Pepper and Mustard.

Human liffej though,, i \ great --and,. momentous affairf is' the sum and result of many little and apparently insignificant arrangements. Who, without experience, could think that pepper and mustard could materially influence our enjoyments— could affect, even in a moral point of view either the head or the heart? Yet so it is—:' these, little things are ,great to little men.'' Suppose thatwe are set down to Sinner, and that we ( have been,helped fo some hot and savoury soup ; . we, ■ take up the pepper-tip?,, but find it either hiiiptv, or half filled with large particles tftticii' wilt not pass through; or If it contain? a supply pf'good pepper,, the Bol^aareso stuffed up that r npt a particle t'&h , ihake its esqapg.'; ..o^wtiat 'is, stilj wcttse than all, 'the'H^has been so^ care lessly put on, that'the- jinqmfcriV we .'begin to,use it,' off;it tunib'ld:, aijd t%6 wkp\e contents J6f the crilet^fall. into bur plate' at once. Or, on-the^Ojthef:hand;. suppose , that- we have .been presented with a plate of Beef;' the ' mus^ra-pjpt'.'ifi empty,/or ' it impartially filleicl with'the r'ancid1 remains of a Former day, di?tify clogged around the sides and,' top of it}' or it may^.be filled with a thin tasteless fluid* the result, of a[ Hasty dash of wa^ei* wputL into the haif empty vessel before dinner. \ "It may not even be found on the'Jtable at all,; and, after several times calling fcjr it, and during the time lost in going for it or searching it out, you are obliged. silently to eat your beef without the aid of its, stimulating flavour. 'If, on 'the,' contrary, you are resolved to wait its appearance, yotfr patience and temper undergo a severe trial," and your keen appetite is lost in the anxiety of hope deferred, while the tedious process is gone through of procur ing a fresh supply. First of aIF, the keys have to be found ; or, it may be, the key which opens the work-basket which contains the key which opens, the closet wEich contains the shelf, where^ huddled among a dozen heterogeneous.packages; the paper containing fbe'mu'stJard powder is^o'be'found; Then1 this'powder, which has lost more than1 half its' pungency, by being kept in paper instead of a stone jar, has to be hurriedly mixed U£ with water, and is brought at last, after a world, of delay,, with large knot? of dry powder interspersed among the fralf-liqnid mass. If, under the same auspices, you should dine day after day at the same table, it is ten to one but the same neglects r are re peated, lif you should ask'foif pickles to your beefsteak, they also will lave to be waited for in the same manner; or if on the:'tablej they will in all probability contain a metallic spoon, the action of the acid on which producing a' 1 poisonous mixture, will effectually deter you, from partaking of them. In short, these little arrangements are an index of the, mind of the presiding mistress. It may sometimes be 'the fault of the servants.; but the omissions ."of servants, unleps they;'' are' incorrigible, more frequently depend' on the guiding spirit of the house than on their bwn peculiar faults. When one sees the 'arrangements of the table perfect, even including the well-filled, clean; and inviting mustard pot, he may be assumed that all the other most important depart merits of domestic management, are in their proper Order. 'My dear,' says, Mrs Slovehloof, ' why should you vex and fret yourself so about such a trifle as the omission of the mustard ? How often do you tell me not to fret myaelf about trifles ! Besides, I do hot think either, pepper or mustard agrees with y6u ; and I have been reading lately that too much of such things is unwholesome.' ' Yes, too much of anything is unwholesome; but what do y6n say to too little, or none at all?' 'I have read, my dear,' retort's Mrs Slovenlobf, ' that man in a state of nature requires none of these things ; that half broiled beef or vemson,^ of which you so often complain, is devoured by the Savage without salt;, .or pep : per, ■' or anything' else, and reckoned a most savoury nieal ; arid I do think, that all thp niceties of cookery are very useless, and lam'sure they are very, very trouble: ■ome !' 'The savage/ replies the husband, • takes his food thus because his 'squaw knovvs no better; but depend upon it, did she present him with a well-cooked and well-seasoned mess, he would eat it with a double relish, and thrive under it too, in a way quite different from what he does under his ( ill-cooked fare. But even your instance of the savage is an unfortunate one. Your ' man of nature 1 is just as fond of aromatics and other stimulants as a civilised man. Witness his avidity for salt, for aromatic and bitter roots and herbs, for the intoxicating cava, for beer, for tobacco. Nay, if we stoop to the analogy of the lower anamals —whose appetites you will'allow are under the guidance1 of unerring instinct —we shall find that' they, too, are equally incited by appetite to take along with their food stimulants, such as salt and aromatic herbs and roots.' Mrs Slbvenloof, how ever, was unwilling to be convinced. There are none more fertile in evasive excuses then the really indolent and negligent; and she spun out the argu menttor'two hours after dinner, advanc ing, however, nothing but commonplaces in support of her theory, till at last she unconsciously gave it a practical death blow, b^r partaking freely of both tea and coffee in the evening; both of which, according to her view of the question, were"equally unnecessary as pepper and mustard.

He wlio pays more for shop rent than for advertising don't understand business.

Awkward Situations.

In the days of the Empire, Marshal M'Mation, having become a father, went to the Mayoralty of the city of Nancy, to have the infant's birth and. name, regis tered^ as required by law. \He was ac companied ;by the nurse carrying the "baby, and two relatives. 1 You must wait,' said the clerk on duty, who did not know the Marshal.

The latter took a seat and waited. A quarter of an hour elapsed. The clerk, meanwhile, did nothing. He deliberately arranged and re-arranged his pen and paper; he then cut his nails with a pen knife, and ignored his visitors entirely. The . Marshal remained calm and imperturable ; his friends showed signs of indignation, but he signed for them to remain quiet. . At length the clerk, taking up his pen and opening up the registry, said : ' Well, what is your name, sir ? You are the father of the child, I suppose? What is his name P' •

-.'Write,' said the Marshal, coolly, 'Emmanuel, son of Patrick Maurice de MacMahon, Duke of Magenta, Marshal of France, here before you.' The pen dropped from the trembling clerk's fingers, The Marshal did not re port him. He considered the fright he had given the official to be punishment enough. We remember reading a story of a somewhat similar kind, in which another distinguished soldier was an actor. It was in the early days of the English ex pedition to Portugal and Spain, to aid those countries against Napoleon. In the chief clerk's office,of the War Department at London, thera was. a lull one day in business, and all the employes bad gone out for a while, leaving one young scion of aristocracy lolling at his desk, paring his nails, and otherwise illustrating his admiration for red tape, and his contempt for the rest of the world. A sharp, de cisive voice at his ear startled him, and caused him to turn round in his chair more rapidly than was hiß wont. At the railing by his elbow stood a spare, clean shaven man of erect figure and cold, severe manner. His dress was that of a

civilian

f Fill out these papers at once !' said the' stranger sharply and peremptorily handing the young man some blanks. The clerk slowly put up his eye-glass and surveyed the visitor coolly and deli berately for some time. ' And who may you be, sir ?' said the official at last, in a rather indignant, yet sneering manner. The visitor cast one searching glance at, over, and through the pert young man, and then said in his peculiar, clear, sharp, cold, tone:

i "My namo is Wellesley, my rank General. I leave for Lisbon to-morrow morning. Fill out these papers at once.' ;. The clerk was overwhelmed with con fusion and dismay. He essayed to speak,' but Wellesley stopped his apologies short, turned on his heel, and left, saying, un moved as ever :

' Fill out these papers at once. I shall return for them in fifteen minutes.'

Nothing more was heard of it, but that clerk was notably polite after that to un known civilians.

Knocklofty's Yarn.

BY TOM HOSE

Knocklofty, after a preliminary clearing of his throat, looked round on the company, and introduced his taie by remarking that what he was about to relate was an incident that occurred during'the Franco- Prussian war, and to which he would (by our kind leave) introduce fictitious names. Ho then commenced what he called the

SPANISH BBIDE

On the banks of the Rhine, in a deep vale, shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world, lived General Forbatsh and his young, lovely wife. For two years thus had they lived within themselves, retired from the society of the gay world of fashion. Many of Forbach's former aristocratic friends coldly shrugged their shoulders, and muttered, ' Ashamed of hia peasant wife,' and such like remarks. Two years ago, Forbach, during a tour through Spain, had met, and straigthway loved, Cignale D' Sero, the orphan child of a Spanish dame and grandee of that name. Cignale was a true type of a ' Spanish maiden, dark, and lovely beyond description. Forbach met her, and by his attention and respectful demeanour, won her young heart. As it has ever been with her race, to love is ail, is everything. Nothing but this would have reconciled her to leaving the bright, sunny, vine-clad hills of Spain, where she first saw the light of day, and where both her parents had caught their last glimpse of earth as it faded from their dying eyes, and the gates of heaven shut it out from their gaze. A few months after Forbach had met Cignale, he led her a bride to the altar of the village church of Bovesaro, and at the time my tale opens, it finds them in their Kheinish villa, living in a little world of themselves. About this time, the first decisive threatenings of the great struggle of '70 was murmuring in the distance.

Many, many nights did Cignale, with, tearful eyes, watch till near the matin's dawn, waiting, watching, praying for her husband's return ; then gladly would she fly to meet him, happy, again re-united, and the weary hours of watching would all be forgotten as her head sank upon her

husbands's shoulder. He, too, at first shared in her joy of meeting, and tenderly explained that war meetings, and war councils called for his unwilling presence. By degrees his manner 'became less kind, and more and more reserved towards Cignale, who, only shudderingly, thought of the time they might be parted for ever and aye. His (Forbach's) repeated absence began to awaken a horrible suspicion in her mind, and as he more colder grew, it fed the flames of jealousy till its passion grew a torment. Truly hath the master writ, 'Trifles light as air are, to the jealous, confirmation strong as proof of Holy Writ.' One night after Forbach had left her_ to attend a war council,'Cignalc followed him, saw him join the gay company of guests assembled at the fete that evening held at Count Arnim's, and Cignale's eyes blazed with passion as, through the windows, she saw her husband lavishing those attentions that she so longed for on another. When he returned home, she passively met him, and as he told her of the arduous duties of the council he had been at, her lips set closer, and her heart grew cold and colder towards him. The following morning was the ever eventful twenty-first of. July, eighteen hundred and seventy, when the first shot of the Franco-Prussian war. was fired, waking up the echo that lay sleeping round Saarbruck. Germany was now one grand scene of' bustle—not confusion — each one seemed only desirous to meet the foci Cignale was therefore not disappointed or surprised when, a few days afterwards, her husband told her he was ordered to the front. But; the,c.old manner inwhichhe kissed her—his. goodbye wounded her more than words can tell. We must now leave Cignale to her thoughts, and follow Forbach to the sound of the tramp of armed men. The morning's sun of August, the eighteenth,'. rose on the field of Gravelotte, then pure and unstained, but which, before the shades of night had fallen, was designed to be the resting-place of many a brave man. That day gallantly did' Forbach bear himself in one of the many sorties he was engaged in. His horse was shot from under him. and ere he could recover himself, the sword of a soldier of the 16th Corps d' Armee was at his throat. Another instant would have been his last, when, crack rang the report of a drummer boy's pistol close at hand, and Forbach was saved. When the sun sank to rest, giving up its watch to the pale fair moon^ it lit up a scene of carnage and slaughter,1 for Gravelotte's bloody fight was o'er, as thousands of dead and dying bore only too true evidence of. That night Forbach sought Karl, the drummer boy and gave him a hand some emerald ring as a token of his thanks for Earl's bravery in saving his life.' -A few days found Forbach stationed in Rheims.with a detachment of the gallant 81st. Here a month passed amidst enjoyments that the Prussians know well how to appreciate. It seemed as if Forbaeh had totally forgotten the existence of his little wife that he had left fur riway, and only lived basking in the sunlight of the smiles of the. fair daughter of General Statigny. One bright summer morning after parade, Forbach had just handed her to her carriage, and was about to raise her hand to his lips, when Karl, the drummer boy, sprang from the rank, and drawing a small stiletto from his jacket, plunged it into the breast of General Statigny's daughter, who fell senseless back on the cushions of her carriage. At the same time a dozen ready hands had made a prisoner of Karl, and quickly placed him in the military prison. Much indignation was felt by the soldiers that such a cowardly attack should be made by a Prussian soldier on a woman. The popular, theory was, that Karl was mad. Tho court-martial was unanimous in condemning him to death. Forbach visited Karl in prison, but failed to elicit the cause of the mad act that had so nearly resulted in the death of a lovely young woman; tho only information he got was, that after Karl had paid the debt he owed military law, then Forbach should know. The following morning was fixed for his execution. The troops were all drawn up on parade, and the shooting party told off under a sergeant. Tho voice of tho rough, honest old sergeant trembled as he shook Karl's hand to bid him good-by, and his eyes filled with tears as he asked if Karl had not a message, perhaps for a mother, a sister, or some dear one, and he promised, if life was left, to deliver it. Karl thanked him, and placed a letter in his hands to give to General Forbach when he (Karl) was no more. The sergeant promised com pliance, shook his hand, and withdrew. A j few moments after, m obedience to For- I bach's signal, the sergeant gave the word that freed Karl's soul from its earthly bondage. The sergeant advancing, saluted General Forbach, and placed Karl's letter in his hand. A second after the whole detachment was astonished to see Forbach fling himself on the dead body of the drummer boy, sobbing, ' My Cignale; my wife!' Senseless they carried him home to awake to such a horrible reality. Every tenderness that affection could lavish on her (now, alas, too late), Forbach gave. Cignnle was buried in a quiet, retired corner of the old churchyard of Hheims. Forbach obtained leave to retire from the service which ho did. Previous to my leaving Berlin, I met Forbach, a pale, haggard wreck of his former self, seeming to live a dying life, for doubtless within his breast that endless burning thought would banish joy and rest, for no love could fill his heart ' to estrange the memory of his lost

SPANISH BRIDE. The evening had by this time worn well away, so, toasting Knocklofty's yarn in a flowing bumper, we retired to our respective couches, promising to meet again, which, till we do. I bid you all farewell.

Shy Men.

Shy men are generally persons of a ■ diffident and amiable character —often possessed of a fine taste and nice moral feelings. They shrink from society and from individual rencontres, very : much because of a certain over-deJicacy of nature, which makes the common bustle of life unplesant to them. An ,other element of their case, is a defi ciency of mere animal spirits. In their ordinary niamants, they lack the back ing 'of^excitem.ent to force their minds into active an.d healthy play. Laxly screwed, the strings refuse to twany and the men utart back, not from the sound themselves have made, but from the absence oi: all sound. A sense of the dull unvital state of their minds reacts upon them, in producing greater embarrassment, and the more they keep out of society, the more unfitted for it do they become. Sometimes a chance plunge into life, or an impulse from the continuity of a bustling friend, will waken up a little energy in them, and for a while they will feel the comfort of a healthy normal state of mind. But when the external stimulus has spent its force, or been removed, they sink back into their unmanly timidity, and cheat the gleam of hope which their friends had begun to entertain. tTsually, these men are altogether misunderstood by the world, being thought haughty when they are in reality modest, and cold and repelling when they may perhaps be glowing with benevolence to all mankind. At the best, they are regarded as odd and incalculable persons, and find their best and noblest qualities insufficient to protect them from the neglect which must ever be the fate of men of un popular manners, however deserving of esjteem.

\ "Wherever the persons thug character ised are liable to any kind of external influence, it were well that their case should be properly understood and trfeated. The tendency of the patient himself —for a patient he should be considered —is to retreat from the society which is painful to him, into still deeper obscurities, and there foster the disease which preys upon him. He should, on the contrary, be tempted by' all fair means into the bustle of the wqrld, and induced, if possible, to take an; interest in its affairs. Even a liking for its frivolites might, in such a case, be redemption from worse evil. "When friends have any influence in proposed matrimonial arrangements, they should seek to unite the victim of shyness t, a person of cheerful social nature instead of to one who, while deemed perhaps more solid, might be apt, by less gay and active disposition, to lead to further restraints being imposed. In children, the incipientmanifestations of the malady might be met by the encouragement of active sports and social habits. Above all, it is important that the victim be not left to himself, or thrown into the hands of persons of sombre tempera. Disheartening views of individual 7nerit», and of human nature generally, must also be deeply injurious.

The facts here brought forward ought to warn us against rash-judging from external appearances. The heart of man ia a thing of infinite contrarieties, and often where we think ourselves surest of the ground on which we are forming an estimate, we are at the remotest point from the truth. Let us make a rule of pausing when we are asked to condemn a man for his pride, whether as an incidental demonstration or a habitual characteristic. Where we think there is disdain, there is perhaps only a pitiable embarrassment, arising from natural irresistible awk wardness. Xor may we even be sure, where we see a somewhat forward or over-confident manner, that we are not contemplating the effects of this aame foible, for it is natural to assume one vicious manner in order to escape the tendency to another, and a decisive ness, however constrained, may seem to the victim a blessed exchange from the pain of a habitual vacillation.

Consistency.

The best consistency is to be consistent to one's self, by acting every day up to the light of that day. The traveller who guides Ills steps in relation to

object, such as a mountain, who hea to keep always at the same tanee from that, may, indeed, keep

mo ring and apparently advancing L he is really travelling i v ab \ f around the one object; but he w |? is guided by the path will always k changing his relative position, a nS every step makes him inconsistent* with the scenery; but he moves £ and on, and advances into ne countries, and reaches hisjourney'aenl Know thyself and be true to'thvaeJ Thou art in the "way of truth. '% only consistent mariner is ho wlr steers by the compass, though he '° drifted leagues out of his coursed Norman Macleod. "" '"*"

A Fog in a Large City.

•With what fancy, yet truth, is K'f&jttj ja large city described in the follow^} newspaper paragraph: 'It has 'satisfactorily demonstrated thatsno^ keeps the earth warm : and altlw l a fog is not very easily seen tbouJJl it appears to us that it is a kindrf^ nightcap which the earth ' putg 2 1 during the day, when the weather happens to be unusually cold. At tt moment we write, there are neitW ends to the street nou tops to ft houses. Steeples, and monument and towers, and chimney-stalks, W gone off in smoke. The sun at'noo| v day is no longer a type of clearness'; Everything is a blank. In the centre of the thronged thoroughfares, wears * as much out of sight of land as a ves sel in mid-ocean. But what strati I shapes flit and loom about us! On ererr side there is a series of dissolving Viejn in continual process of exhibition ieef. eating compounds of undeniable flesh" [ and blood are treading the mist-like I phantoms. We are revelling -k\\ dance of shadows. "Whichever wbtl we turn, individuals appear and vanish I like witches on a blasted heath. What a phantasmagoria of dim and Tapbtiry E forms! What a universal game at blind-man's buff! Strange freak. off nature !—a populous city partially f stricken with blindness—men's visions contracted to an ell's length—every street a dark passage—everybody cautious and groping. Who's there?! No answer. Perhaps a lamji-post—| perhaps a pump. What frosted ; ligljtil are these ? Is that a house, a shop, I a;square, abridge, or a river R "Whew[■ are we? Which, direction is inortbj! and which south ? is this & mail ;pi.: a-minibus? The largesj; objects atf: only to be scanned by .the ;tonci, J as a near-sighted person readaiinajl* print with his nose on the paper.? Lights, links, and lanterns J-r-we ?iaff b8 in the canal! ■It is plainthafrmii is, an imperfect animal, and wants tefrji tacula [it should be antenna], Thijr.1 isia horse's head in our neck. We to)1 in the heart of a cloud that, seenafeij 1 off, would be sufficiently alarming.^ What a cover for a retreating amjll Stop thief! ' That handkerchief;didi an Egyptian to my motherisgif6|| The thief and the handkerchief, how ever, are both gone. Two strides,in| fact, constitute an alibi. Charity h almost at a stand-still, for ao dense jsj the fog, that it is imposible for the] left hand to see what the right is doing. We have also been informed of an in dividual who had been suddenly prop perous in the world, passing throngh, some of the principal streets withootj recognising a single old acquaintance!;: — Glasgow Citizen

Great Men.

It is a curious coincidence that -ttyp two greatest Chancery lawyers of their *• day should both have been forced into;| the profession by incidental ciraMj stances. Romiely says, that whatprin- ( cipally influenced his decision was Jijjjl being thus enabled to leave his small 1 fortuue in his father's hands, instead- a of buying a sworn clerk's seat .witlcit; * • At a later period of my life— afterJp success at the bar which my wildest^ and most sanguine dreams hadnewn^ painted to me —when I was gainingjpjfc income of £SOOO or £9000 a-jear-1 i have often reflected how all thatpjflfc1'1* perity had arisen out of the peeing ■ difficulties and confined eir cumstat, of my father.' Wedderbum Wf) Loughborougb) began as an advbcw* at the scotch bar. In the coui*|t an altercation with the Lord Fresiaefeg he was provoked to tell his lorWp that he had said as a judge wb«P could not justify as a gentleiii|l Being ordered to make an apologjij*6j refused, and left the Scotch form English bar. "What every one wow a his ruin, turned out the best« It that could happen him — ~'t 1 There's a divinity that shapes our m J: Rough hew them how we may.' ' J .Lord Tenterden's early destinatig b changed by a disappointment. »M he and Mr Justice Richards

Evening Star September 3O» 1870.