I could follow the different pieces as they
came one after another, because there was
just in front of me a brother, and sister (as I
took them to be), who looked as if they lived in
some cathedral-close, and who held their book
between them so that I could look over, without
appearing to intrude, and see the words. And
very few words there did seem to me to be, the
same doing duty over and over again in a way
that I could not a bit understand. When they
were singing about " Hercules" especially, they
went on saying, " The world's avenger is no
more," till my Charley wanted to know how long
it would be before they got to the next verse.

But, dear me, it didn't matter how long they
were over some of those pieces, so beautiful as
they were. Why, there was one that was like
being in a grove full of singing-birds, with a
beautiful whistling sound following after the
words as if some thrush or nightingale was
mimicking the singer. " Hush, ye pretty
warbling choir, " it was called, and many the
warbling choir that the gentleman who wrote
that must have listened to and well and truly
imitated. Ah! it's no use my speaking of
these things. If I was to go through all I
heard, and put down each piece, as it was
spoken of in the newspapers next day, I
shouldn't be giving pleasure to any living soul
by doing so, nor could I say the half or the
quarter of what ought to be said about that
precious music. But this I do know, that there
is refreshment and rest in such sounds, and
something even more than these. For as I
listened to that song, " Unto us a child is born,"
I felt a strange stirring in my heart, and the
thought did come into my mind, whether my
poor departed one heard music such as that
where he is gone to. And my good man seemed
at that time to come back and speak to me, and
to help me with such comfort as I have not
known since the day when he died serving his
country in the Russian war. My boy kept still
and close beside me while those words were sung,
and neither moved nor looked about as he does
at other times. It was a strange thing for a poor
old lodging-house keeper to have such thoughts
as I had then, and sure I am that they will come
back to me often yet and cheer me through all
the toil and all the trials, of one common sort or
other, that may be in store for me between this
time and the hour when I devoutly hope that,
please God, toil and trouble may be no more.

* My good landlady's notes on the Handel
rehearsal stop at this place, the worthy woman
having been called away by some of those
household cares which naturally make very
large demands upon her time and attention.
She asks me to finish her letter for her, but I
really find that I have nothing to add to what
she has already so ingeniously stated. So being
very hard pressed with my great inquiry as to
what would at this moment have been the
position of European affairs if Napoleon the First
had escaped to America, instead of trusting
himself to the tender mercies of the captain of
the Bellerophon, I will excuse myself from any
further remarks, and leave the excellent Mrs.
Jones's letter to speak for itself.

JOHN BROADHEAD.

LIGHT WINES.

THE time, we hope, is fast approaching, when
summer-heat and dog-days' dust, and galley-slave
toil of Exhibition-seeing, will create thirst which
will require to be slaked with something less
potent than Portuguese and Spanish liquors.
True, we might make them into wine-and-water;
but, as wet is the greatest enemy of the vine, so all
aristocratic wines repudiate an alliance with water,
as a cause of weakness and diminished repute.
Secondly, from humbler wines refreshing wine-and-water
can be made, less expensive, containing
a larger proportion of the healing virtues of the
grape, and more thirst-quenching and agreeable
to those whose taste has been duly educated.

Nor need the vinous draught be wine and
water, unless for form's sake, appearances, and
modesty, just to avoid the direct stares or sidelong
glances of inveterate port and sherry
drinkers, or persevering quaffers of stout and bitter
ale. If, at the Exhibition, a herculean amount of
galleries and foreign courts, including trophies,
with explanations of machinery and mathematical
instruments by learned and communicative experts
have been done— why, then, on returning to
your lonely lodging, or sitting down to your
choice dinner at your hotel, you may boldly pour
out a tumbler of wine — pure from the bottle,
unadulterated by the pump — to dispel your
weariness, and may drink the same with beneficial
effect, provided you select a wine
suitable for the season and the purpose.

All fermented liquors are employed to restore
(temporarily or permanently) expended strength,
to support weakness, to stimulate lassitude.
There is a degree up to which they are beneficial,
and a degree beyond which they are injurious,
and that both temporarily and permanently.
It happens, that some of the liquids
which give the strongest immediate stimulus
are the most injurious if abused or indulged in
habitually; while others, whose effect is gentle
and moderate at the time, may be daily taken
in reasonable quantities, with a favourable influence
on the health and constitution. Such is
the difference between wine, the ancient cheerer
of the heart of man, and the modern discovery
— alcohol, represented generally by three of her
daughters, brandy, rum, and gin. The average
life of a wine-bearing vine, fairly treated and in
favourable circumstances, is from a hundred to
a hundred and fifty years. Some few at two
hundred years are still healthy and productive.
The life of Man, according to M. Flourens, ought
to be about the same, the end of the second
century being its extreme limit. To attain this, the
only elixir to be employed is a sober allowance
of good wine.

The different effects of different fermented
and spirituous liquors are dependent on other
qualities besides their strength. A glass of