Can God have gifted it with power to soar
With dove-like instinct to the distant nest
Where dwell its dear ones? Hath it found its way,
Mysteriously endow'd, to that loved home
Where centre all its wishes, fondest hopes?
Hath strong desire prevailed? Doth sympathy
Exist with such intensity of might,
It can convey with magic potency
The spirit where it listeth? 'Tis not here:
Then whither, whither, hath it flown?' " " It came
To us," in low-breathed whisper, Peggy said:
" God sent it here; we saw him, felt him here;
His spirit was permitted to return
To us, while absent from its fleshly bounds:
But tell us more; go on! how he revived,
How both of you survived that time; go on,
Go on." " I've little more to tell," said Will;
" For, strange to say, from that same deadly trance
He woke to life, to health, to energy:
He told me he had seen his cottage home,
Its Christmas hearth, around it those he loved;
And seem'd restored to his old cheery strength
Of spirit by the dream, or vision, or
Whate'er it was: how may we know? Suffice
Us to adore the Power that doth create
Such miracles of sympathy in love.

"Soon after Charley was his own strong self
Again, we had the fortune good to spy
A ship not too far out in offing to
Perceive our hoisted signals: she put in,
Took us aboard, and brought us straight to port,
To England, where we hasten'd hither, that
Our safe arrival might precede whate'er
Bad tidings should perchance have got afloat
That Charley and Will Hardy had been kill'd
In an affray with savage islanders.
But here we are, return'd in health and life,
Prepared to be received as heroes of
Adventure, made the most of, cherish'd and
Caress'd. Mate Charley has, I see, secured
Already some of his earn'd welcome home,"
Said Will, with archness in the glance he cast
To where his friend sat leaning o'er the back
Of Mary's chair; " and as for me, he knew
I had no friends, no sweetheart, no dear home
To go to, so he brought me here with him,
And you have ta'en me in with such a frank
And hospitable warmth, I ne'er shall feel
Again I have no friends or home: perhaps—-
Who knows?—- I may here find a sweetheart too!"

He said no more just then; but on the morrow,
As Ben was showing him their cottage garden,
And telling him of what bechanced while he
Was hewing down the Christmas log, Will saw
Fair Peggy gathering some snowdrops and
Some golden crocuses to deck their room—-
Their parlour-room—- in honour of their guests.
He went, with sailor promptness, to her side,
And, offering help, he linger'd near. " I learn'd,"
He said, " from Charley how to picture to
Myself the merry eyes and witching smile
Of Peggy, and I dwelt upon their image
Until I grew to long to see them. Now
I see, I find them more than true to his
Description; and, beyond their beauty, they
Possess the charm of eloquence in mute
Expression, saying how her brother's friend
And fellow-wanderer is welcome, for
His sake, to Peggy. Is it so?" " Indeed
It is," she earnestly replied; " for his
Dear sake, you're dear, most dear, to all of us."
"And for my own, I would be dear to you
Yourself, sweet Peggy," he rejoined. " I know
I must seem strangely sudden and abrupt,
But not to me is this a sudden thought:
I've ponder'd on it, brooded o'er it in
The watches of the night, the hours of eve;
I felt, before I saw you, I should love—-
And love you, Peggy, I most surely do,
With all my sailor heart: say, can you take
That heart and all its faithful honest love?"
Fair Peggy answer'd by no words, but eyes
And smile, with eloquence their own, said what
Look'd very like a cordial " Yes." Howe'er
That was, 'tis very certain, when the bells
Rang out the wedding-peal for Charley and
His bride, they rang besides for Will and his
Sweet Peggy. Cottage annals further say,
That when the log of yule next time was burnt,
Two christenings enhanced the festival.

THE SINEWS OF THE NATION.

"A pound of meat without bone" is to be
the future allowance of the British soldier,
according to the recommendation of the Royal
Commission on Recruiting. When that
recommendation is carried out, our soldiers will have a
better raw material for dinner than any other
army in Europe. The value of the meal will depend
on the degree of cultivation the military cooks
possess. In this addition to the daily military
meal the commissioners have been fortunate, and
have shown that they understand the tastes of
the class from which soldiers are drawn. We
are essentially a meat-eating people, and it is
necessary to rise as high as the tables of the
upper middle class before you meet with the
elaborately dressed vegetables, the salad, and
the desserts which are the usual additions to the
meal of a well-paid mechanic in France or
Germany.

The very deficiency of variety in our cooking
makes us more critical about our meat. Indeed, it
may safely be said that England is the only
country where the quality and flavour of beef
and mutton are appreciated—- always excepting
the best restaurants in Paris, where the fillet-
steak is cooked to perfection, and is popular
among diners of all nations. In soups and
entrées, whether fried, or sautéed, or stewed;
in cooking all vegetables, except potatoes plain,
we bow respectfully before a French chef; but,
for a plain roast, the English cook is unrivalled.
He alone is able to deal with joints of size and
substance, to utilise the fat and lean, to extinguish
every trace of rawness, and yet retain all
the delicate juices and the rich, not red, gravy
that flows at the knife's point from a leg of
well-fed Down or Highland mutton " like port
wine."

With these universal tastes for both quantity
and quality, it has not been without serious
alarm that our housekeepers read from day to
day, ever since the summer of 1865, accounts of
the progress of a deadly, highly infectious,
and absolutely incurable disease, which seemed
at one time as if it would reduce the roast beef
of old England to a luxury to be ranked by the
side of turtle, or even to make the rising race of