with blood." One of the life-boat's crew has since said that every face round him grew white and sick, and tears came from rough eyes little used to shed them-"They clenched their teeth, and with their own lives in their hands" dashed in their boat to save him. The sea beat her back. They dashed in again, to be swept back once more. Again and again they tried: the poor boy, meanwhile, crying terribly in his great loneliness and despair. He was so young, and the coast was so near! But in another minute the vessel would part, and the fall of her masts would crush the life-boat. Then, sacrificing one life to save many, a brave man gave the order, in a hoarse broken voice, to "cut the rope." In an instant she was swept away under the vessel's stern-not a second too soon, for at once the mainmast fell, with an awful crush, on the very spot she had just left, and the vessel parted in two. The boy-"his face was covered with blood"-fell into the sea. Clenched in agony or clasped in prayer, his little hands were seen once-twice-lifted over the waves; the tempest swept away his poor boyish cry before the roar and tumult of the winds; he did not rise again. The life-boat was pulled back. Imagine, if you can, how every heart on shore beat fast and hot: how, running to the lifeboat, dashing into the surf, the men would drag her ashore; imagine, if you can, how the saved would feel, and how the brave would sorrow for the lost. and answer me, is not such work infinitely grand and noble? has it not somewhat special claims upon our aid?

This story is but one of many-very many. The engraving given with the present part of this magazine tells a somewhat similar tale. I have not been furnished with the exact particulars of the wreck to which it refers, and which took place near Scarborough: but the picture speaks for itself. Driving cloud, high wind, and a furious sea-a vessel rolling and labouring in her extreme need; and, cleaving through the waves with a strong, steady speed, the rough sailors, urging onwards to their noble duty... all these are plain enough, and all these are realities. In this very year 1861, which is but half over yet, nearly two hundred lives have been saved by the life-boats, under the management of the institution, of which there are now a hundred and twelve, but of which there must be many more ere England can be said to have done her duty by her sailors. Miss Burdett Coutts, with that noble liberality which has inade her name deservedly honoured wherever the English tongue is spoken, has given more than one life-boat herself. The maintenance of a life-boat station is one of no slight expense: it averages £40 a-year. The sums paid in acknowledgment-I will not say reward -of services such as those I have described, amount to thousands of pounds. The institution, I think, is growing in public favour, as it needs must wherever its aims are stated and understood. This pleading of mine is very weak. Let stronger voices then be raised again, as they have been raised before.

As a matter of business I should mention

that contributions should be sent to Richard Lewis, Esq., Secretary to the National Life-boat Institution, John-street, Adelphi, London.

:

I would fain hope that these words of mine, being so backed by realities, may here and there do good. I have said that I appeal mainly to holiday makers. I know-how well I know! the kind of vague listless benevolent sentimental feelings which fill one often at the sea-side on a summer day. Have we not seen bright-eyed little fisherboys, with the keen glance that tells of clear head and honest heart-and have we not wished ourselves rich, to speed such a boy on his voyage through life? We-nous autres-we artists, magazinists, musicians, we have these feelings and you also (is it not so?), you who have the worldly means of gratifying such pure promptings? And, it may be, some of you, reading these lines as you rest, under the cool cliff shadows, on the quiet beach-looking out dreamily over a sea so calm that these tales of tempest may seem mere stories of long ago— some of you, fanned by breezes so soft that the howling of the gale over foam-crested waves may seem but a tradition; some of you, when you return to your pleasant houses, may take out that best possession of all, a cheque-book; some of you may insert the name of Richard Lewis, in that mystic-cash-compelling volume; and if any bird of the air flies to the present writer with the tidings that you have done so, he will leap in the air with glee and clap his hands in virtuous exultation.

MODERN LITERARY ENGLISHWOMEN." In the present day, women amuse and edify themselves, and sometimes others, by works of history, or bioWe even find a lady graphy, or poetry, or fiction. the astronomer of her age; a third immortalizes writing a capital work on navigation; another is every English queen, bringing each royal consort

so much en evidence, that one can hardly avoid fancying that we have known the long defunct in some older time. A fourth introduces to our most intimate acquaintance each Prince of Wales that is to be had; a host of lively authoresses take us into France; we are transported even to Bengal and back by two giddy girls; we have not, in short, a taste, a wish, a want, a deficiency that the press does not, through an angelic host of delicate penwomen, supply. We go down as low as needlework art. In the seventeenth century all this was cramped -not to mention cookery or gardening, both high into letters. Few women of rank and talent thought of publishing, which was generally done by inferior personages, such as tutors, parsons, half-pay captains, secretaries, or your very humble servants,' a class of which happily, where there is now a battalion, there was then a regiment. But a lady, with a vocation for scribbling, took out a sheet of letter-paper-such paper! coarse, rough, small in size and dipped her goose-quill into ink-such ink! inferior to that of your lady's-maid when she makes so brown, so perishable-and, in a hand not much out the washing bill, indited a missive on politics, scandal, literature, or religion, which was despatched to some noted person who could circulate. the composition favourably."-The Queens of Society.

6

"My dear friend," said Mrs. Forbes, as she entered the drawing-room of Mrs. Sandham, "I fear that something has occurred to depress your spirits, you look quite dejected to-day." Now Mrs. Forbes expressed herself in a very flattering manner. Mrs. Sandham's countenance bore rather an unamiable than a dejected expression; in fact she looked very much as if she were sitting in a tableau vivant to represent an indignant fairy, moved to mischief by the nonarrival of a card of invitation from a crowned head!

"I am indeed much dejected," she replied in a faint tone of voice, "my dear brother has been making his will this morning, and Mr. Bailey, the solicitor, has been kindly paying me a visit to communicate its contents to me."

Mrs. Forbes privately thought that Mr. Bailey's particularly communicative disposition was scarcely a desirable qualification in his profession; however, she merely said :

"That accounts, my dear friend, for your depression; you have so much sensibility, that I doubt not you associate dear Colonel Marston's wish to have his will made with the idea that his impaired health might suggest to him the wisdom of doing so, but really, you agitate yourself unnecessarily; the Colonel is in the prime of life; I met him in the village yesterday, and thought that I had never seen him looking so well."

"How can you make so ridiculous an assertion?" said Mrs. Sandham, raising her voice to a tone very inconsistent with the character of a nervous, anxious-minded sister, "my brother is not above forty-five years of age to be sure, but his constitution is impaired, his spirit is broken, and I do not consider his life worth two years' purchase. However," she continued, rapidly lowering her voice, "there is no use in lamenting that which is inevitable; we must all die." Unquestionably we must," responded Mrs. Forbes," and the dear Colonel is doubtless aware of that fact, and has therefore judged right in making his will, to be prepared for whatever may occur."

"But he has not judged right in his manner of distributing his property," said Mrs. Sandham," he has made an unjust will."

"Has he, indeed?" exclaimed Mrs. Forbes, now do you know I always feared that the poor dear Colonel's excessive kindness of heart would lead him to leave a great deal of his money to public charities; he is intimate with two of the committee of the County Hospital, and our vicar, Mr. Staples, is always talking about the necessity of building a new school house."

"You are quite wrong," said Mrs. Sandham, "my brother has left but a very small sum in

charitable bequests, and you are so exceedingly unfortunate this morning in the whole tenor of your remarks, that I think it highly improbable you will be able to form any tolerable conjecture as to the manner in which he has bequeathed his property."

Somewhat mortified by this affront to her sagacity, Mrs. Forbes began to meditate as deeply as if she were endeavouring to solve a riddle in the "Family Friend." She reflected that Mrs. Sandham was in the enjoyment of a comfortable property, that she had one son, who was dependent on her, and who was so devotedly attached to his dear uncle" that his mother had fixed herself in a pretty little ornamental cottage within five minutes walk of the residence of her brother, in order that the wish of Augustus might be gratified. Mrs. Forbes also called to mind that the Colonel possessed another nephew, who had been an orphan from his youth, he had a small patrimony of a few thousand pounds, and was an inmate of the Colonel's house. Perhaps, therefore, my readers will consider that Mrs. Forbes evinced no surprising clairvoyance, when she said:

"I think it probable that the Colonel has equally divided his property, between your dear son and young Audley."

"And you actually have guessed the true contents of this nefarious will!" exclaimed Mrs. Sandham, "I could not have believed that anybody would have deemed my brother capable of such folly and injustice; yes, it is too true that such is the present distribution, but I shall not know rest till a new will is made."

66

'My dear friend," said Mrs. Forbes, "I cannot see why you should give yourself such unnecessary uneasiness; what need is there of a new will? surely it is wisest and best to "leave well alone."

"It is quite evident to me," said Mrs. Sandham resignedly, "that you are bent on irritating and provoking me this morning in every possible way; are you entirely divested of common feeling and common sense?"

Mrs. Forbes, applying a handkerchief to her eyes, sobbed out that "she hoped she was divested

of neither."

"Then, can you really think," pursued Mrs. Sandham, "that a young man like Audley, who would be munificently provided for by a legacy of five thousand pounds, ought to be placed on an equality with one like my Augustus, qualified to spend the same number of thousands annually, and to find them very insufficient for his expenses at the end of the year?"

"To be sure," said Mrs. Forbes humbly and apologetically, "I did not think of that.” "You require somebody to teach you to think

C

on most subjects," said the slightly mollified Mrs. Sandham.

Very true, my dear friend," responded Mrs. Forbes, "and therefore I am happy to be instructed by one of your fine sense and strong mind. I quite see now that it is a very unjust will to your admirable son, but how can we get it altered? how can we get the Colonel to change his opinion of Audley?"

"I confess I do not at present see any way of doing so," said Mrs. Sandham.

"Are there no little debts or scrapes or involvements that we might bring forward against him?" asked Mrs. Forbes.

"None that are not very slight and trivial," said Mrs. Sandham, surprised by the question into unwonted candour," and indeed less than might be brought against Augustus."

66

Suppose he married a portionless girl," said Mrs. Forbes, "or one belonging to a family whom the Colonel disliked, would he not resent such an alliance ?"

"I do not think he cares for riches," replied Mrs. Sandham, "or that he dislikes a person in the world excepting the lady to whom he was engaged twenty years ago, and who behaved unpardonably to him, married a cousin, and went off with her husband to India."

"I never heard any particulars of her misconduct," said Mrs. Forbes, "it has always seemed an unpleasant subject to you, my dear friend."

"Very much so," replied Mrs. Sandham, compressing her lips, “the girl was engaged to my brother, but her real preference was bestowed on a cousin of her own, this fortunate cousin was presented unexpectedly to a good situation in India, and she then wrote to my brother, telling him that she had a great friendship for him, but that her heart was in the possession of another. I endeavoured to mediate between them, but without success; she married her cousin, and my brother afterwards forswore all love affairs lest he should meet with another fair, faithless Annette Leigh."

"Annette Leigh !" repeated Mrs. Forbes with animation.

"That is the name," said Mrs. Sandham coolly, for she was aware from long experience that Mrs. Forbes was one of those very tiresome persons who can never hear a name mentioned in society without echoing it with as much ardour and interest as if it belonged to the dearest friend they had in the world, till, at length, after a very tedious and unsatisfactory investigation, they decide that a few years ago they met at a party with a person of a similar name only it happened to be spelt differently.

"Annette Leigh," resumed Mrs. Forbes, was, I conclude, her maiden name; what was the name to which she changed it?"

"She never changed it at all," said Mrs. Sandham, "her cousin bore the same name."

"Then, I am convinced," exclaimed Mrs. Forbes, "that the beautiful Annette Leigh mentioned in a letter which I have just received from my friend, Mrs. Wynne, must be the daughter

Mrs. Wynne

of the Colonel's faithless fair one. says that the young lady who has interested her so much, was the only child of rich parents in India, who returned to England two years ago, meaning to keep an expensive establishment, and to introduce their daughter to the world, but a series of misfortunes occurred. Mr. Leigh first lost his wife, then his fortune, which he had been prevailed on to embark in an enormous speculation, his own death soon ensued, and Annette Leigh, left quite destitute, is now living a dependant on a hard-hearted and grudging distant relation."

"And do you imagine," asked Mrs. Sandham, who had listened to this speech with unwonted interest, "that you could easily obtain an introduction to this beautiful orphan ?"

"It is all arranged that I should do so," exclaimed Mrs. Forbes with infinite delight; "you are aware that my kind friends often invite me to stay with them at Christmas."

Mrs. Sandham assented; in fact Mrs. Forbes did occasionally obtain a Christmas invitation, by dint of very plain hints about the dulness of her home, and about her facilities for making herself useful in a house full of guests, and to do her justice she performed all that she promised; she was always ready to talk to bores, amuse children, extol the accomplishments of young ladies, and make up rubbers for their mothers and aunts, in addition to which qualifications she altered apparel for "Acted Charades," made flowers in coloured paper for decorations, and was skilful in dressing a Christ

mas tree.

"I am invited to stay with Mrs. Wynne at | Christmas," said Mrs. Forbes, " and Mrs. Luttridge and Annette Leigh are to be of the party."

Mrs. Sandham mused for a few moments, and then said:

"Mrs. Wynne is, I believe, acquainted with Audley."

"She is so," replied Mrs. Forbes.

"Do you think you could persuade her to invite Audley to be one of her guests?" asked Mrs. Sandham.

Mrs. Forbes paused for awhile, and then remembering that Audley was young, handsome, and that his name had just been put down as joint inheritor to a large property, she declared that she was sure Mrs. Wynne would be delighted to write him a note of invitation. "Not that I quite see, my dear friend," she said, "how this visit is to work-out your plan for sowing dissension between the Colonel and his nephew."

"The results of the visit," said Mrs. Sandham, will, I doubt not, fully effect my purpose."

After some more confidential communication, the friends separated, Mrs. Forbes having received as a present a ruby ring which she had often admired and coveted as it sparkled on the finger of her patroness; she therefore felt quite satisfied with the success of her morning performance. Nevertheless, as she walked through a thick fog and drizzling rain to her little lodg

ing in the village, she murmured to herself, "Plots may be laid, and may succeed, and wills may be objected to, and may be altered, but after all, where is the use of taking so much trouble to undo what has been so very rightly and justly done already? I must say that I think it is always the wisest way to 'let well alone.""

When we last parted from Mrs. Forbes, she was wending her way under an umbrella over a muddy path in the faint light of a foggy afternoon; we meet her again in a very different scene. Arrayed in her best silk dress, and her most complacent smiles, Mrs. Forbes is sitting in an elegantly appointed and splendidly illuminated drawing-room, filled with gay guests. She sits by a beautiful and interesting young girl, whom she often eyes with admiration, but very seldom addresses; it is quite evident that she sits there to "play propriety," lest the enamoured young man earnestly whispering in the ear of the beauty should be suspected by the company to be privately making love to her.

A precocious little girl, kept up unpardonably beyond the proper time, passes close to Mrs. Forbes, and she eagerly detains her, anxious that the lovers should feel themselves quite sure that they are not overheard. Mrs. Forbes attempts to talk about magic lanterns, and is rebuked by an account of the Colossal microscope at the Polytechnic; she endeavours to converse on the leading incidents in the lives of Bluebeard, and Cinderella, but is sternly rebutted by questions from the History of England which she is unable to answer; the juvenile prodigy in wardly opines that the cultivation of the mind must have been much neglected in the days of old, and passes along to a quiet corner where she overlooks a chess-table, having previously remarked that "she considers chess to be a very intellectual recreation."

Anon, an expedition to the music-room is proposed, the beautiful girl is eagerly seized on by half-a-dozen suppliants, and borne away from the drawing-room, followed by her attendant

cavalier.

Mrs. Forbes then crosses the room, and takes her seat by Mrs. Luttridge, an exceedingly peevish looking, unprepossessing old lady. Mrs. Forbes forthwith becomes eloquent on the grace and beauty of Annette Leigh, and inquires if she resembles her mother, to which Mrs. Luttridge replies that she is her living image. Mrs. Forbes compliments Mrs. Luttridge on her generosity in taking charge of the destitute orphan, and Mrs. Luttridge amiably replies that she sacrifices a few luxuries to enable her to do so, but that she has the consciousness of doing her duty; which has always been her first aim and consideration through life. Mrs. Forbes highly extols this delightful sentiment; but ventures to hint that Mrs. Luttridge is not likely long to retain the society of Miss Leigh,

since an eligible match, the favourite nephew of a wealthy bachelor, is evidently waiting her acceptance. Mrs. Luttridge meekly replies that we ought to be willing to part with our dearest companions if it is for their own interest that we should do so; and, warming with the subject, professes her readiness to accompany Miss Leigh to the altar on the shortest possible notice, provided only that the match be an unexceptionable one.

All at present seems smooth and cloudless in regard to the courtship of Audley and Annette Leigh, and Mrs. Forbes indites a long letter that night to her friend Mrs. Sandham," reporting progress," and hinting at the value of her own services in bringing about such a happy state of affairs. Mrs. Forbes retires to rest, but somehow her dreams are not so satisfactory as might be anticipated; she hears wedding bells, but they sound discordantly in her ears, aud she beholds the form of Mrs. Sandham trampling on a wedding favour, and can find no other consolation to administer to her than to say: "It would have been better my dear friend, if you had taken my advice, and been content to 'let well alone!" "

A week elapsed, and the Christmas party broke up, but great events had occurred in the interim. Audley had proposed for Annette Leigh, and been timidly accepted by herself, and graciously by Mrs. Luttridge. The latter hinted at the approbation of Colonel Marston, but Audley assured her that the recommendations of person, mind, manners, and disposition possessed by Annette were quite sufficient to insure her a favourable reception from his uncle. Mrs. Forbes warmly congratulated Audley on his happiness, and said that she concluded he would not write to his uncle on the subject of his engagement since he was so shortly to see him in person: and Audley, who possessed that dislike to letter-writing which I cannot but think an unfortunate trait in any one's character, coincided in her opinion; and, when he wrote three lines to the Colonel, mentioning the period of his return, did not even hint at any interesting information which he intended to communicate.

Mrs. Sandham was therefore left quite at liberty to sow the seeds of evil in the mind of her brother; and the day before that named for Audley's return she waited on the Colonel, with sorrow on her brow and triumph in her eye, to enlighten him as to the proceedings of his co-heir.

I must now introduce my readers to Colonel Marston, who was remarkably handsome and prepossessing in appearance, insomuch that certainly "the wish was father to the thought" in his sister's mind when she said that "she would not give two years purchase for his life." Colonel Marston's countenance was thoughtful and intelligent, and his manners grave and calm. An amusing writer observes, that "Life is a succession of shower-baths"; but the Colonel had undergone one great shower-bath in the discovery of Annette Leigh's falsehood, and had

lived a very quiet life ever since. Many wondered that so highly-endowed a man as the Colonel should not reside in London, and gather round him all the literary celebrities of the age. But he replied that he had gathered them round him already, and made out his theory, in my opinion, very ingeniously. Had Colonel Marston obtained introductions to the most gifted persons of the day, I can hardly think that in one evening he could have mustered at his house a bevy of divines, philosophers, scientific men, historians, biographers, poets, dramatists, and novelists of the first order of merit and I also greatly doubt that even the portion of them whom he might have succeeded in collecting would have shown themselves retiring, unobtrusive, putting forth their brilliant abilities when drawn out, and contentedly retiring into the back-ground at the will of their entertainer, guiltless of all rivalry with each other, and satisfied either to remain with their host through the "small hours," or to 66 'go at eleven" like the subservient guests of the methodical Dr. Kitchener. Yet all this excellent society did the Colonel gather round him at pleasure, cause he possessed an admirable library.

Happy is the man who has a taste for books. Pope said: "As much company as I have kept, and so much as I love it, I love reading better. I would rather be employed in reading than in the most agreeable conversation." And his "fair foe," Lady Mary Wortley Montague, remarks: "No entertainment is so cheap as reading, and no pleasure so lasting."

I might multiply quotations on the subject, but Mrs. Sandbam is entering the library, and the bitter, mocking, chilling spirit of the world enters with her. "I am sorry, my dear brother," she said, "to tell you that I am the bearer of unwelcome news. It relates to the conduct of your favourite nephew, Audley."

Colonel Marston, laying down Tennyson's "Maud" with a half-sigh, replied, "You are fond, Louisa, of alluding to Audley as my favourite nephew; I assure you that I have quite as great a regard for your son; and, if you knew all, you would be fully satisfied of the reality of my impartiality.”

Poor Colonel Marston, he little thought how much his sister knew, or how far she was from being satisfied with the knowledge she had attained.

"I am fully aware of your kindness, my dear brother," said the affectionate sister, "and am sorry that it should be wasted on an ungrateful object. Has Audley mentioned in his letter to you that he is engaged to be married to a portionless girl, to whom he has lately been introduced?"

"He mentioned nothing of the kind," said the Colonel; "and I doubt not that a countryhouse flirtation has been magnified by idle rumour into a serious engagement."

"Far from it," said Mrs. Sandham. "Our worthy friend, Mrs. Forbes, assures me of the fact and I grieve to add, that the young lady is

Mrs. Sandham left the room, and Colonel Marston felt no inclination to resume the reading of "Maud": a more potent spell was upon him than that of the poet's lay. Memory waved her wondrous wand; again he gazed upon the beautiful Annette Leigh, and listened to her assurance of affection. Anon his sister warned him of a rival, the lover of her youth discarded on his account. He disbelieved the tale, till at length the needy cousin became enriched by a lucrative appointment, and the Colonel received a letter from Annette, declaring her return to her first love. His sister condoled with him, and suggested that Annette might already have repented of her letter-he had written reproachfully and vehemently in reply to it. His sister enclosed the letter written within one of her own, couched in a strain of milder remonstrance, and sent it to Annette. Neither received any answer. Annette ordered an outfit, married her cousin, and went to India. All these images came like a melancholy dissolving view before the eyes of the Colonel: the smooth course of his life was suddenly disturbed: Annette Leigh seemed to have returned to haunt him-his warm-hearted, unsuspecting nephew was to be the vietim of a scheming coquette, trained in artifice by a deceptive mother; till at length the consoling reflection came to him that Audley was yet unmarried, and that it was not too late to save him.

Poor Audley! he arrived at home the next day, anticipating a delightful interview with his uncle, in which he should dilate on the perfections of his beloved, describe her eyes and hair, and her songs and drawings; extol her temper and principles, declare that she was a fortune in herself, predict that he was about to become the happiest man in existence, and, in short, give vent to all the chartered fooleries of the accepted lover. Little did he think of the storm of anger