then ever-increasing howling and roaring of the waves beating against the sides of the ship, threw all of them into despair. Even