66 "Oh by her side with frantic agony, sobbing and wringing his hands, and calling piteously on her name. Hannibal stood near, making no loud demonstration of grief, the big drops rolling silently down his cheeks. There was a lurid fire in his eye when he looked at King, indicating a kind of savage joy in his sufferings, mingled with his anguish for hers. Mercy! mercy!" she shrieked. mistress, save me, save me!" Rushing through the hall and down the stairs, the flames flashing more wildly round her, she still screamed, "Mistress, save me!" Mrs. Bellamy, who was in the room below, heard the sudden terrible cry of human suffering, and flew to relieve it. When she beheld the blazing figure leaping towards the open door and recognised the voice of Cora, shrill and piercing as it now was, regardless of self, she sprang after her, and seizing her with frenzied grasp, tried to crush the flames with her slender fingers, and smother them against her own body. While she was thus heroically endeavouring to save the beautiful mulatto at the risk of her own life, Hannibal, who had dragged the carpet from the hall, wrapped it closely round the form of her he so madly loved, feeling even in that moment of horror a fierce transport that he had anticipated the bridegroom in this act of preservation. The flames, which were communicated to Mrs. Bellamy's dress, which being of black satin was not of very inflammable materials, were smothered by the contact of the thick carpet. Resigning Cora to the powerful arms of Hannibal, who bore her into the house, she followed her, unconscious, in her intense excitement and anxiety, of the injury she had herself sustained. Mr. Bellamy, who was looking into the ballroom when Cora's wild cry summoned her mistress to her aid, met his wife on the threshold, who, even while she held up her burnt and bleeding hands, exclaimed with white and blistering lips: "See to Cora. Oh! husband, look to her. I am not hurt." "My God; Isabel, those hands! have you been doing?" What "Cora is burned to death," she gasped, reeling against him as she spoke. "Think not of me. Poor Cora!" While this self-sacrificing and heroic woman endeavoured to direct even her husband's attention to the chief sufferer in this awful scene, Cora was surrounded by a dense and bewailing crowd. She was not burned to death, as her mistress had said, but death would have been a mercy to the life of suffering that remained to her. Poor King! the late proud, happy, smiling bridegroom. He threw himself "I'll let him live now," muttered he to himself. "I 'fraid I would a killed him. He suffer now, poor fellow. He suffer now, that he does." It was some time before Doctor Manning, the physician of the family, could reach Hickory Hill, as he dwelt several miles distant. In the meantime, Aunt Milly, who was famous for the cure of burns, took the poor girl under her care, and did all she could for her relief by taking off the burned cinders of her dress, and wrapping folds of cotton around her. She also wrapped up Mrs. Bellamy's bleeding hands, while Katy stood sobbing by her side. It was a terrible winding-up of the bridal festivities. While Cora was nodding in the easy-chair, a portion of her light dress had come in contact with the candle burning on the table, and she thus became a blazing martyr to one moment's self-indulgence. She was fearing the dark jealousy of Hannibal. She thought not of the winding-sheet of flame the hand of destiny was weaving in exchange for her bridal robes. How seldom do the evils we most dread roll down upon our souls! How often are we crushed by a sudden, startling, unlookedfor weight of woe! It was past midnight before Doctor Manning arrived, whose arrival was anticipated with unutterable anxiety. Mrs. Bellamy sat in an easy-chair by the couch on which the moaning bride was laid. Her bandaged hands lay upon a pillow, and her pale countenance was expressive of the deepest suffering. "Not me, doctor," said she, looking towards the couch; "attend to poor Cora first; my sufferings are nothing to hers, nothing." Feeling the truth of her remark, while he honoured her disinterested compassion, the doctor obeyed her, and turned to the patient whose moans and cries indicated a degree of pain which he feared his utmost skill would be unable to relieve. It was a harrowing task to examine the extent of the injuries she had received, nor was it possible for him to pronounce at once upon the probability of her recovery. So strong was her solicitude to know his opinion of Cora's case, that Mrs. Bellamy forgot her own, and fixed her eyes upon him with a look of earnest inquiry. She saw that a cloud, deeper than seriousness, rested on his fine countenance, and her heart failed. "You think her case very bad, doctor?" "She is indeed, very badly, deeply burned." "But there is hope, doctor? You have cured such dreadful cases ?" I do not say that this is hopeless; and be assured all that I can do shall be done to mitigate her sufferings and promote her recovery. But, my dear madam, when are you going to let me see those hands of yours you keep so carefully concealed?" "How willingly would I endure this, ! and far more, if by so doing I could purchase the life of Cora!" said Mrs. Bellamy, while they unbound her smarting, raw, and disfigured hands. But never in their native fairness, when uncovered and sparkling with rings, had they been so worthy of admiration as at this moment, marred as they were in her generous efforts to save the life of her slave. So Doctor Manning thought, as with gentle touch and well-tried skill he applied the healing remedies of his art to the sore and quivering flesh. He had a soul keenly susceptible of the influence of moral beauty, and as his profession brought him within those sanctuaries of the heart to which very few are admitted, he had an opportunity of studying its most hidden pages. "Your scars will be more honourable than those of the warrior's, gained on the battle-field," said he to Mrs. Bellamy, when he had dressed the martyred members. "I do not deserve any praise, doctor. It was all instinctive." "But surely, the instinct of benevolence that induces one to peril her life regardlessly for another, is more praiseworthy than the self-love that folds the mantle of security over its own breast, believing that self-preservation is the first great law of being." After administering an anodyne to both, the doctor took his leave, promising to call the next day, or rather the same, for the dawn was already standing at the gates of the orient. At the outer door he was stopped by the bridegroom, who could scarcely articulate the question that trembled on his lips. "She won't die, doctor, will she? Cora won't die ?" repeated he, hanging on his words as if his own existence depended on the answer. "I hope not, my poor fellow," said the doctor, in a kind and sympathizing tone. "It is impossible for me to say now what will be the result, but we will certainly hope for the best. In the meantime, I will do all I can to restore her." "I know you will, doctor," said he, still detaining him "They say you kill or cure, just which you please. Promise to cure Cora, and I'll follow you on my knees all my born days." "You must pray to God for her life, and that He will bless the means used for her recovery; but you must not put me in the place of the Almighty," said the doctor, gently drawing away from the despairing bridegroom, and riding from the door. "Yes," mused the benevolent physician, as he went forth into the faint, chill morning twilight; "the words this poor negro has uttered in his ignorance and despair are but the echoed breathings of suffering humanity. In the hour of physical anguish and impending bereavement, imploring Nature turns to us, and prays us. in God's stead, to succour and to save. If our feeble arm does arrest the stroke of the destroying angel, some grateful hearts invoke Heaven's blessing on our head; but if human science be baffled, and inexorable death claim his victim, then the frantic mourner cries, 'We might have saved them if we would,' and the mocking cynic exclaims, when the hearse rolls darkly on to the land of everlasting silence, 'There goes one of the doctor's patients to his long home.' Verily, there are thorns among the roses that blossom on the wayside of our existence." Continued at page 121. The upshot of all religion is to please God in order to make ourselves happy.→ Sherlock. G A THOUGHT OF PARADISE. We receive but what we give, And from the soul itself must there be sent GREEN spot of holy ground, If thou couldst yet be found, Coleridge. Far in deep woods, with all thy starry flowers; If not one sullying breath Of Time, or change, or Death, Ilad touch'd the vernal glory of thy bowers; Might our tired pilgrim feet, Worn by the desert's heat, On the bright freshness of thy turf repose: Might our eyes wander there Through Heaven's transparent air, And rest on colours of th' immortal Rose? Say, would thy balmy skies Our heritage of lost delight restore? Could thy soft honey-dews The early, child-like, trustful sleep once more? And might we, in the shade With angel-voices high communion hold? Our being's harmony, so jarr'd of old? Vain thought-thy sunny hours All thy young leaves to spirit-lyres might thrill; Into thy realms of spring The shadows of our souls to haunt us still? What could thy flowers and airs Would the world's chain melt off, and leave us free? No! -past each living stream Track the lorn wanderers, meet no more for thee. Should we not shrink with fear, If angel-steps were near, Feeling our burden'd souls within us die? How might our passions brook The star-like glance of seraph purity? Thy golden-fruited grove Vain sadness would but dim thy crystal skies. Oh,-thou wert but a part Of what man's exiled heart Hath lost-the inborn dower of Paradise! TO A CHILD IN PRAYER. And pleasant thoughts like garlands bind thee Now thy young heart, like a bird, No evil thought, no unkind word, Then pray, Child, pray! Thy spirit is a house of glee, And Gladness harpeth at the door, Her lips with music running o'er; Then pray, Child, pray! Now thy mother's hymn abideth The taper's darken'd light. THERE are two plants from which mustard is obtained, the black and white mustard plants, they both belong to the same family, the Cruciferæ. The black mustard plant is distinguished by its seed-vessels, which are smooth, and the colour of the seeds themselves, which are reddish or blackish brown. In the white mustard plant the seedvessels or pods are clothed with hairs, which render them rough, and the seeds are yellow. The two species differ as well in properties as in botanical characters; thus the seeds, owing to certain differences in the chemical composition of black, are more pungent than those of white mustard. The pungency of black mustard is due to a volatile oil which does not pre-exist in the seeds, but which is rudely formed when the pounded or bruized seeds are placed in cold or warm water, but the formation of which is prevented by boiling water. These details are of practical importance, since they show that cold or warm water only should be used in the mixing of mustard either for table or for medical purposes. It is the volatile oil which gives to mustard its penetrating odour, sharp burning taste, and its acrid rubefacient and vesicant properties. that county. At present it is principally in Durham, but it is now seldom seen in raised in the neighbourhood of York, and throughout other parts of the North Riding; and being manufactured in the city of York, is afterwards sold under the name of Durham mustard. Two quarters of an acre are reckoned a good crop. Mustard is of considerable importance in the materia medica, and is extensively used as a condiment. It was not however known in its present form, at our tables, till 1720. The seed had previously been pounded in a mortar, and in that rude state separated from the integuments, and prepared for use. But at the period referred to, it occurred to a woman of the name of Clements, residing in Durham, to grind the seed in a mill, and to treat the meal in the same way that flour is treated. Her mustard was in consequence very superior; and being approved of by George I., speedily came into general use. Mrs. Clements kept her secret for a considerable time and acquired a competent fortune. In Bengal and other eastern countries, mustard is extensively cultivated as rape is in Europe, for the purpose of yielding oil.” The subjoined particulars in reference to the manufacture of mustard, as practised in the present day, furnished by a manufacturer, are given by Pereira : "The seeds of both black and white mustard are first crushed between rollers and then pounded in mortars. The pounded seeds are then sifted. The resiWhite mustard contains no volatile oil, due in the sieve is called dressings or siftbut owes its acridity to a non volatile acridings; what passes through is impure flour substance. It is in consequence of the above, and some other differences in the composition and qualities, that the two descriptions of seeds are usually combined in different proportions in the same mustard. Both species of mustard are indigenous, and may commonly be seen in flower in the month of June, in waste places and fields. In the brick-fields in the neighbourhood of Nottingham they grow in great quantities. Mc Culloch's "Commercial Dictionary" contains the following interesting particulars in relation to the growth, &c., of mustard : "It was formerly extensively cultivated of mustard. The latter by a second sifting yields pure flour of mustard, and a second quality of dressings. By pressure the dressings yield a rancid oil, which is used for mixing with rape and other oils." Like other seeds every entire mustardseed consists of two parts, the husk and the seed proper. The structure of each of them is well exhibited in the annexed engravings. The seed itself is of a bright yellow colour, and of a soft waxy consistence, which arises from the quantity of oil it contains; it consists of innumerable very minute cells, in the cavities of which the oil and other active principles are contained. Notwithstanding the term "flour" of Fig. 1. Fragment of the outer membrane of the seed of white mustard, magnified 220 diameters, Fig. 2. Fig. 2. Fragments of the middle and inner tunics of the white mustard-seed, the former covering and lying upon a part of the latter, magnified 220 diameters. mustard commonly employed, the ripe mustard-seed does not contain a single starch granule, Fig. 3 Fig. 3. Sample of genuine ground white mustard, magnified 220 diameters. Consulting various works on the adulteration of mustard, we obtain the following information relating to this article. We find the celebrated author of " Death in the Pot," in the year 1820, publishing the following observations in reference to the adulteration of mustard. Genuine mustard, either in powder or in the state of a paste ready for use, is perhaps rarely to be met with in the shops. The article sold under the name of patent mustard is usually a mixture of mustard and common wheaten flour, with a portion of Cayenne pepper, and a large quantity of bay salt, made with water into a paste ready for use. Some manufacturers adulterate their mustard with radish seeds and pease flour. It has often been stated that a fine yellow colour is given to mustard by means of turmeric. We doubt the truth of this assertion. The presence of the minutest quantity of turmeric may instantly be detected by adding to the mustard a few drops of a solution of potash, or any other alkali, which changes the bright yellow colour to a brown or deep orange tint. Two ounces and a half of Cayenne pepper, a pound and a half of bay salt, eight pounds of mustard flour, and a |