Moore, the future Hero of Coruña, was alive, and, though not yet knighted, was already "the most renowned military character of his age."[A]

Napoleon was not yet Emperor of the French. He was only climbing towards that goal, and thus far he had not advanced beyond being First Consul in the Republic. By English people generally he was viewed with a mingling of detestation and disgust, dread and disdain, varied in some quarters by a certain amount of admiration.

The peace between England and France, lasting somewhat over twelve months, had been hardly more than an armed and uncertain truce, a mere slight break in long years of intermittent warfare. As the old king, George III., remarked at the time, it was "an experimental peace," and few had hopes of its long continuance. For the Firebrand was still in Europe, and barrels of gunpowder lay on all sides. Both before the peace began, and also while it continued, Napoleon indulged in many speculative threats of a future invasion of England, and preparations were at this date said to be actually begun.

England alone of all the nations stood upright, and fearlessly looked the tyrant in the face. And Great Britain, with all her pluck, had then but a small army, no volunteers, and few fortifications, while her chief defence, the fleet, though splendidly manned, was weak indeed, compared with the mighty armament which she now possesses.

Whether the peace should last, or whether it should speedily end, depended mainly on the will of one man, an ambitious and reckless despot, who cared not a jot what rivers of French and English blood he might cause to flow, nor how many thousands of French and English widows might break their hearts, so long only as he could indulge to the full his lust of conquest, and could obtain plenty of what he called "glory." Another and truer name might easily have been found for the commodity in question.

Yet it is impossible not to accord admiration to this man's transcendent genius, and even Napoleon was not altogether bad. Perhaps, in the bitterness of incessant war, even he sometimes was more harshly judged than he fully deserved. But if so, he brought the evil upon himself.

(To be continued.)

THE MESSAGE OF THE MARGUERITES.

(See Coloured Frontispiece.)

This "ladie fayre" ascending the stairway of the old Castle of Blois in France gives us a glimpse of the prevailing fashion of towering head-dress worn in the fifteenth century. Addison satirically remarks that, "Women in all ages have taken more pains than men to adorn the outside of their heads." This adornment surely reached its culmination when ladies adopted these wonderful erections called fontanges, which, we are told by an ancient writer, were "like pointed steeples, with loose kerchiefs atop hanging down sometimes as low as the ground."

As we look at the cooing doves in the castle window, we see an indication of a weighty matter which rests upon the lady's mind. She is gazing out over the distant woods to catch a glimpse of her lover returning from the chase. She would fain believe that her true knight cares for no one but herself, but how can she be sure?

In the castle garden she has culled a bunch of marguerites, and now she is on her way to her own secret bower there to try her fortune. As she pulls to pieces the fateful flowers she will murmur softly, "He loves me a little, he loves me much, he loves me passionately, he loves me not."

Let us hope the message will be propitious, and that when she descends the stairs it will be to receive her lover with a smiling trustful face, and that he will prove worthy of one so fair and sweet.

GIRL'S OWN PAPER. Orford Smith, L^d. S^t. Albans. LONDON.

The message of the Marguerites.

From the Painting by COMTE.

ABOUT SOME NORMANDY DAIRIES.

By LADY GEORGINA VERNON.

Soft grey days, with rolling misty clouds, southerly winds crooning pathetic farewells to the departing summer; such is October in Normandy, alternated with brilliant days, flashing golden glory over the myriad tinted orchards, such a strange mixture of grey and gold, of fading pasture and scarlet leaves, early mornings calm and still with every blade of grass heavy with dew, while the burning mid-day glows with summer splendour, and days like these in autumn have a brilliancy and a power of touching one's heart that no summer day possesses; and in Normandy Nature seems to paint her beauties with more lavish hand than in our northern climes. Scarlet and amber, crimson and madder deck each tree and hedge, and even if there are grey days they only seem to bring out more vividly the autumnal glories. October is a busy month for farmer and dairy-man here, because one of the chief industries, that of soft cheese-making, can only be sparingly carried on during the hot summer months; and in October the manufacture of Camemberts especially is at its height.

MANOIR-FERME OF S. HYPOLITE, NEAR LISIEUX.

I should strongly advise any one who is interested in dairy-work to make a trip to Normandy during this month, for they could pass a delightful time studying the various methods of soft cheese-making.

This is an industry I have long wished to see carried to greater perfection in England. It is work so eminently suited for women, and could be undertaken by any one with a dairy, of even eight or ten cows, with very little expense. I have lately been making a very careful study of this work, and visiting many of the largest dairies round Lisieux, which is the centre of the Camembert and Pont Evêque cheese factories, and I have been much struck by the simplicity of the process and the slight expense that the plant would cost for the production of these and kindred cheeses.

There are great difficulties in the way of thoroughly mastering the subject, because as a rule the whole process is carried on by "rule of thumb." There are no thermometers, and they boast that they never use one. The very important subject of the heat of the milk at various stages of manufacture, the temperature of the rooms for ripening the cheeses, are carried out by guess-work and feeling, and I think that this is one cause that these cheeses vary so much in different localities. I should strongly urge that any one desirous of becoming an adept at this work should endeavour to get herself taken as a pupil at one of the smaller farms. They will not take pupils at the large manufactories, as it is not worth their while, but at some of the smaller places, I think, if a pupil was willing to pay a premium, she might get taken on. I spoke to one farmer who makes about four hundred to six hundred Camemberts daily in his small dairy, and he thought it was quite a possible plan. An intending pupil should provide