woods, while appliances for backgammon
occupied the uncovered recess below.

There, too, in a queer corner niche behind
the large china-bowl, with its bunch of white
and pheasant-eyed pinks, or dark red clover,
and coquettish pink carnations, was the precious
sarcophagus-like casket of black shagreen
with silver claws and lock, within which lived,
in faded red velvet, three beautifully chased little
silver canisters of old Louis Quatorze fashion,
which used to be solemnly displayed by Tackett
for my special delectation. They had graced
the tea-table of ancient mother-in-law Vance, as
they had that of her mother before her, in company
with the Nankin china, what time godpapa
had brought his poor little dark-skinned
bride home to be its sunshine, and I delighted
to trace out the mailed arm with a dagger
which was the family crest, and the strangely
twisted M.V., standing for Millicent Vance,
which lurked half hidden among the graceful
boss-work and tracery. I believe the tiny
canisters were never used even on the grandest
occasions in. Meadow-row, and a small portion of
the crusty old mother-in-law's delicate green
and black tea, and a few small lumps of sparry-
looking sugar, yet lurked (as my inquisitive
childish eyes soon found out) in their recesses,
giving the whole apparatus, I could not have
told why, a delightful flavour of mysterious
antiquity to me.

Sometimes, but this was not in those remotest
days of all, Aunt Bella would be coaxed to tell
me stories as dinner-time drew near; and then
she and I and the braiding-frame took up our
station at the window commanding those erratic
flights of steps on the flank of Stony Point, and
I had to keep watch the while, and give her
warning as soon as I saw godpapa, easily
distinguishable by his halting gait and his green
umbrella, making his slow way down them crab-
fashion. I verily believe that one of the sharpest
pangs Aunt Bella felt under the misfortune of
her loss of sight, was the fading out of that
beloved figure, fainter and ever fainter month by
month, as she watched its return at the
accustomed hour. I remember a wistful straining
look in her loving hazel-brown eyes, turned
towards the well-known path as often as I
announced godpapa's approach, and then a sudden
dropping of the lids and a patient struggling
little sigh, whose significance I feel now far
better than I could then.

The story-telling was always broken off when
godpapa loomed on the horizon; but it was
very delightful while it lasted, though my
favourite giants and enchanters performed no
parts in it. I do not think Aunt Bella had
much taste for the marvellous, for I know I
more than once set her nodding over her netting-
pins by my rambling attempts to interest her
in the loves of Badoura and Camaralzaman (he
wrote his name so in my day, though I suppose
it has long since been correctly broken up into
syllables), and the midnight journey through
the air of fair-faced Bedreddin of the cream-tarts
from Cairo to Damascus in the arms of a
jinn or geni, as we ignorantly phrased it, when
Monsieur Galland's bad translation re-translated
was our ne plus ultra of romance.

A LESSON WELL LEARNT.

When the shadow of death hung over the
Italian campaign, from which Italy knew how
to take more liberty than it was meant that
she should have, a citizen of Geneva, M. Henri
Dunaut, had his heart strengthened for noble
labours by the recollection of the work done by
Florence Nightingale in the Crimea. If there
must be wars, why may they not be fought out
by civilised nations with common recognition of
the common duties of humanity? What if there
were a General European Sanitary Commission?
By his energetic labour competent men of many
countries were brought together last year in the
International Congress upon this question at
Geneva— our Inspector-General of Hospitals,
then representing Great Britain, by authority
of our Secretary of War, with competent
official deputies from France, and from Austria,
and from Russia, and from Prussia, Italy, Spain,
Sweden, Bavaria, Wurtemburg, Baden and
Hesse, Hanover and Holland.

We know not what may come of the movement
thus commenced, but we are glad to learn,
from a little book called "A Woman's Example
and a Nation's Work" (published by Ridgway),
that in the midst of all the miseries of civil
war in America the lesson taught by Florence
Nightingale has not been lost upon a kindred
people. The newspapers tell all the battle
stories, and have enabled us to sup full of the
horrors of the strife. Of the pity, and the deeds
of mercy it engenders, we have not been told all
we might hear.

The women on each side connected themselves
at the outbreak of the war with the great work
of healing and solace. The South has assuredly
and certainly not been behind the North in
generous self-sacrifice, but from the South few
records come to us as yet; at present it is only
of what has been done in the North that we
can tell the tale.

The women began their work of mercy by
filling churches, schoolrooms, and the large
houses of many wealthy persons, with lint-
scrapers, cutters, folders, and packers of the
linen they gave to the use of the wounded.
Then they organised themselves, first in New
York, into a " Woman's Central Association of
Relief;" like bodies were constituted elsewhere,
and advice was sought from men of experience.
They were advised to ascertain what government
could and would do in the direction to
which their work tended, then to work with it,
and by their ovn liberality of gifts and labour,
supplement its unavoidable short-comings. The
clergyman of New York, who was foremost in
giving this counsel, the Rev. Doctor Bellows,
accompanied by three of the chief physicians
of New York, Doctors Van Buren, Harris,
and Harsen, went, therefore, in deputation