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LIZI

COOK

OURNA

No. 18.]

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1849.

HAMPTON COURT, AND THE ROAD THITHER. Ir is a long summer's holiday; the sun is up and shining brightly; the city population is all astir, clad in their best, and are pressing out countrywards in all directions, to feast their eyes on the green floor of earth, to see the sun undimmed by smoke, and to inhale the pure, fresh, balmy air of the fields far off in the country.

Where shall we go, in what direction shall we turn, to enjoy to the full this beautiful summer's day? Shall it be Greenwich and its lovely park, with the heath beyond? or Epping Forest, with its fine old trees, and its cool mossy turf, there to wander amid the song of birds and the rustling of the green leaves? or shall it be the wide sea-shore-Margate, or Ramsgate, or the Reculvers? or, up the river, to Hampton Court, along the banks of the Thames, to enjoy a long day among the beautiful walks and drives of that old royal palace and domain? We determine in favour of the last; and to Hampton Court we at once direct ourselves. There is the 'bus already on its way; we catch the eye of the smart conductor, and in a second we are mounted securely on its top, which is already piled with a living load, destined, like ourselves, for Richmond and Hampton. Gentlefolks, who drive their own carriages, might look askance at us there, perched aloft among Smiths, Joneses, and Jenkinses; but, let us confess it, we ourselves belong to the Smiths, and feel quite at home among them,-alike in 'bus, steam-boat, or second-class railway carriage. These are now the cheap luxuries of us men of moderate means; and highly do we prize them, mindful, as we are, of the many days of fun and heartfelt pleasure, of delicious rural enjoyment, which they have been the means of affording us.

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of the court-beauties of olden times, and its village, the abode, at different periods, of the poet Gray, of Jonathan Swift, of Leigh Hunt, and of Mrs. Inchbald, who died in Kensington House, at that time a Catholic boarding-house, and now lies buried in the parish churchyard close by.

And now we have passed Kensington; and a little beyond it, we see, to the right, through among the trees, an old-fashioned looking brick house, stately and venerable, the associations attached to which are of the most interesting kind. It is Holland House, the resort of the chiefest of English wits for these two centuries past. Here the Earl of Holland, one of Queen Henrietta's favourites, resided from 1630 to 1640. Next, the head-quarters of General Fairfax, it was for some time the centre round which the genius of the Commonwealth revolved. At a later period it was the abode of Addison. Then it came into the possession of the Fox family, and Charles James Fox here spent the greater part of his youth.

"Here (says Leigh Hunt) in all probability, visited the Sucklings and Lady Carlisles of the time of Charles the First; here, the Buckinghams of the two Charleses, with all the wits of those days; here, certainly, Steele, and his fellow-associates of Addison; here, Walpole and Hanbury Williams, and the beauties of Richmond and other families; here the Jeffreys, Burkes, and Sheridans; and here the Broughams, Byrons, Rogerses, Campbells, Thomas Moores, and all the other whig genius of the present age, attracted by the congenial abilities and the flowing hospitality of the biographer of Lope de Vega, a true nephew of Charles James Fox, a nobleman gracing and helping to secure his order, because sympathizing with all ranks-the late lamented Lord Holland one of the truest friends of progress of the present century.

But we have long since passed Ilolland House, and are now at Hammersmith, famous for its ghost and its convent of Benedictine nuns; Richardson, the author of "Pamela," once resided here. Crossing Hammersmith Suspension Bridge, we reach the right bank of the Thames, running along amidst green hedge-rows, and trellised lattices, and rose-covered porches, and nicely trimmed gardens, and pretty little cits' houses, just a nice drive from town. Across the river we see Brentford, and Chiswick, and on this side, Kew, famous for its gardens.

And now, away we go, past crowds of passengers on foot, all pressing out towards the parks and the fields beyond the City. Blessed day of rest for thousands of weary eyes, long fixed on their daily work-the dressmaker on her seam, the printer at his "case," the clerk on his scroll, the shopman fixed to his counter, the shoemaker to his last, the tailor to his board. But here we have a general emancipation from work, for this day at least; and who would not wish us all to enjoy it most heartily. The crowd is mixed, too; there are spruce young dandies on horseback, though the day of dandyism is fast passing by; gay carriages and quiet broughams, bespeaking wealth and gentility; tall Life Gaardsmen with happy little women hanging on their arms; nurse-maids with And now we reach the pretty village of Richmond, laughing children about them; elderly matrons, hot, and cross the Thames again over Richmond Bridge, and are unpinned-looking; and steady elderly gentlemen with soon driving along, through green hedge-rows and walking-sticks. On we go, through and past all this avenues of trees; the Hill, with its pretty villas, being concourse-by Hyde Park Corner, and "the Duke's" from time to time descernible on the other side of the house there, by Knightsbridge, once a place of black re- river. Everything has the look of fertility, richness, civipute, by Albert Gate, and lo! here we are at Kensington,lization, and comfort. Now we drive through the pleasant its palace, seen through the trees, calling up memories little village of Twickenham, on the further side of

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which we pass "Pope's Villa." But the original old The gardens had run almost wild, the ponds were
house has been taken down and given place to a spick and stagnant, and the walks grown over with weeds and grass.
span new building in the modern heterogeneous style of It was only in 1838 that the gardens and grounds were
architecture. And there, to the right, pleasantly situated again trimmed and put in order, and thrown open to the
among the trees, is Strawberry Hill, once the residence people of all classes and conditions; and now, in this
of Horace Walpole, and more recently the scene of one noble public pleasure-ground may, almost daily, be seen
of George Robins' "blazes of triumph." A mile or two numerous happy parties of old and young, of tradesmen
further on, amidst a beautiful country, passing through and working people, enjoying the beautiful verdure of
lanes of elm and beech, we come upon the confines of the grass and the trees, winding through its shady walks
Hampton. We enter the gate, and drive along the and cool recesses, threading the devious maze, and walk-
magnificent avenue of horse-chesnut and lime-trees, more ing through the fine picture-galleries of the building.
than a mile in length; pass Bushy, the seat of the The road to Hampton is now one of the most frequented
Queen Dowager; skirt the oval sheet of water, in the of all those leading out of town in the great holidays
centre of which stands the statue of Diana, and in a few of the year. Steamers run up with their freights of
minutes are set down at the magnificent Lion Gates, passengers to the bridge, within five minutes' walk of the
which guard the immediate entrance to the Hampton Court; the railway trains also land their crowds at the
grounds. We pass through, and are at once among old South Western Railway station, a short walk off; and
and grey trees, the growth of centuries, amidst which every other variety of conveyance is put in requisition.
walks wind in all directions through The Wilderness;"'Busses, gigs, droskies, and capacious pleasure-vans all
the sounds of ringing laughter rising up from time to converge in such seasons on Hampton Court, filled with
time from "the Maze," where young and old are trying happy souls, come to enjoy a long day of pure breathing
to thread their way; and then, passing onward, we reach and fresh delight.
the Home Park, over against the entrance to which is We are not writing a Guide to Hampton, and there-
placed a notice, reminding the public that they are "ex-fore will not enter upon any detail of the numerous
pected to protect what is intended for the public enjoy- objects of interest to be seen there. The exterior of the
ment." And it is most gratifying to be able to state, that, building, though imposing and massive, will not compare
notwithstanding the tens of thousands of persons, of all with many other of our public buildings. The old palace
classes, who every season visit these beautiful grounds, of Wolsey, and the newer palace of William III., both
the occasions on which injury, even of the slightest exhibit extensive fronts, characteristic of the architecture
kind, is done by the visitors, are extremely rare. Passing of the several periods at which they were erected; but
through the gateway, the old Palace of Hampton stands there is nothing very remarkable about them.
in its majesty before us.
great attraction of the place is in its beautiful gardens
and grounds, and in the fine works of art which fill the
palace galleries. Wolsey's Gothic Hall, with its elabo-
rate wood-carving, strikes the eye by its magnificence,
and the fineness of its proportions. Here, it is said,
some of Shakspere's plays were first performed, their
immortal author himself, perhaps being an actor in them.
We traversed the quadrangles and the courts, across which
so many famous men and women have trod centuries
ago; the chapel, also, though the glories of its stained
glass windows were swept away by the Puritan soldiers
of the Commonwealth; and admired the staircases, espe-
cially that noble one leading to the state apartments, the
work of Sir Christopher Wren.

Numerous and interesting are the historical associations connected with Hampton. The work of Cardinal Wolsey, who raised up the original palace, as if by magic, and then, pursued as the Cardinal was by envy, and assailed by numerous and powerful enemies, he was fain to present it to his royal lord and master Henry VIII., whose state and dignity he rivalled. In the person of the Cardinal was represented the last, and, perhaps, one of the ablest, of the great Roman Catholic churchmen of England. The butcher's son of Ipswich, however, like most other men, could not withstand the corrupting influences of power; and his fall was as sudden as his rise. Henry VIII. then lived in great state here, in his course of wife-beheading and divorcing, and creed-promulgating. Many are the royal pageants, festive celebrations, state conventions, and theological controversies, alternated with the royal sensualist's amours and liaisons, which Hampton Court was witness to in his day. Then came Mary, Elizabeth, James, and the first Charles, during which ambition, pomp, and intrigue played their parts within its walls. A stern race came next,-the Puritans; and here Cromwell resided in domestic quiet for some years, with no court parade about him, but strictly guarded by his Ironsides. Here was his daughter Mary married to Lord Fauconberg, and here did he weep bitter tears over the lifeless body of Mrs. Claypole, his favourite daughter. Another kind of life followed-that of the dissipated voluptuous court of Charles II. The next occupant was William III. of Orange, and his queen, and the palace now stands nearly nearly as they left it. The beautiful gardens were formed under William's direction; trim and Dutch-like they will be called by some, but about their luxuriant beauty there cannot be two opinions; the picture galleries were also completed by him, and the cartoons of Raphael, which Cromwell had secured to the country, were placed in the gallery which William prepared for them. Queen Anne, and the first and second George also, occasionally made Hampton a place of residence, but did little towards its enlargement or improvement. During the next three reigns the court was comparatively neglected, deserted, and uninhabited, except by a few aged noble pensioners who were quartered in a few of its apartments.

The

As for the fine paintings in the galleries, it would take many days to examine them in detail, and a formidable portion of our space to merely catalogue their names. Probably, the most interesting of all the rooms is that in which are grouped together the famous beauties of Charles the Second's court, of all which, Nell Gwynne seems to us still to bear the palm, though Lely was no great painter, and unable to delineate the character of his sitters. The cartoons of Raphael, also, always command a large share of admiration, as among the finest works of one of the most spiritual of painters. The pictures are upwards of 1,000 in number, filling above thirty rooms, and nearly all the greatest painters are here represented in their works. There are works here that artists must feel it a great privilege to have laid open to them, and it cannot fail also to have a kindly influence on the manners and tastes of our people, to enable them thus freely to gaze upon the master-works of the greatest artists of past times.

However great the attractions of the interior, the beautiful walks and avenues, extending in nearly all directions round the Court, are sure to attract the generality of visitors still more, and entice them to stroll away under the trees, through the lime and beech avenues, and among the holly and yew plantations, losing themselves in their delightful mazes. For three miles may you thus wander along lovely and picturesque walks, or upon the fine terrace which skirts the banks of the Thames for about half a mile, occasionally seating yourself under the shade of a lofty elm, or in an arbour from

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which some fine view of the building is observed. Thus
may we wander in delight the live-long day, until the
returning shadows of evening remind us of the approach-
ing night, and of the home in the far-off city. And lo!
there is the steamer's bell, calling the passengers on
board for its run down the river. We follow with the
rest, and soon are on deck, and run down the beautiful
Thames in the calm summer evening, the setting sun
flooding the river, the trees, and the fields, with its
golden light. Past Kingston, Thames Ditton, Richinond,
Twickenham, Brentford, Kew, Chiswick, Hammersmith,
Putney, Battersea, and Chelsea; and now the lights of
London are in full view. We land at Westminster
Bridge, and walk homewards, full of happy thought, and
bearing on our memory many delightful impressions of
our long day at Hampton. Such days as these, we be-
lieve, have no small influence in drawing out the better
part of our nature, and humanizing the entire character-
"Passing even into the purer mind
With tranquil restoration; feelings, too,
Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence

On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love."

CHEMISTRY FOR THE KITCHEN.

SECOND ARTICLE.-BREAD.

capable of being digested by man, unless they have been previously cracked by heat; and in the feeding of animals it has been found, by repeated experiments, that the steaming or boiling of potatoes and other kinds of farinaceous or starchy food is, for the same reason, attended with a great increase of their nutritive properties.

Starch is one of those vegetable substances which are readily altered in their nature by chemical causes; boiling water, as already stated, changes its character entirely. If it is subjected to a greater degree of heat, until it becomes slightly browned, it is changed into a kind of gum, which is soluble in both cold and hot water, forming a gummy solution, which has not the jelly-like character common starch. of Thus prepared, it is called British gum, and is used in large quantities as a substitute for gum arabic, in stiffening calicoes, muslins, and other goods. During the first stages of the growth of the seeds containing starch, or during their germination, it becomes converted into sugar, on which the young plant feeds. This change takes place during the process of malting; and it may be readily imitated by the chemist with pure starch, by boiling it for some hours with weak acid, which may be afterwards removed by chalk. common kinds of brown sugar are largely adulterated with sugar prepared in this way from potatoe starch, and sago; potatoe sugar is clammy, and does not possess the bright sparkling appearance of cane sugar, and its taste slightly bitter and unpleasant.

The

The value of starch as an ingredient in food is very great; it may, in fact, be regarded as an almost necessary article of diet; it is one of the least irritating of all substances, and when cooked is most readily digested; but it does not contain all the substances requisite for supporting life, and, therefore, any article of food which if taken alone; but when other substances are added to supply that which is wanting in the starch, then the value of the latter is very great. Those races of men who feed exclusively on farinaceous food, such as rice or potatoes, are obliged to eat immense quantities, which might be greatly lessened if they could obtain even a very small supply of animal food.

SIMPLE as the operation of making a loaf may be con-is sidered, little as our good country housewives may imagine it to have to do with chemistry, it is, in reality, a strictly chemical operation, during which, the decomposition of certain substances, and the formation of others, of a totally different character takes place; some of the solids of the flour being totally altered in their nature, spirituous vapours formed, and a gas generated in very consider-consists chiefly of starch has a very low nourishing power able quantity. In this as in all other operations there is a right and a wrong mode of procedure; unfortunately we have adopted the latter, and it can be proved by the most rigorous demonstration, that a loss occurs to the nation of upwards of £11,000,000 sterling annually from the bad and wasteful plan followed in ordinary bread making; and that, in addition, the bread so produced is less nutritious, and less wholesome than it might be made by The substances known as sago, tapioca, and arrowroot, methods more in accordance with chemical knowledge. are nearly pure starch, and hence, alone they are unfitted Flour, the basis of all kinds of bread, is an ex-for food, more especially for the diet of infants. ceedingly compound substance, consisting of starch, gluten, sugar, gum, and other substances. The more important of these, it will be desirable to examine somewhat in detail.

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To the unassisted eye, starch, when pure, appears as a fine white powder; but when examined by the aid of a microscope, it is found to consist of roundish glistening grains, each of which is formed of layers, arranged like the coats of an onion, the outer being the thickest, and at the same time, quite insoluble in water. When heated to a temperature of 160° to 180°, which is considerably below that of boiling water, the outer layers are cracked by the heat, and the inner portion of each grain dissolves in the water, forming a thick gummy solution or jelly; the use of which, by laundresses, is too well known to need description.

It is a point of considerable practical importance to bear in mind the fact, that the grains of starch are not

Gluten is the name given to that ingredient of flour which gives to it, when wetted, its doughy and tenacious properties; it may be readily prepared for examination by making a thick paste of wheaten flour, tying it up in a piece of coarse cloth, and kneading it under a stream of water until the starch is wasted away, when a sticky elastic substance remains, which is gluten. This substance is similar, if not identical in properties, with the animal albumen, and fibrine, mentioned in our last article; and the nutritive parts of the blood, and thence the nourishment of the solids is chiefly derived from it, whilst the starch supplies the materials of the fat, and that portion of the blood which, being consumed in breathing, produces animal warmth. Good food must, therefore, contain both substances; but as the starch is usually in excess, the object of agricultur operations is to increase the quantity of gluten, and or most highly cultivated grain contains much more than the less artificial varieties.

The remaining ingredients of flour do not require any detailed description; we may, therefore, pass on to the manufacture of bread. Flour, water, yeast, and salt, should be the only things contained in fermented bread; but in London-made bread potatoes and alum are pretty constantly present. The addition of yeast to the dough causes the sugar and a portion of the starch to undergo fermentation, by which a quantity of gas is liberated, as in the ordinary fermentation of beer or wine; from the the tough character of the dough the gas cannot escape,

it, therefore, distends the dough with air bubbles, which increase its size, rendering the bread exceedingly light; as the flour of wheat contains more gluten than that of any other grain, it yields a more tenacious dough, and, therefore, forms the lightest as well as the most nutritious bread; during the rising or fermentation of the dough, a quantity of spirit is formed, which is driven off by the heat of the oven and escapes. Some years ago a patent was worked at an expense of about £20,000, the object of which was to collect this spirit, but the bread being baked in tins was not liked, and the speculation failed. The addition of potatoes to bread is unobjectionable, but the same remark does not apply to the alum, which is decidedly injurious to health; the objects with which alum is used are to render the bread firmer, less crumbly, to enable the loaves to be separated more readily, and, above all, to render the bread whiter; so strong is the foolish preference of Londoners for white bread, that the bakers are constrained to use this injurious drug, as otherwise their best bread would be rejected as of inferior quality; whilst, unfortunately, its use enables the dishonest baker to employ damaged and inferior flour, and give to it the same degree of whiteness possessed by the best. The quantity of alum used varies from 20 to 60 grains in the four pound loaf, an amount quite sufficient to produce by its continued astringent action a very injurious effect on the digestive organs, and through them, upon the general health.

"Hydro-chloric (muriatic) acid, 12 fluid drachms. "Water, about 28 fluid ounces.

"First, mix the soda and the meal or flour as thoroughly as possible. This is best done by shaking the soda from a small sieve over the meal or flour with one hand, while they are stirred together with the other, and then passing the mixture once or twice through the sieve. Next, pour the acid into the water, and diffuse it perfectly, by stirring them well with a rod of glass or wood. Then, mix intimately the meal or flour and the water so prepared as speedily as possible, using a wooden spoon or spatula for the purpose. The dough, thus formed, will make two loaves somewhat larger than halfquarterns. They should be put into a quick oven without loss of time. This is most conveniently done in tins, or in iron or earthen pots or pans. The earthen deserve the preference, as they yield a better bread than either the tin or the iron. Common flower-pots suit particularly well. Iron does better than tin. But the loaves may be made into a batch and baked in the same way as fermented bread; and, if a thin flat tile be placed between each loaf, the tendency to colere, which however is not greater in this than in other dough, will be obviated, and the bread will be in all respects equal, if not superior, to that baked even in earthen pans. The dough may also be formed and baked like cottage loaves. The oven should be made hotter than for fermented bread. A portable one, such as that improperly called "American," where there is no other, and a common fire, will answer the purpose. About an hour and a half will be required for the baking.

"The proportions of soda and acid are those which make common culinary salt, when united chemically. This union takes place as soon as heat is applied; and then the carbonic acid, being set free in its state of gas,

During the last few years what is called unfermented bread has come into rather extensive use; yeast is not employed in its preparation, the gas which renders it light being liberated from carbonate of soda by the action of muriatic acid, common salt being also formed at the same time. Unfermented bread possesses many advantages over the fermented kind; it is exceedingly pure, containing, if the materials are rightly propor-expands the dough, or raises it, so as to form bread. If tioned, nothing but flour, salt, and water; not having been fermented, it keeps much longer, neither turning mouldy or sour. It is cheaper, inasmuch as no part of the flour is destroyed by fermentation, and its flavour, when well made, is very superior.

Dr. Pereira, in his treatise on food, gives the following proportions:

either the soda or the acid be in excess, the bread will taste of the one or the other accordingly; but it will not be on that account unwholesome. The salt so formed is sufficient to flavour the bread for most palates; but if more be desired, the soda and acid may be somewhat increased, or a small portion of common salt may be superadded, by dissolving it in the water before that is mixed

"A most delicious unfermented bread, equal in light-with the acid. ness to any prepared by the fermented process, was made in my presence according to the following formula:"Flour, llb.

"Bi-carbonate of soda, 40 grains

"The whole process of preparation for the oven need not exceed a quarter of an hour; and any person capable of ordinary attention may conduct it; for, on a small scale, it is as simple and easy as the making of a common

"Cold water, half a pint, or as much as may be pudding, except, perhaps, that accuracy in quantities is

sufficient.

"Muriatic acid of the shops, 50 minims or drops. "Powered white sugar, a teaspoonful.

intimately mix the soda and sugar with the flour in a large basin, with a wooden spoon; then gradually add the water, with which the acid has been previously mixed, stirring constantly so as to form an intimate mixture very speedily; divide in two loaves, and put into a quick oven immediately."

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The most complete treatise on the subject is a pamphlet entitled Instructions for Making Unfermented Bread," ,"* and which is sold at a price less than the smallest current silver coin; from this work, which is usually attributed to Dr. Darling, we beg to extract the following directions:

TO MAKE WHITE OR FLOUR BREAD.

"Take of flour, dressed or household, 3lbs. avoirdupois. "Bi-carbonate of soda, in powder, 9 drachms, apothecaries' weight.

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Hydro-chloric (muriatic) acid, 114 fluid drachms. "Water, about 25 fluid ounces.'

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"TO MAKE BROWN OR MEAL BREAD.

"Take of wheat meal, 3 lbs. avoirdupois.

more important. The writer of this notice has seldom known a cook fail, even on her first trial, when carefully instructed. The only apparatus required, in addition to the usual kitchen furniture, is a graduated glass measure, to measure the acid; a small set of apothecaries' weights, to weigh the soda; a small sieve, and a wooden spatula. As just observed, accuracy in measuring and weighing is essential; but this requires no qualification beyond the most common attention."

A point of great importance in the economy of breadmaking is the absurd prejudice in favour of white bread, which is imagined by many persons to be better and more nutritious than the coarser brown kinds; this is the reverse of the truth; the meal used in making brown bread is more nutritious than an equal weight of flour from the same wheat; it also contains substances necessary for the growth of the body that are absent from the flour; this is particularly the case with the bone-making materials, and it is exceedingly probable that the vast number of cases of bad teeth among the English people, is owing to the extensive use of white bread. For infants, whose bones are growing, or rather hardening rapidly, fine flour, and especially fine starch,

"Bi-carbonate of soda, in powder, 10 drachms, apothe- such as arrowroot, &c., are exceedingly bad kinds of

caries' weight.

London; Taylor and Walton.

food; rusks and tops-and-bottoms are injurious from containing butter, and having been fermented; hence

ELIZA COOK'S JOURNAL.

they are apt to ferment again and turn sour on the stomach.

Perhaps the best kind of food for infants is baked household, not fine flour, or still better, such a preparation as the following:

Three parts wheat flour and one part best barley meal are to be well mixed, and placed in tins, lined with paper, in a slow oven for three hours; if a baker's oven is employed, the time chosen should be between ten o'clock, A.M., and two o'clock, P.M., when it has cooled considerably, for the mixture should not be browned by the process, as it then acquires a pea flavour.

As thus prepared, it keeps well without becoming sour or musty; it is readily prepared for children's use by boiling with water or milk, as may be requisite, and may be employed for puddings.

Our space will not permit our pursuing the subject at greater length; and we must refer those who want more extended information respecting the greater economy and wholesomeness of unfermented bread, to the exceeding valuable and moderate priced pamphlet that has been referred to.

GLIMPSES.

WM. BERNHARD.

MISS BREMER, in one of her delightful novels, mentions
a circumstance trival in itself, but which became deeply
She was at the barrier
impressed on her memory.
outside Stockholm one winter's evening, awaiting the
compulsory visit of the custom-house officer, who at
length approached with his lantern. "He had a red
nose, and appeared unhappy." She entered into con-
versation with him, and found that he was married, and
was the father of four children; he seemed sad, and
sighed as he told the number of his family. Her heart
softened towards the man, employed in his troublesome
duty of ransacking travellers' luggage, to see they carried
nothing contraband. She felt for a piece of money, and
thought of some gingerbread and a cheese, for the four
children's supper; but, while thus feeling and thinking,
the gate-man opened the bar, and the carriage passed
quickly through the gateway. With an oppressed heart,
and uncomfortable feelings, the traveller proceeded
through the city, and saw in the white snow-flakes before
her, as in a transparency, the frozen red nose and sad
face of the custom-house officer. Everywhere it rose up
before her, and she regretted, that through irresolution,
she had not placed in his hands some small testimonial
of her kindliness.

a face, that face was lit up by a soul, and the gleam of
that soul has instantly penetrated yours. You cannot
understand it; and yet you feel the effect for days, it may
be for years after. A remarkable case of this kind is
thus recorded by Dr. Winslow :-

Some years back there used to be pointed out in the
streets of Glasgow, a man whose mind had become
unsettled by a very strange circumstance. When a
youth he had happened to pass a lady in a crowded
thoroughfare-a lady whose extreme beauty, though
dimmed by the intervention of a veil, and seen but for a
moment, made an indelible impression on his mind. This
lovely vision shot rapidly past him, and was in an instant
lost in the common-place crowd through which it moved.
He was so confounded by the tumult of his feelings, that
he could not pursue it; yet with a mind full of dis-
tracting thoughts, the man slowly left the spot where he
had remained for some minutes, as it were, wonder-
stricken; and soon after, without being aware of what he
wished, or what he was doing, found himself again at
the place. He came to the very spot where he had stood
when the lady passed, mused for some time about it,
went to a little distance, and then came up as he had
come when he met the exquisite object of his reverie-
unconsciously deluding himself with the idea that this
He continued to traverse
might recal her to the spot.
the place till the evening, when the streets became
deserted. By-and-by he was left altogether alone. He
then saw that all his fond efforts were in vain, and he left
For weeks together he
the silent, lonely street at midnight, with a soul as
desolate as that gloomy terrace.
was never off the streets. He wandered hither and thither
throughout the town like a forlorn ghost. He often
visited the place where he had first seen the object of his
abstracted thoughts, considering that he had a better
chance of seeing her there than anywhere else. He
frequented every place of public amusement to which he
could purchase admission; and he made a tour of all the
churches of the town. Ali, alas! was in vain. He
never again placed his eyes on that angelic countenance.
The course of his mind was stopped at a particular point.
After this, he made no further progress in any intel-
lectual attainment. He acquired no new ideas; his soul
stood still. He was like a clock stopped at a particular
hour. He ever after wore a peculiarly long-backed,
and high-necked coat, being the fashion of the year in
which he beheld the lady. When this unfortunate
person was last seen, he was getting old, and seemed
still more deranged than formerly. Every female whom
he met in the street, especially if at all good-looking, he
gazed at with an inquiring, anxious expression, and when
she had passed, he usually stood still a few minutes and
mused, with his eyes cast upon the ground. It was
remarkable that he gazed most anxiously upon women
whose age and figure most nearly resembled that of his
unknown mistress at the time he had seen her-as if she
could never grow old. He did not appear to make
allowance for the years which had passed since his eyes
met that vision. This was part of his madness. Strange
power of love!-incomprehensible mechanism of the
human heart! And such was the power of a single
glimpse.

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Who does not remember passing a street corner, in the dusk of a raw December evening, and catching a glimpse of a frozen unhappy face, turned towards you, and rather gazing than asking for alms. You had beforehand perhaps made up your mind that begging was only the shift of idleness, and had steeled your heart against the professional appeals of beggars. You walk on, summoning up this conviction, and there rises before you the piteous face of that poor man standing at the corner you have just passed. You cannot banish it from your memory; the man may have left wife and children at home, and there may be no fire in the grate, no food in To carry our idea a little in another direction-what the cupboard. Thus thinking, you reach your own comfortable home, and the face still haunts you-you wish is our experience of life, even the oldest of us, but a You glimpse? Time is a mere speck in the ocean of eternity; you had given him something; but it is too late. will never see that suffering face again; it was only a and how small a portion of that time does the life of a human being occupy! More than a thousand years ago, glimpse. in one of our old Saxon wittenagemotes, or parliaments, the chief of the warriors, who must also have been no mean orator, thus delivered himself on the question of whether the nation should accept the new religion, Christianity, or not :-" Thou mayest recollect, oh king, a thing which sometimes happens in the days of winter, when thou art seated at table with thy eldermen and thy thanes, when a good fire is blazing, when it is warm in

It

You are walking along the busy streets at noon-day,
and amidst the thronging mass, you discern one face.
is only a glimpse; and yet it instantly impresses itself on
your mind. You cannot dismiss it; the face is con-
stantly rising up before you. It may not have been
entirely beautiful, yet there was a something in it which
It was
penetrated your being like an electric stroke.
a flash of light which reached your heart. Though only

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