These Englishwomen—I am fond of them. They approach with a frank, warm cordiality which is irresistible, or with a quiet demeanor which expresses esteem both of you and of their own worth, or else—they leave you in peace. This dignity of manner, added to an agreeable kindliness, struck me particularly in the class of female domestic servants, whilst they are commonly as well dressed as the persons whom they serve; at once, as well dressed as unpretending. And then—they are so handsome, these Englishwomen, that certainly, the whole figure included, they are the most beautiful women in the world. I have no word sufficiently strong to express my grateful sense of the noble hospitality and good-will which were shown to me while in England. They live in the sanctuary of my heart, together with the names of the friends from whom I received them; I must call some of them my _benefactors_, because the human beings who awaken in us a warmer faith in and love to mankind, are our eternal benefactors. And greater benefactors in this sense have I never found anywhere than in the United States, and in England, excepting in my own beloved fatherland! ----- [10] This is a misconception.—Ed. [11] A worthy daughter is this lady of the well-known philanthropist, Dr. Southwood Smith. Dr. Southwood Smith stands at the head of the movement for Sanitary Reform in England, which is now being effectively carried out in many towns, and the main principles of which are, that every house and family shall have a constant and sufficient supply of fresh water, the erection of healthy dwellings for the poor, together with the careful removal and consumption of all impurity. * * * * * =SONNET.—CYDNUS.= =BY WM. ALEXANDER.= Cydnus! thou art a memorable stream! Clear, crystal-like, thy proud waves roll apace, As when with snowy plume and pallid face, The daring Grecian felt thy cold extreme— Two thousand summers have now passed away, Yet, like white garments waving ’mid the gloom, Seems thy bright water’s foam. Many a tomb Lines thy green banks, as when in sad array The great procession passed, with viol’s wail, While underneath the canopy of gold, Raised on the deck, lay Egypt’s queen, as cold As when the aspic stung her. Spectres pale Still haunt thy shore; thy waves all uselessly Sweep on; “no galley there—no ship shall pass thereby.” * * * * * =NELLY NOWLAN ON BLOOMERS.= =BY MRS. S. C. HALL.=