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10.

My first is like a monarch's sword
When sheath'd or drawn in hand;
My second turns a thousand tons,
Yet has not power to stand.

My third was known when men were few
On this our earth below;

They sought to use it for their good,

But brought instead a woe.
When you together join my whole,
A sea-port town you'll view,
Belonging to Great Britain's isle.-
Now tell the place.-Adieu!-F. F.

11.

Cut off my head, and if you guess,
Your angry feelings you'll express;
Cut off my tail, and you will see
In me a tall and stately tree.
My whole complete is what you like

On every cold and wintry night.-A. T. D.

BIOGRAPHICAL TRANSPOSITIONS.

1. NNAAOREC-a Greek lyric poet. He was choked by a grape-stone while drinking. 2. AABBULRD-a popular female writer, whose pleasing works have found their way to most British families.

3. EEBBNAOR-a fanatical member of parliament, who became notorious in the time of Cromwell.

4. IOZBLNE-an enterprising traveller, whose researches in Egypt have been of great service to persons engaged in the study of antiquities. When in London, becoming involved in difficulties, he maintained himself by performing for some time at Astley's theatre.

5. MNTEEABH Ia distinguished political writer, the father of a school of politicians still very numerous, and perhaps increasing. He was a man of unblemished character.

6. DWKOAOLBC-a British admiral, distinguished for his achievements in many battles. He was engaged in the battle of Trafalgar, and when Nelson was wounded, he (Nelson) addressing him said" God bless you I shall never see you more!"

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ESTIMABLE QUALITIES.-6, 3, 26, 19, 12, 8, displayed my first quality, 15, 13, 2, 1, 18, 9, exercised my second; and our 26, 29, 18, 9, gave the best example of my third. The latter all 24, 5, 30 and 2, 12, 6, 16, 21 may imitate without difficulty, and find that much 11, 26, 10, 14, 21, 33, 4, 4 will result; it will diminish the 4, 29, 18, 18, 12, 2, 4 of those around us; and will prove that we possess my second quality. My qualities are 31, 18, 33, 17, 28-19, 18, 33, 20, 4, 32, 18, 5, 4 to none wholly 22, 33, 8, 25, 16, 27, but which many may not be 23, 2, 10, 18, 33 that they possess. My whole is a sentence of ten words, consisting of thirtythree letters, representing qualities which make man great, glorious, and happy. Strive to discover And display them.

2.

A LESSON FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.-Let your con. duct be distinguished by 19, 2, 4. 6, 8, 14, 11; let all your habits be 21, 30, 19, 16, 22, 17, 25, 14, 40; let your transactions be marked by 15, 12, 10, 3, 13, 17; be not 31, 13, 26, 6, 17, 32, 21, 9, 14, 28, 18, 13, 23, but avoid the snares of 38, 14, 24, 40, 33, 7, 19: cultivate 17, 6, 36, 9, 39, 33, 20, 13, 31 habits; and shun the 21, 6, 19, 27, 14, 25, 21, 9, 35, 29, 32 of the wicked; remember that 7, 9, 5, 34, 22, 17, 23 fear to meet 37, 40, 25, 14. 24, but that the good rejoice in the promises of 39, 12, 37. My whole is a sentence of eight words, composed of forty letters, expressive of a truth which should be impressed upon your minds.

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PROBLEM NO. XVII.-BY MR. A. G. M'COMBE, of Glasgow.-White playing first, mates in 4 moves.

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1. K. P. 2.

2. Q. P. 2.

3. Q. P. 1.

4. Q. B. to K. Kt. 5.
5. Q. Kt. to B. 3.
6. B. takes Kt.

7. Q: to K. R. 5. (ch.) 8. K. Kt. to B. 3.

9. K. Kt. to R. 4.

10. K. B. to Q. 3.
11. Castles on Q. side.
12. K. R. P. 1.

13. Kt. to K. B. 5.
14. Kt. takes B.
15. Q. to B. 3.
16. Kt. to K. 2.
17. K. Kt. P. 2.
18. K. R. to Kt.
19. Q. B. P. 2.
20. Q. to K. 3.

21. K. B. P. 2.

22. Kt. takes P.

23. K, Kt. P. 1.

24. R. takes P. (ch.) (c.)

Black-Mr. Harrwitz.

1. Q. Kt. to B. 3. 2. K. P. 2.

3. Q. Kt. to K. 2. 4. Q. P. 1.

5. K. Kt. to B. 3. 6. P. takes B. 7. Kt. to Kt. 3. 8. K. B. to Kt. 2. (a.) 9. K. to B. 2. 10. Q. B. to Q. 2. 11. Q. to Q. B. (b.) 12. B. to K. 13. K. to B. 14. K. takes Kt. 15. K. R. P. 2. 16. K. R. P. 1. 17. B. to K. B. 2. 18. Q. B. P. 2. 19. Q. to Q. 20. Q. R. to B. 21. P. takes P. 22. Kt. to K. 4. 23. P. takes P. 24. K. to B.

25. Q. R. to B. 26. K. R. to Kt. (d.) 27. B. to K. 2. 28. Q. to Q. B. 3. 29. B. takes P. 30. Q. Kt. P. 1. 31. Q. to B. 2. (f.) 32. K. to Q. (g.) 33. P. takes Kt. 34. Q. to Q. 3. 35. K. to K.

25. K. to K.
26. Q. Kt. P. 2.
27. P. takes P.
28. Q. R. to Kt.
29. R. to Kt. 5.
30. Q. to Q. R. 4 (e.)
31. Q. to R. 6. (ch.)
32. Kt. takes B.
33. R. to Kt. 7.

34. B. to R. 5. (ch.)

35. Checkmates in two moves.

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(a.) Q. to K. 2, and then to K. B. 2, would have been better, because Black would, in that case, not have been obliged to play his K, and thus lose the privilege of Castling. (5.) Threatening to win the White Q. by Q. B. to K. Kt. 5. c. Well played; Black would lose his . were he to take this R.

(d.) He should have played this R. to Kt. 7, with a view to take the B., and then play Kt. to K. 6.

(e.) Menacing to take B. with R., and thus win White G (f.) He seems to have no better move.

(g. Interposing Q., or playing K. to Kt. sq., would have lost a piece.

FRANK MEANWELL;

OR,

MISTAKEN PURPOSES.

CHAPTER VI.

THE hearts of youth and childhood are like the first and youngest shoots of plants, which are so full of life, that they bear up against burdens, and flourish in opposition to difficulties which would have completely destroyed the more advanced growths. The hurricane which prostrates the oak of maturity, bends only the more flexile stems of springing corn, or the elastic boughs of the young osier; in like manner the sorrows and calamities which would overwhelm and break the heart of the man, cast but a passing shadow and temporary gloom over the spirit of the child.

seriousness to the boy, fulfilling the senti-
ment of our great poet:-
"Love refines

The thoughts, and heart enlarges; hath his seat
In reason, and is judicious; is the scale
By which to heavenly love we may ascend."

It was no trifling folly, but a prolific source of goodness-as true pure love is ever. It had no selfish purpose, no thought of self. The happiness which he felt he longed to give to every one around him. A perpetual stream of kindly feelings-of blessings for all the world, sprang like a pure fountain therefrom. The very flowers had sweet significance for him, from the humble heath, with its waxen flowers, to the courtly chestnut, with fan-like leaves and pink-striped satin flowers, standing in conscious pride of beauty with its dazzling pyramids of blossom. He wanted no book of fashionable convention to give the beauties of nature names and sentiments; the feelings and emotions were welling from his heart, and settled upon fitting flowers. External beauty, to a nature so attuned, as suggestive of religion, and he learned to see in each lovely object which for the first time met his raptured eye, only another reflection of the goodness of GOD in the myriad-faced mirror of nature. Around his heart was thus entwined a garland of pure and holy feeling, in which were woven together the "forget-me-not" of memory -the recollections of his mother-with the moss-roses of affection-his modest love for Isabel-and white water-lilies, emblems of that pure spirituality which, like those flowers, has ever its eye and bosom directed heavenward. A calm was in Frank's heart, like the stillness of a summer evening. As in that season, nevertheless, clouds pile themselves in fantastic mountainous heaps in the blue sky, tempting to the belief that there is some distant land, the fancied home of the storm, there stretching far away to the many-coloured stars, so in Frank's mind there seemed to be distant clouds in the horizon of his destiny. Yet the stars of hope shone down over the gloomy vapours, and when a transient shade, like a summer and it was with no sadness that he taught night, would pass over him in her absence, himself and Isabel to believe that his thoughts of her shone like the glow-worm's mother watched over him from behind the light through the gloom, by the wayside of blue curtain of the sky above. Yet a shade his path of life. Like the air of that sea-like those rising clouds-would someson, which gives maturity to leaves and times come over him, and lessen the joyflowers, this attachment appeared to lend ousness of his day-dreams when he thought

Thus it was with Frank Meanwell. The natural elasticity of nature, which belongs peculiarly to early life, had, in a great degree, supported him through calamities which, happily for him, he could not wholly estimate; and now, under happier auspices, the same strength of life enabled him to regain his wonted spirits and his former health. He had not forgotten what had happened-far from it. The past gave an unchildlike seriousness to his disposition, but seemed at the same time to stimulate his affections. He was sensible of the singular position which he occupied, and ingenuously grateful for the kindness which was shown to him, the very excess of which seemed to pain him, by reminding him of the singular train of circumstances which had made him the object of tender sympathies. In his pure love for Isabel he was indeed happy, and her girlish confession of regard had carried him beyond all bounds of joy. His heart seemed to live in sunshine; and his existence, while Isabel was by, was to him a summer day in

JUNE,

VOL. III.-NO. XXX,

G

of the past. The violets, and snowdrops, and primroses of Spring were gone. It was not that he saddened when his memory wandered back to his mother's death-bed; no, he felt that she was entirely happy. No; for ever there in front as he glanced along the path of life, a mystery obscured his view, like a spectre standing in the way. A question constantly remained unanswered; and the uncertainty with regard to his father's fate weighed upon him as a nightmare. Curiosity in the gossips had grown tired of seeking for a solution of the mystery which many believed would only be explained "when the secrets of all hearts should be revealed." As the boy recovered from the first shock and surprise of his misfortunes, and as with his growth his intellect acquired increasing power, the question was daily pressed upon him by himself. It was like the fabled riddle of the Sphynx, which involved the destruction of those who were unable to solve her enigma. "Guilty, or not guilty?" seemed to be every now and then whispered in his ears.

There was something oppres sive in the very happiness in which h lived, while the cloud hung over him; an the discovery of his father's fate became a purpose of his life.

One morning two letters were placed upon the breakfast-table at Mr. Keen's house, and it was observed by the children, who knew the postman's welcome "tat-tat," that one of them was in the handwriting of their brother, James Keen, the eldest of the surgeon's family. They detected also that it bore the post-mark of Rochester, where the youth alluded to was at school.

In those days of expensive postage, when letters were a luxury only to be enjoyed by the wealthy, or by the friends of members of Parliament (who could "frank" the envelopes), the receipt of a communication from a friend was an event of some importance, and was thought the more of on account of the rarity of its occurrence. What miseries did not the system entail on those who were already suffering! The widowed mother, longing to hear from the son upon whom her support depended, yet denied the welcome document, being too poor to pay the postage: the daughter unable, from the same cause, to possess herself of the epistle which informed her of her father's illness, or her mother's death,

till too late: the poor husband expecting the arrival of his wife, who is dying on her way in a dreadfully loathsome lodginghouse, while he is unable to purchase the letter which calls him to her side, or directs whither aid can be sent to her: all these, and a hundred other miseries, arose from a heavy tax upon communion by writing. How priceless is a letter! How marvellous a thing is the fixing of our thoughts upon paper-the painting of ideas with a pen! How glorious the thought, that the time shall be when, from this power of conversing with those afar off, shall arise the means of binding the hearts of all men in the bonds of love and brotherhood!

The pleasure derived from letters in Mr. Keen's family was not confined to himself and his benevolent wife; for it was the surgeon's custom to read aloud at the breakfast table all letters except those which referred exclusively to professional matters. Philip and Isabel were therefore delighted to know that they would hear what their brother had got to say, as soon as the morning meal had been concluded. Frank, moreover, upon this occasion, was interested more than he otherwise might have been, because, with the last despatch of family letters which had been sent to James, with some cake to school, he had written a friendly note, informing him, that owing to the kindness of the surgeon, he had been allowed for a time to take up his residence in James's home. Frank was also aware that further information with reference to the circumstances which had caused him to become an inmate of Mr. Keen's house had been despatched by Isabel at the same time. The breakfast having been concluded, the surgeon opened the letters and glanced over them; but while he did so his face underwent a change, in which surprise appeared to be a prominent expression. He then, to the disappointment of the children, handed them over in significant silence to his wife, whose curiosity was not a little excited by her husband's manner and his deviation from his usual custom. In a few minutes afterwards, the surgeon and his wife left the table, requesting Frank to follow them to the "consulting room," as the apartment connected with the surgery was called. The children's wonder and anxiety were still further excited when the servant was

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seen to take Frank's little coat and hat from the hall, and carry them to the room where he was closeted with their father and mother. Their fears that Frank was going to be sent away increased when they saw a hackney-coach drive to the door; but these were again dispelled when Frank, clothed in travelling attire, came running out to kiss his little friends, and said that he was going to see James, and should be back again the next evening, he believed. After many loving and affectionate messages had been given to him, Mr. Keen hurried the boy away, saying that he feared that they would be too late for the coach which they had to meet; and in a minute afterwards, away rolled the vehicle, leaving Isabel and Philip staring from the door, as if their foster-brother had been stolen from them by some enchantment. Frank leaned out of the window and waved a handkerchief, till the carriage turned a corner, and thus excluded his young friends from view.

horses, and late in the afternoon before they arrived in the straggling, but once important city of Rochester. On the way down, Frank and his friendly guardian had few opportunities for conversation, as it was not deemed prudent by the latter to allude in any manner to the objects of their journey in the presence of strangers. The surgeon, on alighting at the hotel, inquired if they could have private apartments, and being answered in the affirmative, ordered dinner, and then retired to his bedroom to remove the chalky dust of the roads, which had completely whitened the travellers.

Important events were passing elsewhere. Not in the horizon of Frank's prospects only did clouds collect, and look portentous; but while to him a steady faith gave firm assurance that those vapourous masses would break into refreshing showers for the earth, even though accompanied by tempest, to some others they were charged with a gloomy uncerThroughout the day Mrs. Keen was sub-tainty and conscience-stricken doubt that jected to many inquiries and ingenious cross-questionings; but either would not, or could not give the children any satisfactory replies. From what was said, nevertheless, Isabel was led to believe that the journey was fraught with most important consequences to Frank's prospects and happiness, and that it was quite possible that he might not return for many days.

In the meanwhile the objects of curiosity having arrived at the booking-office in time, secured places on the outside of the Rochester coach, which was about to start with much ceremony. After a great deal of bustle, and a great deal of trouble in packing, and considerable delay in waiting for some passengers who had taken inside places, but who had not made their appearance, the old coach rolled away from the chief office, swayed on either side by the great tower of luggage which was built up on the roof. The bustle and noise were repeated several times at different smaller offices before they reached the outskirts of London; and a quarter of an hour was occupied by a dispute that arose between two gentlemen about the box-seat, which in those days was considered to give a dignity and importance to its occupant. All these matters having been settled, the coach was at length drawn out of the great eity. It was mid-day before they changed

forbade them to draw any consolation from the success of their dishonesty.

In a street near the Seven Dials, in the vicinity of Mrs. Margaret Mallalieu's establishment for the sale of old iron and stolen property, an apparent cripple was huddled in a heap beside the door of a ginpalace. Though the slouched felt hat which he wore was made to conceal his features, enough of them could be seen to show that the man was, or had been, in bad health. As he solicited alms from the persons who went in or out from the spirit vaults, he eyed them with a curious inquisitiveness, and, unlike the ordinary beggar, did not repeat his request after he had looked at the person he addressed. A frequenter of that over-crowded locality might have observed the same figure in turn at the door of each public-house and wineshop in the district; indeed, the man had been already recognised as a sort of regular appendage to the doors of those polluting establishments. At one or another he sat from morning till night. Nobody knew, or cared to know, his history; but it was a tale in bar parlours, that the beggar had been seen to run without halting, and that his apparently distorted limbs had been, under sudden excitement, called into activity and natural shape. In a district where ingenuity was thought more highly

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