favourite plant, so nearly allied to our cudweeds and gnaphaliums, and so very near and charming a relation of our pretty Centennaria dioica, the Mountain Everlasting, found upon our heaths. The Edelweiss is the bridal flower of the Swiss girls, being used by them, as we use orange blossoms, in the hair and in bouquets at their weddings. It is a plant 'far fetched, dear bought, and good for ladies,' and they will be glad to learn that they have no need to spend anxious hours in seeking it in its Alpine fastnesses in order to possess it.

The writer got some seed-just a pinch-of Freemans, of Norwich. It was put in a cold frame, by way of protection; it came up beautifully and flowered well in the open garden, in Yorkshire sunshine. The Edelweiss is a hardy perennial, and succeeds well in bog soil with plenty of sun; and when sown in spring, every lady may watch it grow for herself in England, and decorate her tresses with it in the autumn. All budding maidens and blushing brides will, we hope, be thankful for this idea. The romantic plant about which they have thought and read so often, and about which such long yarns have been spun, is in reality no more difficult of cultivation than ordinary forget-me-nots,' or mustard

and cress.

We have great hopes that, after this succinct statement, when we look up at drawing-room windows, and when we go into our friends' conservatories, we shall be sure to see the Edelweiss, with its round head of silvery, white, fluffy, downy flowers and leaves. And when we see them, we shall also be quite sure that some fairy fingers have been at work, that some tender heart is beating fast, that some romance is being played out under those very eaves, and that some happy maiden is cultivating the delicious Edelweiss for no other purpose in the world except an early wedding. And may good luck attend her! It is too much to believe, of course, that the plant will be grown simply as a botanical rarity, or to send out as souvenirs, or to place in herbariums and albums. Depend upon it, if you see the Edelweiss growing and blooming, the next thing is to look out for a pair of white gloves, and a sweet, fluffy bridal cake, as white and chaste and ornate as the Edelweiss itself.

IN YARROW.

BY ALEXANDER ANDERSON.

A DREAM of youth has grown to fruit,
Though years it was in blossom;
It lay, like touch of summer light,
Far down within my bosom :
It led me on from hope to hope,

Made rainbows of each morrow, And now my heart has had its wishI stood to-day in Yarrow.

And as I stood, my old sweet dreams
Took back their long-lost brightness;
My boyhood came, and in my heart
Rose up a summer lightness.

I heard faint echoes of far song

Grow rich and deep, and borrow

The low, sweet tones of early years—

I stood to-day in Yarrow.

O dreams of youth, dreamt long ago,

When every hour was pleasure!

O hopes that came when Hope was high,
Nor niggard of her treasure!-
Ye came to-day, and, as of old,

I could not find your marrow;
Ye made my heart grow warm with tears-
I stood to-day in Yarrow.

That touch of sorrow when our youth
Was in its phase of sadness,
For which no speech was on the lip
To frame its gentle madness,
Rests on each hill I saw to-day,

Till I was left with only
That pleasure which is almost pain,
The sense of being lonely.

The haunting sense of love, that now
Beats with a feebler pinion
Above the shattered domes that once
Soared high in his dominion,
And in the air of all that time,

Nor joy nor sadness wholly,
Seem all to mix and melt away

In pleasing melancholy.

Why should it be that, as we dream, A tender song of passion,

Of lovers loving long ago

In the old Border fashion,
Should touch and hallow every spot,
Until its presence thorough

Is in the very grass that throbs
With thoughts of love and Yarrow ?

We know not; we can only deem
The heart lives in the story,
And gives to stream and hill around

A lover's tearful glory,
Until it bears us back to feel

The light of that far morrow That touched the ridge on Tinnis Hill, Then fell on winding Yarrow.

Ah, not on Yarrow stream alone
Fell that most tender feeling,
But like a light from out a light,
An inmost charm revealing,
It lay, and lies on vale and hill,
On waters in their flowing;
And only can the heart discern
The source of its bestowing.

Yes! we may walk by Yarrow stream

With speech, and song, and laughter, But still far down a sadness sleeps, To wake and follow after. And soft regrets that come and go, The light and shade of sorrow, Are with me still, that I may know I stood to-day in Yarrow.

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

AT AN EASTERN DINNER-PARTY. IN Mohammedan countries generally, there is a greater gravity, a greater appearance of austerity in public, and a more apparent mortification of the flesh, than with us. Grave faces are seldom seen to smile; the corners of the mouth are more often drawn down than up. But this apparent solemnity is much produced by the numerous rules of etiquette, a breach of any of which would cause a serious depreciation in the social position of the man who was guilty of it.

As a rule, the Oriental, more particularly the higher-class Persian, has two entities—one of the silent and solemn pundit, speaking only in whispers, and with either the Spartan brevity of Yes and No, or launching out into complimentary phrases, as insincere as they are poetic a being clad in long flowing garments of price, behatted or beturbaned, according to his class, and with a knowledge of the little niceties of form and phrase that would do credit to an experienced Lord Chamberlain. Priests, lawyers, merchants, the courtier and soldier classes, all are thus; for a single public slip from the code of ceremonial and etiquette would cause at once a loss of caste. In fact, at first, to the newcomer they seem all Pharisees, and wear their phylacteries broad. Such are the upper-class Persians outside their own homes, and from sunrise to sunset. It is of the Oriental in his other phase, and among his friends, or 'cupcompanions as Lane in his Arabian Nights translates the word, that I have to tell-in fact, the Persian at home.

PRICE 1d.

of the party, is eating in a corner the bread of charity, blind and poor; one young fellow, then a penniless parasite, little more than a servant without pay, who handed pipes and ran messages, is now in high employ, and likely to become a minister. Others of that party would now be glad to hand his pipes and run his messages for the mere sake of his protection. It was this young fellow who brought me my invitation-a verbal one. 'Mirza M- Khan sends you his salaams, and hopes you will eat your dinner at his house at an hour after sunset to-night. Will your honour come?'

'Please to sit. I hope you are well. Who is to be there? Any Europeans?'

'No; only yourself. At least, there is onethe Dutch doctor; and as he has been so many years here, he is more a Persian than ourselves. And hakim-sahib [European doctor], will you, the Khan says, bring two packs of cards?'

'Ah, Mirza, the secret's out; it's not me they want, but my two packs of cards.'

'No, hakim-sahib. By your head, it's not so. You don't know the Khan-at least, not in private. He is good-nature itself; and he wants you to come to eat his dinner, to taste his salt. Besides, Gholam Nahdi is to be there, and there will be dancing. Ba! an entertainment to dwell in the memory.'

Now, the fact of the dancing intrigued me. I knew that Mirza M— Khan did not merely invite me for the sake of the cards, as he could have had them for the asking. I was anxious to see an entertainment in the house of a rich man, I resolved to go.

SO

'On my eyes, Mirza.'

favourite plant, so nearly allied to our cudweeds and gnaphaliumis, and so very near and charming a relation of our pretty Centennaria dioica, the Mountain Everlasting, found upon our heaths. The Edelweiss is the bridal flower of the Swiss girls, being used by them, as we use orange blossoms, in the hair and in bouquets at their weddings. It is a plant 'far fetched, dear bought, and good for ladies,' and they will be glad to learn that they have no need to spend anxious hours in seeking it in its Alpine fastnesses in order to possess it.

The writer got some seed-just a pinch-of Freemans, of Norwich. It was put in a cold frame, by way of protection; it came up beautifully and flowered well in the open garden, in Yorkshire sunshine. The Edelweiss is a hardy perennial, and succeeds well in bog soil with plenty of sun; and when sown in spring, every lady may watch it grow for herself in England, and decorate her tresses with it in the autumn. All budding maidens and blushing brides will, we hope, be thankful for this idea. The romantic plant about which they have thought and read so often, and about which such long yarns have been spun, is in reality no more difficult of cultivation than ordinary forget-me-nots,' or mustard and cress.

We have great hopes that, after this succinct statement, when we look up at drawing-room windows, and when we go into our friends' conservatories, we shall be sure to see the Edelweiss, with its round head of silvery, white, fluffy, downy flowers and leaves. And when we see them, we shall also be quite sure that some fairy fingers have been at work, that some tender heart is beating fast, that some romance is being played out under those very eaves, and that some happy maiden is cultivating the delicious Edelweiss for no other purpose in the world except an early wedding. And may good luck attend her! It is too much to believe, of course, that the plant will be grown simply as a botanical rarity, or to send out as souvenirs, or to place in herbariums and albums. Depend upon it, if you see the Edelweiss growing and blooming, the next thing is to look out for a pair of white gloves, and a sweet, fluffy bridal cake, as white and chaste and ornate as the Edelweiss itself.

IN YARROW.

BY ALEXANDER ANDERSON.

A DREAM of youth has grown to fruit,
Though years it was in blossom;
It lay, like touch of summer light,
Far down within my bosom :
It led me on from hope to hope,
Made rainbows of each morrow,
And now my heart has had its wish-
I stood to-day in Yarrow.

And as I stood, my old sweet dreams
Took back their long-lost brightness;
My boyhood came, and in my heart
Rose up a summer lightness.

I heard faint echoes of far song

Grow rich and deep, and borrow

The low, sweet tones of early years-
I stood to-day in Yarrow.

O dreams of youth, dreamt long ago,

When every hour was pleasure!

O hopes that came when Hope was high,
Nor niggard of her treasure!-
Ye came to-day, and, as of old,

I could not find your marrow;
Ye made my heart grow warm with tears-
I stood to-day in Yarrow.

That touch of sorrow when our youth
Was in its phase of sadness,
For which no speech was on the lip
To frame its gentle madness,
Rests on each hill I saw to-day,

Till I was left with only
That pleasure which is almost pain,
The sense of being lonely.

The haunting sense of love, that now
Beats with a feebler pinion
Above the shattered domes that once
Soared high in his dominion,
And in the air of all that time,

Nor joy nor sadness wholly,
Seem all to mix and melt away

In pleasing melancholy.

Why should it be that, as we dream, A tender song of passion,

Of lovers loving long ago

In the old Border fashion,
Should touch and hallow every spot,
Until its presence thorough
Is in the very grass that throbs

With thoughts of love and Yarrow?

We know not; we can only deem

The heart lives in the story, And gives to stream and hill around

A lover's tearful glory, Until it bears us back to feel

The light of that far morrow That touched the ridge on Tinnis Hill, Then fell on winding Yarrow.

Ah, not on Yarrow stream alone
Fell that most tender feeling,
But like a light from out a light,
An inmost charm revealing,
It lay, and lies on vale and hill,
On waters in their flowing;
And only can the heart discern
The source of its bestowing.

Yes we may walk by Yarrow stream

With speech, and song, and laughter, But still far down a sadness sleeps, To wake and follow after. And soft regrets that come and go, The light and shade of sorrow, Are with me still, that I may know I stood to-day in Yarrow.

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH

AT AN EASTERN DINNER-PARTY. IN Mohammedan countries generally, there is a greater gravity, a greater appearance of austerity in public, and a more apparent mortification of the flesh, than with us. Grave faces are seldom seen to smile; the corners of the mouth are more often drawn down than up. But this apparent solemnity is much produced by the numerous rules of etiquette, a breach of any of which would cause a serious depreciation in the social position of the man who was guilty of it.

As a rule, the Oriental, more particularly the higher-class Persian, has two entities—one of the silent and solemn pundit, speaking only in whispers, and with either the Spartan brevity of Yes and No, or launching out into complimentary phrases, as insincere as they are poetic —a being clad in long flowing garments of price, behatted or beturbaned, according to his class, and with a knowledge of the little niceties of form and phrase that would do credit to an experienced Lord Chamberlain. Priests, lawyers, merchants, the courtier and soldier classes, all are thus; for a single public slip from the code of ceremonial and etiquette would cause at once a loss of caste. In fact, at first, to the newcomer they seem all Pharisees, and wear their phylacteries broad. Such are the upper-class Persians outside their own homes, and from sunrise to sunset. It is of the Oriental in his other phase, and among his friends, or 'cupcompanions as Lane in his Arabian Nights translates the word, that I have to tell-in fact, the Persian at home.

Some years have elapsed since I went to the little dinner I am about to describe; the giver and some of the guests have submitted to the irony of fate-two dead in their beds, a noteworthy thing among the grandees or wealthy in Persia; one executed for so-called high-treason, really murdered, after having surrendered himself to the king's uncle under an oath of safety for his life; another judicially done to death because he was rich. One, then the greatest and richest

PRICE 1d.

of the party, is eating in a corner the bread of charity, blind and poor; one young fellow, then a penniless parasite, little more than a servant without pay, who handed pipes and ran messages, is now in high employ, and likely to become a minister. Others of that party would now be glad to hand his pipes and run his messages for the mere sake of his protection. It was this young fellow who brought me my invitation-a verbal one. 'Mirza M Khan sends you his salaams, and hopes you will eat your dinner at his house at an hour after sunset to-night. Will your honour come?'

'Please to sit. I hope you are well. Who is to be there? Any Europeans?'

'No; only yourself. At least, there is onethe Dutch doctor; and as he has been so many years here, he is more a Persian than ourselves. And hakim-sahib [European doctor], will you, the Khan says, bring two packs of cards?'

'Ah, Mirza, the secret's out; it's not me they want, but my two packs of cards.'

'No, hakim-sahib. By your head, it's not so. You don't know the Khan-at least, not in private. He is good-nature itself; and he wants you to come to eat his dinner, to taste his salt. Besides, Gholam Nahdi is to be there, and there will be dancing. Ba! an entertainment to dwell in the memory.'

Now, the fact of the dancing intrigued me. I knew that Mirza M Khan did not merely invite me for the sake of the cards, as he could have had them for the asking. I was anxious to see an entertainment in the house of a rich man, so I resolved to go.

favourite plant, so nearly allied to our cudweeds and gnaphaliums, and so very near and charming a relation of our pretty Centennaria dioica, the Mountain Everlasting, found upon our heaths. The Edelweiss is the bridal flower of the Swiss girls, being used by them, as we use orange blossoms, in the hair and in bouquets at their weddings. It is a plant 'far fetched, dear bought, and good for ladies,' and they will be glad to learn that they have no need to spend anxious hours in seeking it in its Alpine fastnesses in order to possess it.

The writer got some seed-just a pinch-of Freemans, of Norwich. It was put in a cold frame, by way of protection; it came up beautifully and flowered well in the open garden, in Yorkshire sunshine. The Edelweiss is a hardy perennial, and succeeds well in bog soil with plenty of sun; and when sown in spring, every lady may watch it grow for herself in England, and decorate her tresses with it in the autumn. All budding maidens and blushing brides will, we hope, be thankful for this idea. The romantic plant about which they have thought and read so often, and about which such long yarns have been spun, is in reality no more difficult of cultivation than ordinary forget-me-nots,' or mustard and cress.

We have great hopes that, after this succinct statement, when we look up at drawing-room windows, and when we go into our friends' conservatories, we shall be sure to see the Edelweiss, with its round head of silvery, white, fluffy, downy flowers and leaves. And when we see them, we shall also be quite sure that some fairy fingers have been at work, that some tender heart is beating fast, that some romance is being played out under those very eaves, and that some happy maiden is cultivating the delicious Edelweiss for no other purpose in the world except an early wedding. And may good luck attend her! It is too much to believe, of course, that the plant will be grown simply as a botanical rarity, or to send out as souvenirs, or to place in herbariums and albums. Depend upon it, if you see the Edelweiss growing and blooming, the next thing is to look out for a pair of white gloves, and a sweet, fluffy bridal cake, as white and chaste and ornate as the Edelweiss itself.

IN YARROW.

BY ALEXANDER ANDERSON.

A DREAM of youth has grown to fruit,
Though years it was in blossom;
It lay, like touch of summer light,
Far down within my bosom :
It led me on from hope to hope,

Made rainbows of each morrow, And now my heart has had its wishI stood to-day in Yarrow.

And as I stood, my old sweet dreams
Took back their long-lost brightness;
My boyhood came, and in my heart
Rose up a summer lightness.

I heard faint echoes of far song

Grow rich and deep, and borrow

The low, sweet tones of early years-
I stood to-day in Yarrow.

O dreams of youth, dreamt long ago,

When every hour was pleasure!

O hopes that came when Hope was high,
Nor niggard of her treasure!-
Ye came to-day, and, as of old,

I could not find your marrow;
Ye made my heart grow warm with tears-
I stood to-day in Yarrow.

That touch of sorrow when our youth
Was in its phase of sadness,
For which no speech was on the lip

To frame its gentle madness,
Rests on each hill I saw to-day,

Till I was left with only That pleasure which is almost pain, The sense of being lonely.

The haunting sense of love, that now
Beats with a feebler pinion
Above the shattered domes that once
Soared high in his dominion,
And in the air of all that time,

Nor joy nor sadness wholly,
Seem all to mix and melt away
In pleasing melancholy.

Why should it be that, as we dream, A tender song of passion,

Of lovers loving long ago

In the old Border fashion,
Should touch and hallow every spot,
Until its presence thorough

Is in the very grass that throbs
With thoughts of love and Yarrow?

We know not; we can only deem
The heart lives in the story,
And gives to stream and hill around

A lover's tearful glory,
Until it bears us back to feel

The light of that far morrow That touched the ridge on Tinnis Hill, Then fell on winding Yarrow.

Ab, not on Yarrow stream alone
Fell that most tender feeling,
But like a light from out a light,
An inmost charm revealing,
It lay, and lies on vale and hill,
On waters in their flowing;
And only can the heart discern
The source of its bestowing.

Yes! we may walk by Yarrow stream

With speech, and song, and laughter, But still far down a sadness sleeps, To wake and follow after. And soft regrets that come The light and Are with

Printed and noster Ro

I sto