animation; "of course, I know as well as
you that she won't, if she can help it; but you
know she loves you with all her heart—you
know that though she tries to be gay, and
deceives her poor old aunt and her father,
who is always dreaming about some old Greek
lovers instead of minding his own dear little
girl; you know that when she thinks no one
sees her the tears come welling up into her
eyes, and she is grown so thin that I could
almost span her waist, which used to be of a
proper natural size. I do not doubt that she
would protest and be very miserable, but you
are her natural guardian now, and it is your
business to take care of her health. Now, if
you carry her off, and marry her against her
will, she can't blame any one but you and me,
and I don't think she can be long angry with
either of us."

Frank smiled, and loved his brother very
dearly for his vehemence. And when he
detailed to Catherine his proposal in all its
extravagant wildness, there was a touch of
sadness in the smile with which he related
it, and in that with which she listened— a
sadness perhaps inseparable from love so deep
as theirs, yet showing that a foreboding of
evil was in the heart of each.

   A FIRST SORROW.

ARISE! this day shall shine
    For ever more,
To thee a star divine
   On Time's dark shore.

Till now thy soul has been
   All glad and gay:
Bid it awake, and look
   At grief to-day!

No shade has come between
   Thee and the sun;
Like some long childish dream
   Thy life has run:

But now, the stream has reached
   A dark deep sea,
And sorrow, dim and crowned,
   Is waiting thee.

Each of God's soldiers bear
   A sword divine:
Stretch out thy trembling hands
   To-day for thine!

To each anointed Priest
   God's summons came:
Oh, soul, he speaks to-day
   And calls thy name.

Then, with slow reverent step,
   And beating heart,
From out thy joyous days,
   Thou must depart.

And, leaving all behind
   Come forth, alone,
To join the chosen band
   Around the throne.

Rr.ise up thine eyes—be strong,
   Nor cast away
The crown, that God has given
   Thy soul to-day!

IMPORTANT RUBBISH.

WE have, in one of our former numbers,*
shown how art and science have been brought
to bear upon things before thought worthless:
how the refuse of the smithy, the gas-works,
and the slaughter-house, have been made to
yield products the most valuable, results the
most beautiful. We are now about to relate
how another useful step has been made in
our Penny Wisdom.

* Penny Wisdom, vol. vi, p. 97.

The iron wealth of England is a proverb in
the most remote corners of the world. It
produces the enormous amount of three
millions of tons annually. We export to all
parts of the world iron and steel to the yearly
value of ten millions sterling, and machinery
and tools to the extent of two millions;
sums that equal the revenue of more than one
kingdom.

In travelling through the iron districts of
England, it is impossible to avoid being
struck with the vastness of the works carried
on in those places. A journey through our
mining districts—where undying flames leap
forth from hundreds of volcanoes and around
which nothing is discoverable but blackened
piles of cinders and unsightly slag—will
not be easily forgotten. For scores and
scores of miles, the traveller beholds these
apparently interminable heaps of refuse ore.
Carts, waggons, and trucks may be seen on
all sides, occupied in the endless task of
removing this metallic encumbrance of the
smelting-works. Hundreds of labourers
are engaged in conveying to remote and
undisturbed spots, the enormous piles of
black, friable, clinkery-looking stuff, the
slag, that day by day and hour by hour is
produced by the smelters of iron ore. Some
is flung down deep gullies, and hidden in the
dark yawning recesses of ravines, when haply
any such are to be found. Some is employed
in the hardening of rotten roadways, where
it is made to perform a very unsatisfactory
sort of duty for stone. Occasionally it is
shot into the sea, when near enough for
that purpose, which, however is not often
the case.

Of the actual extent of this rubbish production
some idea may be formed, when it is
stated, as it has been, on very good authority,
that in the removal of all this waste slag from
the furnace-mouths of the United Kingdom,
not much less than half-a-million sterling is
annually expended. Indeed, it has been
calculated that in round numbers there are, at
the present time, fully six millions of tons of
this refuse material produced in one year.
At this rate it would be easy to imagine the