LUTHER FESTIVAL AT SONNENBERG.-At Sonnenberg, near Coburg, a place associated with various memorable periods in the history of the great Reformer, there was a national festival this summer. Speeches were delivered, and the assembled multitudes joined in singing the grand hymn "Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott," which had a most solemn and imposing effect. But lighter and gayer revelry abounded on the festive occasion. The slopes were covered with booths as for a fair, and all sorts of amusements were carried on. Near the village inn a group of monks sat at a table selling indulgences, at fixed prices, according to the nature and heinousness of the crimes specified on a list. This historical satire caused much amusement. The weather was warm, and it was droll to see the thirsty monks passing the beer-mug round in the midst of their busy traffic. At one juncture a cry was raised that "Luther was coming.' Some mounted knights rode up, escorting the Reformer, at whose appearance the popish traffickers vanished. A Herr Albrecht, personating Luther, and making a very good likeness, in appearance and manner as well as dress, delivered an address befitting the scene. The thorough zest with which the farce was entered into by the people proved that Luther's work was well understood, and that his name is yet a word of power in the Fatherland.

CANDLESTICKS. The following advertisement is from an English Ritualistic newspaper:-"A missionary shortly going abroad to take charge of a poor district, would feel very grateful for the gift of any of the following to take with him: Sacramental vessels, altar cross, candlesticks, and set of coloured stoles." We have a couple of old candlesticks to spare for the rest apply elsewhere.-New York Independent.

MRS. SOMERVILLE DESCRIBED BY MARIA EDGEWORTH.-In a letter to a friend, dated Beechwood Park, January 17th, 1822,

Miss Edgeworth wrote:-"We have spent two days pleasantly here with Dr. Wollaston, our own dear friend, Mrs. Marcet, and the Somervilles. Mrs. Somerville is the lady who, Laplace says, is the only woman who understands his works. She draws beautifully, and while her head is among the stars, her feet are firm upon the earth. Mrs. Somerville is little, slightly made, fairish hair, pink colour, small, grey, round, intelligent, smiling eyes, very pleasing countenance, remarkably soft voice, strong, but well-bred Scotch accent; timid, not disqualifying timid, but naturally modest, yet with a degree of self-possession through it which prevents her being in the least awkward, and gives her all the advantage of her understanding; at the same time, that it adds a prepossessing charm to her manner, and takes off all dread of her superior scientific learning."

SPECTRUM ANALYSIS ANNOUNCED.-One bright morning Dr. Wollaston came to pay us a visit in Hanover Square, saying, "I have discovered seven dark lines crossing the solar spectrum, which I wish to show you; then, closing the window shutters so as to leave only a narrow line of light, he put a small glass prism into my hand, telling me how to hold it. I saw them distinctly. I was among the first, if not the very first, to whom he showed these lines, which were the origin of the most wonderful series of cosmical discoveries, and have proved that many of the substances of our globe are also constituents of the sun, the stars, and even of the nebulæ. Wollaston gave me the little prism, which is doubly valuable, being of glass manufactured at Munich by Frannhofer, whose table of dark lines has now become the standard of comparison in that marvellous science, the work of many illustrious men, brought to perfection by Bunsen and Kirchhoff.- Mary Somerville.

Dr.

EMIGRANTS.-A correspondent of the "Times" in New Zealand gives an amusing account of the classes of emigrants that arrive since free passages have been in vogue: "I see that the tide of emigration from the United Kingdom is setting in this direction. It is quite time that it should. We have ample room and remunerative employment for a very much larger number of men than are in the colony, and fresh resources are daily developing as the public works progress. There seems to be a fear in England that the best men of the old country are moving away to the new. The experience out here is that we have a very fair share of an inferior quality of biped among our im ports. A few days ago the following notice appeared in one of

our leading papers :-" -There is probably some subtle pleasure in our immigration agents in England making up their invoices of assisted immigrants, in those neat and compendious forms which are faithfully reproduced by the officers in charge at the various barracks, both before and after the arrival of our intending colonists. Thus, three carpenters, two school teachers, fifteen farm labourers, two clerks, one artist. These no doubt look better than when afterwards re-assorted and re-classified, somewhat after the following manner :-One baked potato man, two umbrella menders, five habitual drunkards, one showman, two thimble-riggers, two cork-cutters, one feather-dresser, two doll's-eye makers, one "Chelsea bruiser," three loafers (pure and simple), two good men and true. Then the beautifully indefinite description of "three married couples and fifteen ser vant girls," divided, probably on their own representations, into so many housemaids, cooks, and nurses, leaves no excuse for more particular inquiry. It must yet be an open question which country is most benefited by the importation of these people.'"

DARWINISM.-Any one of Mr. Darwin's books, admirable though they all are, consists but in the setting forth of a multitude of indeterminate problems. He proves in the most beau tiful manner that each flower of an orchid is adapted to some insect which frequents and fertilizes it, and these adaptations are but a few cases of those immensely numerous ones which have occurred throughout the life of plants and animals. But why orchids should have been formed so differently from other plants, why anything, indeed, should be as it is, rather than in some of the other infinitely numerous possible modes of existence, he can never show. The origin of everything that exists is wrapped up in the past history of the universe. At some one or more points of past time there must have been arbitrary determinations which led to the production of things as they are." Principles of Science," by W. S. Jevons.

KNOWLEDGE ON EARTH INCOMPLETE.-No one can have

lived long without experiencing sorrowful events of which the significance is inexplicable. But if we cannot succeed in avoiding contradiction in our notions of elementary geometry, can we expect that the ultimate purposes of existence shall present themselves to us with perfect clearness? I can see nothing to forbid the notion that in a higher state of intelligence much that is now obscure may become clear. We perpetually find ourselves in the position of finite minds attempting infinite problems, and can we be sure that where we see contradiction, an infinite intelligence might not discover perfect logical harmony —“Principles of Science," by W. S. Jevons.

GARIBALDI ON PETRARCH.-The "Cologne Gazette" gave the following letter which Garibaldi sent to the ex-General Bordone on the occasion of the Petrarch celebration:-"Caprera, July 1.-My dear General,— 'Di vivi inferno (Roma)! Un gran miracol fia, Se Cristo teco alfine non s'adira."

[Hell of the living! (speaking of Rome). It would be a great wonder if Christ were not at length enraged at thee.] These glorious verses of the great poet of Vaucluse show the anti-clerical character of his immortal genius. Petrarch is certainly, as well as Dante, one of the most powerful of the great pioneers who have undermined the abominable structure of superstition to its very foundations at a time when all kinds of inquisitors wasted human flesh with as much zeal as only the man-eaters of the cannibal islands can develop.-GARIBALDI."

SPARROWS. The sparrow is, I believe, the only bird that is a voluntary inhabitant with man-lives in his society, and is his constant attendant, following him wherever he fixes his resi dence. It becomes immediately an inhabitant of the new farmhouse, in a lonely place or recent enclosure, or even in an island; will accompany man into the crowded city, and build and feed there in content, unmindful of the noise, the smoke of the furnace, or the steam-engine, where even the swallow and the marten, that flock around him in the country, are scared by the tumult and leave him: but the sparrow, though begrimed with soot, does not forsake him; feeds on his food, rice, potatoes, or almost any other extraneous substance lic may find in the street; looks to him for his support, and is maintained almost entirely by the industry and providence of It is not known in a solitary and independent state.-Journal of a Naturalist.

man.

dan a dust to mine!" cried the abbé, almost angry with the comparison.

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Nay; I have lost the prospect of a good post, and am now quite at sea again as to where I shall find bread; Cordell, too, his being away just now is a sad thing."

"Sad ting; it is all sad ting-ver sad. Hélas! I can never, never be happy again," said the abbé, renewing his lamentations.

"Your great ancestor, the Constable, forgot his defeats of Pavia and Dreux in the glories of St. Denis, It isn't like a Montmorenci to give way to despair." "De Constable! bah! he has never been cheat and rob like me; he has never been walk and talk from morning till night for poor tree shillang and sixpence, and den for it all to be fly away wid."

"No; his troubles were not like yours; but I meant to comfort you by showing that as defeat and captivity, as you often have told us, were in his case succeeded by victory and glory-'

"Bah! glory!" interrupted the abbé, with great disgust; "he die of his wounds after St. Denis.'

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Yes, but he conquered; glory was the aim of his life, and he died covered with glory."

"What is glory?" said the abbé. "I have no battle to fight; I do not want glory-I want-eh! my poor two tousand pound!" and again he burst

into tears.

"I only wished to remind you of your name, de Montmorenci," said Anthony; "I thought that would inspire you with courage to bear your loss."

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You tought!" exclaimed the abbé, much excited; "you should tought better dan dat, if de wicked man dat has break his bank would say to me, 'Saar, you are of de noble family of de Montmorenci, you shall have back your two tousand pound,' den it would be one grand consolation. Hélas!" he cried, burying his face in his hands, as he felt that such a happy result was a fiction.

"I am so very sorry," said Anthony, who thought it better to wait till the first frenzy had passed. "Bah!" exclaimed the abbé, through his fingers. "Well, I must go and see how I may best remedy my own trouble, since you will not let me comfort you under yours," said Anthony, rising to leave him. "Do not go, Monsieur Antoine, good Monsieur Antoine, I entreat you to pardon me. I have forget your goodness to come to de miserable! Hélas! what miserable I am," cried the abbé, with a despairing gesture.

Anthony, looking at him with the greatest kindness, rescated himself.

This touched the heart of the poor abbé, who cried, "Ah! my good friend, you are my true friend; you come to me in my grief, and you-yes-I have not care for your grief; but it is a pity, I am sorry for you. I hope you shall soon have better dan dat you lose. Hélas! what can I do?" he exclaimed, relapsing into his own sorrows.

"I believe I shall have just what is best for me; I believe that whatever happens is for my good," said Anthony.

"For your good? Well, it may be; but I cannot say dat, Monsieur Antoine, no, I cannot."

"No, I wish you could; it would do more for you in helping you to bear it than all the Montmorenci blood in your veins, which, you see, won't help

at all."

claimed the abbé, much excited; "ce monde est plein de fous, I am fool too mosh, but not dat fool. No, no, good Monsieur Antoine," he cried, with an hysterical little laugh.

"I believe it," said Anthony. "I have it on the best authority."

"You believe it? What you believe?" asked the abbé.

"Why, that God has permitted this loss for some wise and kind end, and that you will one day confess it."

"You believe dat?" said the abbé, rising on his tiptoes; "believe I shall say 'tank God' for de breaken bank? Ha, ha! No, Monsieur, I shall not pretend as God has breaken de bank; it is a wicked tief has done it, and shall I say him tanks? Jamais!"

"I do not want to offend you, nor to press unwelcome consolations on you, my dear friend. If you were a believer in this Book, you would see as I see, and we could join in praying that God would enable us to get all the good he intends for us in these trials. I assure you I am in as much need of it as you." As he spoke he drew out his Bible, in which he had frequently tried to interest the abbé, and turning to the epistle to the Hebrews read these words: "Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.'

The abbé shrugged his shoulders rather impatiently, but said nothing.

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"And here, too, listen to this: He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men,' Anthony read, again, from the Lamentations.

"It is ver good, Monsieur Antoine; it is all ver good," said the abbé, coldly; "but I tink dere is noting to do of God in my trouble; for why? I have been ver good man; I am not sinner like some tief dat breakens bank, and rob de poor. I am good and kind, and does no harm-ask my pupil, ask Madame Higgin, is it not?-and when I had saved my tree tousand I should have turn again to my own country, to my poor sister wid so many chick-unchile, and to my broder who is sick. Is it not good? God love de good, he shall punish de wicked; it is in de Bible!" he added triumphantly.

"What do you think of Job?" asked Anthony, determined not to give up.

"Job? what of him? He has not work hard for many year, and he cheat and steal of everyting," said the abbé, who was very ignorant of the Scriptures, and knew nothing of the patriarch's afflictions.

"Now listen to this," said Anthony, and he read the first and part of the second chapter of Job. To make it more forcible to the abbé, he translated it into French as he went on, getting many an involuntary correction from the little Frenchman.

"Job was a good man," said Anthony at the close, the abbe keeping silence; "and yet," continued Anthony, "God permitted his trials-such trials!-children, wealth, health, all taken away." The abbé shrugged his shoulders, and looked musingly at the Bible.

"If we have Job's spirit to say, 'Blessed be the name of the Lord,' under our trials, don't you think it will be well for us? I'm sure there's nothing else will really carry us through."

"I have not got it, good Monsieur Antoine," said the abbé, with great simplicity; "I cannot say, 'I tank God to lose my two tousand pound;' it is not

man."

"Aha, gentilhomme! What is poor gentilhomme? When I could say, 'I got'-but it is all over, I can no more say dat," replied the abbé, sorrowfully.

"You can, you ought; you need not care for any one; you can work; you are not laid on your bed covered with sores like Job, God has spared your health; you are known to be an excellent master, your pupils highly respect you, and you may easily recover a part of your loss, and lay by something for old age, when you can work no longer," said Anthony, firmly.

The abbé smiled for the first time, not very decidedly, but still a smile hovered round his lips.

Well, Monsieur Antoine, you are my ver good friend," he exclaimed; "I tank you ver mush; I will try-I will try to be satisfy; I will tink about my work, my pupil-dere is two new pupil I have got."

"And now is the time to raise your terms," said Anthony.

"It is? Ver good! I shall not lose my pupil ?" said the abbé, whose fears of such a result had kept him from the increased charge.

"Certainly not," said Anthony, "people prize dear things, depend on it."

After a short chat on the amount of the increase, Anthony, seeing his poor friend somewhat restored to his serenity, said he must go for an hour or two to inquire about a secretaryship which he believed to be gone, but which while a doubt remained he thought it wise to see after.

"Pauvre Monsieur Antoine!" said the abbé, kindly; "how compose you look; you are as happy to-day as when you had no trouble."

"This is the secret of peace," said Anthony: ""Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not to thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.' Now I believe that, honestly believe it, so where's the wisdom of fretting?"

"Hah! you are good ver good, and Job was

good; I am not good like dat. No, I am good, but not as you and Job."

"I good! Not I, and Job was not good; There is none good but one, that is God,'" said Anthony; "his goodness is so great that he supplies our weakness out of his strength, and all our need out of his fulness."

"You have always say dat," said the little Frenchman, with a sigh; "I know it is true; God is good. I wish I love him like " he was going to add, "you and Job," but he checked himself. "He is the happiest who loves him best, I am sure of that, abbé," said Anthony; "godliness has the promise of this life as well as the next." "Yes, yes," said the abbé; "den you shall have dinner to-day here? bien, I have some leetle fish, shall make des rissoles-you like it garlic? Ver good, it is noting when der is no garlic. I will have our dinner in two hour from now," and Authony assenting, departed.

T

"He has leave his book," said the abbé, taking up the Bible; "how he has learn it! It is ver good ting to know it! Hélas! Job has lose his money, and his goods, and is ver ill; bien, it is true. I am not ill; no, I can work, and I have raise my term. Well, well, where is my frypan? I must go buy some herb; but dere is my lesson of one hour to Monsieur Fisher, I shall prepare des rissoles when I come back, it is plenty time." Whereupon, going into his bedroom, he adjusted his dress and sprinkled a little fresh powder on his hair, then, brushing his hat, but very gently that he might not work off the nap, he took up his professional bag and natty little cane, and telling Mrs. Higgins he should be home in " one hour and leetle more," took his way to Fisher's lodgings.

"MR. KING!" exclaimed Miss Kezia Millet, a lady who resided with Miss King as her companion, WO thought you must be far on your way to the od ri ferous countries."

Miss Kezia Millet had not enjoyed the advantages of early schooling; she was the daughter of the captain of a trading vessel, who had married a distant connection of the King family; he had died during her infancy, and her inother having spent all her energies in obtaining the support of her children, had never been able to provide for their education. But they had struggled on, gathering as they could, here and there; they were all sharp-witted, and not disposed to throw away opportunities.

Kezia, the only girl, had not had the advantage of going out into the world, and by her own efforts obtaining access to book knowledge; she had been kept at home to help her mother in household and family work, until the gradual decline of her health added to Kezia's labours that of a nurse.

But she did not repine. She had not received those gifts which brighten the lot of the wealthy young, neither was she possessed of any remarkable talent which might enable her to rise through her difficulties to the state of a well-cultivated mind, but she had a spirit not easily daunted, and a happy insensibility to her deficiencies that made them very nearly unimportant to her.

Such books as came within her reach she had

availed herself of. Her reading had certainly been | of a very unconnected kind; she sometimes read first what ought to have come last, and vice versa, yet, like the chips and bits in the kaleidoscope, her information thrown together made a very pretty appearance to her when she surveyed it, and she was on the whole quite satisfied with her attainments.

Miss King had no natural taste for poor relations, and if Kezia had not been, by a small property that fell to her after her mother's death, independent, though not rich, she would never have had an invitation to reside with her.

But there was a sprightly manner about Kezia, and she was a good housekeeper, and knew the value of money, and she was a good nurse-so Miss King, shaping her action by her usual rule of self, determined to have her.

Yes, I will go to her; she is getting into years, and one ought to stand by one's relations." This was Kezia's view when consenting to the arrange

ment.

It was some time before the two ladies settled down into "amicable relations," as the newspapers say. Miss King was too fond of acting the great lady, and Kezia was equally fond of showing that they were cousins, and that there was equality as well as fraternity; moreover, she constantly brought a blush on Miss King's face, by her very remarkable eccentricities of pronunciation-always selecting her longest words to perform upon in the company of their most honourable guests.

Oftentimes, when Kezia was rejoicing in the brilliant effect her conversation was producing, her dignified cousin was smarting under the ridicule which she knew it must provoke.

With these remarks we may now proceed with Miss Millet's conversation with Anthony King, who, as she stated in the opening of this chapter, was supposed by her and his aunt to be "on his way to the odoriferous countries."

Anthony, after premising that he had been disappointed in his plans, inquired if he could see his

aunt.

"My cousin is, let us say, out of spirits this morning," replied Kezia, with a look indicating that "spirits" meant "temper."

"I must see her," said Anthony, calmly; "I have very particular business to speak about."

"I think she is hardly up to particular business this morning, Mr. King; between ourselves let it beshe has not quite got over a call from her Phoenix, Mr. Caleb Case."

"Has he brought any distressing intelligence?" inquired Anthony.

"Mr. King," said Kezia, oracularly, and holding up her finger, "that man is not the man he goes for; you may take my word for it. He is well, it is best to be cautious, so I'll say nothing more than this, that he's the veriest old double-face that ever came into a house. Him a Phoenix! Why, as I tell my cousin, it is to be hoped if he is, another like him won't rise out of his ashes."

"But what has he been about to-day that he has so disturbed my aunt?" inquired Anthony, diverted with his new acquaintance.

"How can I tell? Don't you know mischief is always done in the dark? As sure as he comes-the old interpoler!-I am turned out of the room; and as sure as he goes, I have a good will to keep out of it, for he leaves my cousin so puffed up, so full of her

self, and so ill-conditioned, that though I'm very sociable, to tell you the truth (between you and me, let it be), I like my own company the best."

"Then you don't think Mr. Case came on any special business of an unpleasant nature?" asked Anthony, whose thoughts naturally reverted to Callowfields.

"Not I. I only know that when he was gone my cousin ordered the servant to be careful not to let any one in who might call, if he gave the name of Firebrace."

"Ah, it is so then," said Anthony.

"So! how?" inquired Kezia, who had a great taste for information, and was as much agrieved by the fact of her never being allowed as an auditor in Mr. Case's visits, as at the evil effect they produced.

"My aunt," replied Anthony, "has, through Mr. Case, I should think, taken an unwarrantable prejudice against Mr. Firebrace. He is a man of the highest character, and would not wrong a living being."

"I dare say, I dare say. I know the name quite well. I was reading it in a book of old family annuals, the other day; it is distantly connected with the King family," said Kezia.

"Yes, my mother bore that name," replied Anthony.

"To be sure, so she did; we, the Millets, are connected through the mother's side. I think the Firebrace family (let it be between you and me, Mr. King) beats the Kings."

"Very likely," said Anthony, laughing; me especially."

"It is a fine old Episcopolian family," continued Kezia, "noted many ways. There was, for instance, a Sir Henry Firebrace in the reign of King Charles, who was recommended by the Archbishop of-I forget whether it was York or Canterbury, but I know he was metropolitan."

"Juxon?" asked Anthony, who well knew the story, and was surprised that she should do so.

"Ahem! yes," said Kezia, at a venture, not quite up in her lesson, and afraid she should forget the rest before she had time to finish it; but Anthony interrupted her, saying,

"Yes, I remember, he was an attached servant to Charles I, and served in an honourable station under his son, through Juxon's memorial. My friend, Cordell, is a side branch of that same family."

"And a very respectable family it is; and what has this young man done to be anthematized by Mr. Case?" said Kezia, looking almost martial with indignation as she spoke.

"He has tried to befriend me," said Anthony, "and it is about the business that he is engaged in. I would gladly see my aunt."

"Well, Mr. King, if you are ruled by me, you will take another opportunity; but if you insist, I will go and tell her you wish for a little conversation."

"Perhaps-perhaps-I had better defer. I don't know, if as you say she is not in a kind spirit, I am no courtier."

"You will find her implaceable," said Kezia, resting strongly on the last word.

"Then I shall do no good," said Anthony. "Suppose, Miss Millet, I gave the particulars to you, you could give them to my aunt at a favourable moment, and I am sure you will do it in all good faith."

Kezia sprang at the offer. She hoped she knew what good faith meant. Anthony might trust her,