other evidence of hard treatment and a degrading system. "No wonder," said one of our old soldiers, kicking a loaf," that men couldn't fight who were fed on such stuff as that." Hard as the system is under all circumstances, it is worse when worked at a distance from the supervision of authority. The men bere-so we were told-were often mulcted of their paltry wages, and almost starved. What wonder, then, that such men should rebel, when death came flying around them, and seek the opportunity of indulging in the only pleasure they knew-intoxication. A system which deadens the soul in a man, reduces him to an animal, and then robs him of animal necessities, may produce military

pieces of mechanism, but can never expect soldiers.

Was it not good also to have seen the poor Alanders-to have looked on their primitive simplicity and peacefulness-good in this age of bustle, ambition, and aggrandisement-this time of strife and action, to have turned this calm, pleasant page of pastoral life? The last Baltic cruise produced only one exploit. Another expedition has now set forth for the same waters, followed by large expectations and great hopes. It may achieve more brilliant and daring things, but it will be well also if they have the completeness and success of la petite affaire at Bomarsund.

It was not the touch of Love-no, another spell had broken the charmed sleep of Zaidee Vivian-the thrill of young awaking life. Kindness had taken her hand again-love was as far from her as ever; but the warm rejoicing youth within her, and all the half-developed powers which would have scope, awakened Zaidee. She shook her torpor off from her, and received a world of storied scenes into her heart instead. She was of the age when the simplest tale or legend populates with charmed figures the common earth. "Abroad" was a vast world of romance and adventure to her fancy-a world in which she could lose herself-in which no one from home could ever find her again. "It will be as good as if I died," said Zaidee to herself as she prepared to go home to Mrs Disbrowe's again.

Mrs Lancaster's coachman, a useful man-of-all-work, trudged by Zaidee's side through those lighted streets, the aspect of which filled her with unusual interest. Secure in the darkness, in her new prospects, and lastly, in this protector, she went along, feeling vaguely exhilarated, she could not tell why, by the bright lights, the cold fresh air, the little crowd of people in

the way. Her former terror of meeting some one who knew her, deserted her to-night. They walked at a good pace, but not because Zaidee was in haste, she enjoyed looking into the glow of light and depth of darkness, watching all those figures cross and recross the illuminated pavement, and was sorry when they came to the dark sombre squares, with their silent enclosures and spectral trees, which surrounded Bedford Place, and when her escort knocked the knock which belonged to his lady's dignity rather than to hers, at Mrs Disbrowe's door. The mistress of the house herself came out to the hall when she heard it was Miss Francis, and with much astonishment received the message with which Mrs Lancaster's factotum was charged. His mistress would wait upon her next day concerning the young lady, the man said. Mrs Disbrowe could not imagine what concern Mrs Lancaster had with the young lady, and was disposed to be offended-as, indeed, if she had but known, she had good cause.

Zaidee stood in the hall with her bonnet loosed, her little brown cloak hanging from her shoulders, and a colour on her brown cheek such as

Mrs Disbrowe has scarcely seen there before. But the temper of mamma was ruffled. Perhaps this girl, who had caused her so much perplexity, had been complaining to Mrs Lancaster perhaps indignant Benevolence was coming in the brougham to-morrow, to upbraid her for not being sufficiently tender to Miss Francis-Miss Francis, who had subjected her to so many discomforts, the reproach of her own conscience, the impertinencies of Minnie and Leo, the dread of inoffensive Mr Disbrowe, who respected her like the Constitution. This was too much for Mrs Disbrowe; she went forward impatiently to Zaidee, and reproved her for being so long away. "My own children would ask leave first before they went with any one, Miss Francis," said Mrs Disbrowe with indignation; while Minnie, within cover of the dining-room door, for malicious satisfaction and good pleasure, had almost laughed aloud.

"The lady did not ask me to goshe asked Mrs Edward Lancaster, and so I went," said Zaidee. "She is coming to-morrow, because she has a friend who wants some one to go abroad. It is not to teach," said Zaidee hurriedly, and with a blush, "or I should not be able; but the lady comes to ask you if I am to go." "Should you like to go?" asked Mrs Disbrowe, from whose mind Zaidee's words had lifted a mountain of annoyance and discomfort-since a way in which this unnecessary inmate could be removed from her house, without positive injury to the friendless child, was a good for which Mrs Disbrowe scarcely ventured to hope.

"Yes-to go far away," said Zaidee, and her eyes repeated the "far away" with the long wistful look they gave. "It will be almost as good as to die."

These words reached Mrs Disbrowe's ear, low though they were spoken. Her heart smote her for her harshness, and even for her satisfaction in hearing that Zaidee was to go away. She laid her hand kindly upon the girl's shoulder. "I hope some one will go with you who can take care of you, my dear," said Mrs Disbrowe. "I shall be very glad of any thing that is for your good; and you

must write and tell your friends. Now, good-night."

The eyes were moist which met her shining eyes as she turned to go upstairs. The voice was kind that said that good-night to her; and another world was before Zaidee. "It will be almost as good as to die," she repeated to herself as she lay down on her little bed. That was a dreary consolation; but her sleep was rich with the dreams of youth, and her fancy had already gone forth and possessed the new land.

Next day, accordingly, Mrs Lancaster's brougham drew up at Mrs Disbrowe's door. It was in some sort indignant Benevolence in deep crape and expensive furs which issued from the luxurious little carriage. Mrs Disbrowe had found Zaidee very useful, Mrs Lancaster did not doubt, and the elder lady, who was of the class somewhat contemptuously called "good" by Mrs Disbrowe's "set," and by whom, in her turn, Mrs Disbrowe and her set were emphatically condemned as "worldly," would not believe in the tender charity which lay, often dormant, but always within reach, at the bottom of Mrs Disbrowe's heart. The one of these good women could not, and would not, do justice to the other; and they met under circumstances which confirmed their natural opposition.

"No; she was quite right; she could not teach the children; she is herself not much more than a child," said Mrs Disbrowe; "they wanted some one to be firm with them, as their sister was. I find it difficult to get any one who can manage the children as Charlotte used to do."

Mrs Lancaster slightly elevated her eyebrows, and said, "Edward's wife!" in her own mind, with the conviction that these two words conveyed all the contempt that it was possible to express in words; but Mrs Lancaster politely inclined her head, and kept silence in presence of mamma.

"But there is no harm in her," said Mrs Disbrowe warmly. "These may seem strange words, but I mean she is an innocent child-I believe as truthful and simple-hearted as ever girl was; and that is almost all I know of Miss Francis. She was sent to us by a clergyman's wife, a schoolfellow

of Charlotte's. Her recommendation was enough for us; and we inquired no further; but I think she must have had an uncomfortable home-she was so unwilling to return."

"And you know nothing of her friends!" said Mrs Lancaster, opening her eyes. "I felt so sure, a prudent mother, bringing a young person into her family, would be certain to know. I am very sorry; for I fear we must be assured of their respectability before I can decide anything with my friend."

"How unfortunate!" said Mrs Disbrowe. "Well, then, we must have patience, and wait for something else, I suppose, for I have told you all I know."

Whereupon Mrs Lancaster drew back, and lost ground; and the issue was, that mamma, who never lost her temper, came off victor, and left the benevolent indignation worsted on the field, and a little ashamed of itself. "I know no ill of this woman," Mrs Lancaster acknowledged to herself, as she followed Mrs Disbrowe's floating pink ribbons up another flight of steps to Zaidee's workroom. "Why should I suspect her? I believe, after all, she has been very kind to this poor child." Further conversation followed after this change of scene, and the old lady was still further convinced, against her will, that there was good in the mother of Edward's wife. "It would be hard, certainly, if we were to be made responsible for the sins of our children. Providence lays the burden

quite the other way," said Mrs Lancaster to herself, as she descended to her carriage, and bowed a gracions bow of farewell to Mrs Disbrowe. Zaidee was still to remain a few days at Bedford Place. Mrs Lancaster's friend was just about starting on her long foreign journey, and this careful lady carefully impressed upon Zaidee the necessity of looking over her wardrobe, and having everything carefully packed; for plentiful Mrs Lancaster had no conception of a wardrobe which could be tied into a napkin and carried in its proprietor's arms.

"So you're to leave us, honey?” said Nurse, with a tear in the corner of her eye. "It's me that's sorry for meself, but thankful for you; for sure the like of you was never fit to fight with them children. But many a day I'll miss your quiet ways, and think upon you in foreign parts. Sure, then, I make no doubt it's for the good of your soul; for they're all good Catholics there."

"Well, I declare, Miss Francis is going away! Is she going to live with that dreadful old Mrs Lancaster, mamma?" cried the amiable Minnie. "I am so glad she is not to bother us any more."

The nursery and the kitchen had their opinions on the same subject; but Zaidee never suspected them, and was quite unconscious. Her eyes shone with their old glow already, and her heart rose to its new life.

It was indisputable that the house of Disbrowe was very glad to be rid of Zaidee. The brow of mamma was cleared of its wrinkle, and the children rejoiced in riotous expectation of being sent to school. The workroom of Miss Francis was visited now and then by investigating expeditions, to see how she was satisfied, and to prove to her how much they were. Mrs Disbrowe said, with compunction, that she trusted Mrs Lancaster's friend would be kind to the poor child; but that really it was not her place to interfere, if Miss Francis herself was satisfied, and she hoped she had writ

ten to her friends. Miss Francis was very well satisfied. She had created a future for herself already, and was on the most loving confidential terms with that distant Mary, who was the sweetest child that ever was born. Vague visions of a wide conntry full of rivers and of mountains came to Zaidee's mind, and her heart beat to think upon the rough friendly familiar wind, and all the cloudy glory of the broad heavens, from which she had been exiled here. The very idea of travel was a strange and new delight to her, and with it came again the sad comfort, that this far-away

journey was almost as good as if she had died. "Neither Philip, nor Percy, nor Captain Bernard, could find me now," said Zaidee, shedding a few tears over that treasured newspaper, as she put it up with her father's Bible; and afterwards it was so easy to pack her small wardrobe. A cab stood at the door to carry her away in solitary state to that dowager house at the Regent's Park, where Mrs Lancaster and Mrs Lancaster's friend awaited her. Lettie and Rosie were peeping from the top of the nursery stairs; Nurse was waiting with her apron at her eyes; Mrs Disbrowe stood at the drawing-room door to say farewell; and Buttons hovered in the hall below;-all to hail the exit of Miss Francis-her defeat and failure in her first wrestle with her fate.

"The blessing of God go with you, honey!" said Nurse, wiping her eyes with her apron. "I shall always be glad to hear of your welfare," said Mrs Disbrowe, shaking Zaidee's hand. Then she got into the dingy cab, and the door was closed upon her, with a noise which made her start. The door was closed also in Bedford Place. "The long unlovely street" glided away past her, as her vehicle rattled over the stones. Zaidee looked out wistfully upon the long line of doors and windows, all closed and cold, and turned in again upon herself and her small possessions, setting forth once more alone. Then the tears came one after another, and dropped upon her hands. She could not tell what it was she wept for; but her heart was full, and overflowed.

She was setting forth again upon the unknown world; but Zaidee was fearless as only a child can be. No phantoms rose across her open way, and heaven was clear above it always present, always near at hand to be appealed to. It was only a vague forlornness and solitude which brought those tears to her eyes; she went forth in simple sincerity, without a fear.

To make her reception all the more solemn, Mrs Lancaster had appointed it to be in her great drawing-room, where all the chairs were in pinafores. Mrs Burtonshaw had already packed up her jewellery, and looked all the

better for it, as she sat in a plain cap and a warm morning-dress by the side of the fire. There were a great many parcels about the room; parcels of books, marked "for my dearest Mary;" and softer parcels, fresh from luxurious shops of silk-mercery, "for my sister," "for Mr Cumberland," and "for my dearest Mary" again. If these were all presents, Mrs Burtonshaw was a visitor worth having. Mrs Lancaster sat at a table writing the name of that same dearest Mary, "with the best regards of J. L.," in a book of good advice for young ladies, very richly bound, and gay to look at, though of weight enough to break down the understanding of any unwary young lady deluded into making acquaintance with the contents within. Žaidee and her "wardrobe," which, in the little box Mrs Disbrowe had given her, Mrs Lancaster's factotum carried in one hand contemptuously, were first taken up-stairs to a little room, close to Mra Burtonshaw's, which was Miss Francis's room for the night. Mrs Lancaster's maid stood and looked on while Zaidee took off her little brown cloak and bonnet, and then, with rather more authority than respect, intimated that the young lady was sent for to the drawingroom, and ushered her upon this scene of preparation. Mrs Lancaster looked up from her writing to say "how do you do?" and Mrs Burtonshaw held out her hand to Zaidee. The girl's immediate interest in that dearest distant Mary had won Mrs Burtonshaw's heart.

"Well, dear, are you ready? We start to-morrow," said this brisk little lady, who was carefully coating a pretty writing-case with cover after cover of silver paper. "I must see your things, you know, if they are suitable; and you' will want a great many wraps for the journey; it will take us more than a week to get there. By the by, you have never told me your Christian name?"

The blood rushed to Zaidee Vivian's face in a glow of shame. She said, "Elizabeth," in a faltering undertone. It was true she had been called Elizabeth as well as Zaidee at her baptism; but it concerned her honour that she was thus obliged to disown her own proper name.

"Elizabeth? I am so very glad it is a common name," said Mrs Burtonshaw. "My sister is very anxious to call Mary, Maria; but she will not have it; and I am sure if your name had been Augusta or Laura, or any of these, the dear child would not have liked you half so well. Elizabeth? Well, to be sure! Do you know I am called Elizabeth myself?

Zaidee looked up at her, believing that this must surely have been the reason why her heart warmed to the old lady; for everything must be good and lovable which bore her beautiful cousin's name.

"Do you think it is a pretty name?" asked simple Mrs Burtonshaw.

"I think it is like a princess," said Zaidee; for Zaidee was thinking of Elizabeth Vivian, and not of the old lady by her side.

"Well, to be sure! Mary always says she is a matter-of-fact girl. She has no poetry about her; but that is because my sister always bores the dear child with poetry. You must not think I am ignorant what a very superior woman Mrs Cumberland is, Miss Francis," continued Mrs Burtonshaw, correcting herself, and looking dignified; "but I really do believe, though I am only her aunt, my dear love takes more after me than her mamma, and I cannot say I had ever much head for poetry. Mary has. I believe, if she only turned her attention to it, she might do almost anything; but she has such plain tastes, just like me. My dear, are you fond of poetry?"

"Yes," said Zaidee, in whose estimation Mary fell immensely after this speech of her aunt's.

"Indeed! Well, I am sure, Mary will like you, whether or not," said Mrs Burtonshaw, with a momentary hesitation. "I daresay you don't know so much about it as her mamma does; and I think, my dear, if I were you, I would not say any verses to her. She never liked it. I would not, if I were you."

"I never say verses-except to myself," said Zaidee, feeling a little wounded in a tender point.

"Ah, that is right!" said the re

lieved Mrs Burtonshaw. "You will get on very well together, I am sure. I am taking a great many books to Mary, you see, my dear; and Mrs Lancaster is sending her one-a very good one. She is a dear sensible child; she loves good books."

Now, Zaidee, with her wild imagination, could not be said to love good books; but, nevertheless, had read them in emergencies, when nothing else was to be had; so she looked with interest at the rich Russia cover, brave with much gilding, and was disposed to think that Mary must be a most fortunate girl.

"I have something to say to Miss Francis," said Mrs Lancaster, rising. "Mrs Disbrowe of course had no right either to object or to sanction; but it is a serious thing going abroad. I should like to communicate with your friends."

Zaidee made no answer. She never even raised her eyes-and it was only by the deep colour rushing to her face that it was apparent she had heard the question.

"Were they unkind to you, my dear? Is that why you are so unwilling to have them spoken of?" asked kind Mrs Burtonshaw.

"They were very kind to me," said Zaidee, hurriedly; "so kind that I never knew I was a burden to them, till-till I found it out; and now they would rather keep me than let me labour for myself;-that is why they must not be told; for I will never be a burden on them again."

Mrs Lancaster put down her pen, and considered. "Well, that is a reason," said Mrs Lancaster. "Come here, my child, and tell me their name, and all about them; and I will promise not to write."

But Zaidee was not to be persuaded. The two ladies could get nothing from her but a repetition of what she had already said. Mrs Burtonshaw, if she had no head for poetry, had a feminine respect for a mystery. "She will tell me, I daresay, when we are by ourselves," said the good lady, with innocent complacency. And Zaidee was vexed with no more questions that night.