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DRESS AND DRINK.
DRESS AND DRINK. See that painted spectre, The vampyre of the streets! What foul demon wrecked her Hoard of youthful sweets ? Made a crime of loveliness ? Oh 'twas Dress—'twas Dress! Look upon that reeling r Haggard man of care, Down the back streets stealing, Roaming anywhere! What hath done this ? Pause and think! 'Twas Drink!—'twas Drink! See that fair wife flying From her husband's wrath, „ Her guilty lover lying' Dying in her path What hath done this ? Can you guess ? 'Twas Dress—'twas Dress! Bloody knife still reeking In his desperate hand, ce Hurried voices speaking Round him in a band What makes thus his comrades shrink ? Tis the deed—the deed of Drink! Lying on the pavement, Dead in her despair, What 'neath Sin's enslavement Brought a thing so fair ? Scarcely than a demon less ? What hath wrought this ? IT WAS DBINK. In his stony prison, Waiting for his doom, When the sun has risen, Gallows first-then tomb! Stupored thus on Nature's brink ? What hath wrought this ? IT WAS DRINK Dress and Drink-yf) demons twin, Parents of all woe and sin BantJ of body and of lII()ul Shame your path-and death your goal!
THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR,…
THE STRANGE CLAIMANT; OR, TWICE WED. CHAPTER XYLI.—(Continued). SAUL saw hi,u leave the house by the back entrance and shut-to the door, then he returned to the upper tooDl, and busied himself noisily with apparent pre- parations for bpd. Now and again he approached the window, at some distance from which he had placed the light, and gated Out anxiously. But all was still, and no sign appeared for some time of his subordinate. Saul grew impatient, and was about to leave the roem, when a low whistle outside drew his attention Once more to the window, and he beheld Mat Yaw- j&an8 from out tne shadow of the lean-to, whoBtretched Awards him his empty hands, and beckoned eagerly. Hastily catching up the light, with a glance at the bed, Saul quitted the room, and opening the back door, met his man upon the threshold. What! he exclaimed. Heavens" was the simultaneous exclamation of each. What have you been about—where is the brat ? Ctiecl Saul. "Not there!" retorted the other; I broke my shin, and damaged my nose for nought What do you mean ?" cried Saul, increasing in Wrath. There's no child therethe mate also roared;" a fool's errand, capt'n, I do like to have something for my pains." With an oath, Meghorn rushed up the stairs, and Y the bedside. At a grasp, he flung back the clothes, the pillows, the bed, and scattered them to the floor. His sudden cry of astonishment brought up the mate. She is gone!" exclaimed Saul; "gone! and the Child with her!" He turned with fury on the other. She has heard of it—how ? She must have learned Illy plan. Have you dared Me, capt'n!" and the burst of indignation with which injured innocence repelled the implication felled somewhat of the other's wrath. "Then what has she done it for? Where is she gone T' be repeated. "Mayn't she be at a neighbour's?" suggested Mat. "Neighbour'sI and till midnight? I tell you, Inan, she's learned our plan, and was off before we entered this night, unless-help here, to search, xawmans In a few minutes the whole upper storey was turned topsy-turvy. In such blind rage did the baffled lIlan pursue his search, he plunged his cutlass into dark corners, slashed hangings and coverlidB, severed the bolsters, and scattered their contents, with fearful oaths, vowing what vengeance he would take upon his hapless victim. They are gone—both of them!" he said, as they halted, breathless, from their search. It's clear enough she has listened somewhere— heard the plan. What more besides, who knows! t'awmans, they must be found-brought back A woman's tongue has hanged many a good fellow high as "Hold y "nr prating," cried the urbane com- Zander, "u. <1 listen tome." "You ni'irt help me, we shall find them before flaw n. F>).r or five hours' start as she had, or even toore, she c t t have made much distance with the child. She can't even have reached the town, for there are fe v carts ever the way this day of the week. Once hit on the track, we should be down upon them. Quick, my life on it, I'll have the woman and the brat here in this very room by daybreak." May she be in hiding, capt'n, with some friend or another ?" suggested Yawmans, as he hastily inducted himself into his garments. "friends!' retorted the other, scornfully; "am Dot I her husband ? I would like to see those who'd keep my wife in hiding." Not another word was spoken. Both dreesed quickly, took a last pull at the brandy-flask, Saul stamped down the embers, blew out the lamps, and they stood in the waste behind the house, within twenty minutes after the first alarm. You go by the Ohine, I'll take the valley; keep you the cliff path over the village, I by the woods and so on. Meet me at the 'Trouble House,' at the eross roads! Without another word, they started on their errand Saul's last act, as he quitted the house, was to slip his cutlass into the belt he strapped on. Yet he was only on the track of a helpless woman feeble child. But in the surmise he uttered to Yawmans, Meghorn had expressed but a portion of his own convictions and there was that in his mind Which-stronger than desire for vengeance, or re- covery of his wife—urged him to pursue and capture her at all hazards. he game was a desperate one,and nonetheless that he—playing in the dark—was ignorant even Whether she knew of all at stake. his If the fierce curses uttered by him, as he sped on Way, had had power to blight, what desolation Would have strewn the path he took. His hot blood boiled with wrath at her desertion; his hands clutched as he would have grasped her-again he deviled her ingratitude for all his passionate love, and with fierce contempt cursed his own folly, and east it to the winds—even while he meditated new devices for humbling her to his will, or for extorting her tenderness. Satan himself might have borne Saul Meghorn com- pany in his walk that night. As for Yawmans, no such emotions lent ajzest to his Bhare of the pursuit. Villain as be was, and apt at the track, there was something not wholly displeasing to him in the chance that the Daredevil should not be degraded by the presence of one of the inferior portions of humanity. He would bless the misadventure that should knock the captain's maggot on the head yet there was a something decidedly congenial to his bloodhound Mature in the quest, and he joined in it with vigour, ardently heping that it might fall to his lot to restore the during fugitives to their lawful tyrant, "if so be as they was to be found." the two, I doubt not but Mat fulfilled his duty "he most efficiently, Saul frequently rushing forward a giant strides past, many a fitting hiding-spot, eturmng to cut and thrust and lay bare, or with a raory and murderous glare passing them by. Now a now descending into a ravine, with the peed and hot excitement of a maniac, as if he beheld prey in sight. v- j chill hour, when Nature with a shudder to the embraces of the dawn, they stood, r and man, before the Trouble House." ,w.aa a Public-house so called (our friends the j.eT. a ers would consider aptly), of no stainless inlui e' yet Ruilelesa of any definite and affixed vict.: it stood on its ovrn defence by con- fab accusers of envy solely. And it was a suoh |^° » too, by many far and near, that no Trouble°ljWflS to be had within miles, as that of the central00? ^e junction of six roads. Perhaps the othf-r dw ^°.r the solitary position, there being no Whetlf within at least seven miles. pervertse« 0r not its singular cognomen had been «ed from the XXX ale for which it was famous, I will not take on me to decide. The landlord said so, and he should know. Certainly, the name was by no means an unsuitable one for the luw-browed, shambling, irregular build- ing, surrounded by a suspicious fraternity of out- houses, barns, lean-tos, and gable ends-black, tumble down, dilapidated, and ill-affected generally. Saul arrived some few minutes before his mate at the trysting-place. He eagerly awaited the coming of the other, but mutual disappointment was the greet- ing of both. Day is breaking," said Saul, gloomily "1 cannot give up this matter, but you must be abroad, Yaw- mans, and betimes." They've got help some way, capt'n, rm thinking, unbeknown to you. It's a poor chance, to my mind." I must find her, I tell you It's life and death — I shall find her, and before night. I will be aboard at nightfall, and with all I seek, too." Ay, ay, yer honour; as you say, so you'll do," returned the other. There's a light in the house," said Saul. Ay, sir, a great funeral set out, I take it, going by one of the roads, and the fellows stop to bait." We'll go in for awhile, Yawmans; I want to talk to you, and from this you'll take the nearest road to Fergus Bay." Ay, ay, sir, and welcome I'll be with you, capt'n, in a moment." Saul had gone forward towards the house, and was in the act of knocking at the door, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder. Avast, capt'n!" cried Yawmans, in a hoarse whisper at his ear, just a minute; this way—softly, capt'n, softly Megborn followed, as the other led the way to a deserted cow-shed, that lay behind some out offices in the rear of the house. The entrance was closed by a rude lattice-door the floor was strewn with rotting straw and refuse of all kinds. The roof was almost open to the sky, and the first blush of day made visible the noisome hole within. Visible, too, to Saul—as, following the indication of his companion, he peeped through the aperture— his wife and child. In a far corner, upon a few garments heaped to- gether, little Ida slept. Upon the ground beside her, and huddling round, as if to shield her child from the cold, the mother sat. Her head was turned from them, but, by her motion- less posture, they concluded she slept. A suppressed exclamation burst from Saul. Yawmans had lain his hand upon the gate, but Meghorn stayed him quickly. Let them be, let them be! they are worn out, they will sleep on; I have them safe enough, and can seize them in the trap. Here," he added, in a whisper, help me lift this timber against the door; so, now they are secure. So, my dame, there's an end to your run We will finish up such a good night's work; come, my lad—and, Yawmans, not a word in here. I want not all my affairs made public in a tavern, and you know what a woman's tongue is." Ay, has hanged many a man," was the agreeable rejoinder of the mate, as he followed the pirate within the doors of the Trouble House." CHAPTER XVIII. THE GUESTS OF THE TROUBLE HOUSE. OPENING the door which frequenters of the public- house were accustomed to use, Saul and his companian entered at once into a dense atmosphere of tobacco smoke, amidst which a high piping voice seemed to have inextricably involved itself, without hope of re- gaining the owner who had ambitiously sent it forth in execution of a pretentious trilL The opening of the door, with the accompanying puff of outer air, had the effect of bringing to a termination what appeared to be the concluding stave of a sentimental ditty. It was followed by an immense amount of loud clapping, rattling of glasses and pipe stems, in token of approval-all was conjec- ture as far as the new comers were concerned; for, as yet, they could see nothing. Meghorn frowned, as these evidences of a numerous company met his oar; he would have retreated, and had already half closed the door, when the figure of a man loomed from out the fog, and as be perceived who were his visitors, came out to them hastily Who are they 7" said Saul, gruffly, still standing outside the door. Strangers, capt'n, every one, the landlord of the Trouble House replied, in an under-tone. "They're undertakers from Keresley, been to a berryin' of some great man or another, and stopped here to bait the horseB—they'll be off now in a few minutes-" The other still hesitated. "There's a jolly fire "-thA landlord wont on- and I've as prime a ham and cheese in cut—and your owu keg There, there, that will do," said Meghorn, im- patiently, I suppose wojnay as well." He entered, followed close by Yawmans, and the two seated themselves by a small table in the chimney nook, which the high-backed settle screened off from the view of the general company, though those who occupied it had a tolerably good sight of the rest of the room. While they awaited the execution of their orders, Yawmans availed himself of this advantage to as- certain the quality of their neighbours, but Saul, much too pre-occupied by his own thoughts to care foraught else, leaned his elbows on the table, and sat with his face covered by his hands. In the few moments which had elapsed since the unexpected discovery made by Yawmans, he had come to the determination that his capture of the fugitives must be made without witnesses. The dread which had at first but vat uely indicated itself to his mind had grown during his pursuit of his wife. He felt convinced that her flight had some other founda- tion than in his treatment of her, and that she had by some means gained possession of, or a clue to, facts, which, if she were driven to desperation, in the pre- sence of others, she would assuredly use in her own defence and to his destruction. The first fruit of this conviction had been to defer his capture of her; meanwhile, making all secure against escape. The final result was that he must get rid of his mate, await the opportunity of the house being clear, and seize his victims. He knew how far, in case of necessity, he could rely upon the inmates of the Trouble House, and that from them he need fear no untimely opposition or mistrust of his motives, as he might choose to represent them. So decided, he turned to the table which the host had just spread, according to his knowledge of his patron's tastes, and invited Yawmans to fall to. With quite a zest imparted by the contemplation of assured triumph and vengeance, Mat complied, with a grin upon his face, called up by the last song which had been given, and which, though quite congenial to the tastes of the outlaw and to some members of the sable fraternity, failed, it seemed, to give universal appro- bation.. It grows light, oaul said to Yawmans, growing impatient with the prolonged festivities of the under- takers. You had best be going now. Go by this door; it opens on the side nearest the road you take. You understand my plans ?" Mat assented. You will await me at the old cave in Deepgang, or I shall be there before you. Any way, all will be right. See that on board everything is ready for a moment's notice." „ Ay, ay, capt'n I wish your honour success. ( There is no fear of it. So this way. Remember. He opened the door softly, and watched his follower as he sped swiftly away in the opposite direction to that they had come. The dawn was spreading rapidly up the horizon, tinging the blue skies with violet; and the timid day, like a young queen, blushed at the prospect of the mighty office she was shortly to assume. Casting his eyes to the front of the bouse, they fell upon a dark object standing motionless before its front entrance. It was the hearse, which had taken a part in the last pageant the bad, rich man could ever have any portion in upon earth. The mourning carriages had gone, each its separate way, conveying home the guests and friends (sad mockery of the sacred word!); and the men in charge of the hearse had stayed upon their journey of some ten miles home, to recruit themselves and the horses. These last-four Bplendid animals, whose wants were sooner satisfied than those of their masters— now stood, carefully covered, at intervals pawing the ground, or proudly tossing aloft their plaited manes but else still as the brazen horse of the sombre statue knight. With a muttered curse at the tardiness of these men, Meghorn returned to his place of concealment to await their departure. They had ordered fresh drink, and appeared newly settled down to joviality and free. communication. A desperate exclamation of impatience and a loud blow upon the table in the corner suddenly inter- rupted the speakers, and brought the listeners to their feet, staring at each osher in terrified amaze- ment. At that moment the host hurried from behind the settle. I've no wish to hurry you, sirs, indeed 1 haven t; but the air is turned very chill, and the horses, sir, if they be to stand longer, I had best take them out, maybe.' A shudder ran through the whole party as the un- compromising air of the morning struck upon their heated frames. There was some slight jangling as they ascended to their seats, but Ohob soon made all right; in another quarter of an hour all was still. "Confound the fools!" cried Saul, as he came forth; I thought they would stay all day! I believe you would have let them!" he said, angrily to the host, who stood ready to obey his commands. Bring me a lantern." It was quickly brought. That will do; if I want you Fit call." He hurried through the labryinth of ruin, filth, and offal, to the deserted cow-house. The logs lay as he had left them before the door. He moved them slowly and with deliberation, gloating mean- while over the terror and dismay his appearance would occasion. He entered, raided his lantern and looked round. Ha! what is this ? The place is empty!" He rushed out, surveyed the outside-it was the same. There lay the straw, here was the hole in the roof, there the logs! But they were gone, and not a trace, not a sign by which to track them. In his rage he shouted aloud then, as the host appeared in answer to his voice, with curses he ordered him back. Unable to account for the escape, dreading to excite suspicion or inquiry, he returned to the Trouble House—after vainly searching every out- house, nook, and hole in its vicinity—there to take fresh counsel with himself for the pursuit and re- covery of those whose fresh baffling of his search had but rendered him more determined to hold them once more within his power. (To be continued.)
DANIEL O'ROURKE. --+- MANY people have no doubt heard of the wonderful adventures of Daniel O'Rourke, but how few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and below, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls of Phooka's town. I knew the man well. He lived at the bottom of Hungry Hill, just at the right hand side of the road as you go towards Bantry. An old man was he at the time he told IDe the story, with gray hair, and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, 1813, that I heard it from his lipf, as he sat smoking his pipe under an old poplar tree, under as fine an evening as ever shone from the sky. I was going to visit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the morning at Glen- gariff. I am often axed to tell it, sir," said Daniel, so that this is not the first time. The master's son, you see, had come from beyond foreign parts in France and Spain, as young men used to go, before Bonaparte or any such was heard of; and sure enough there was a dinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high and low, rich and poor. The ould gentlemen were the gentlemen, after all, saving your honour's presence. They'd swear at a body a little, to be sure, and, may be, give one a cut with a whip nOW and then, but we were no losers by it in the end; and they were so easy and civil, and kept such rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes; and there was no grinding for rent, and few agents; and there was hardly a tenant on the estate that did not taste of his landlord's bounty often and often in the year,—but now it's another thing: no matter for that, sir, for I'd better be telling you my story. Well, we had every thing of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate and we drank, and we danced, and the young master, by the same token, danced to peggy Barry, from the Bohereen-a lovely young couple they were, though they are both low enough now. To make a long story short, I got, as a body may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can't remember even at all, no ways, how it was that I left the place only I did leave it, that's certain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself, I'd just step to Molly Crona- han's, the fairy woman, to speak about the bracket heifer that was bewitched. And so as I was crossing the stepping-stones of the ford of Ballyashenough, and was looking up at the stars and blessing myself- for why? it was Lady-Day—I missed my foot, and souse I fell into the water. "Death alive!" thought I> "I'll be drowned now." However, I began, swim- mmg, swimming, swimming away for the dear life, till at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never a bit ef me can tell how, upon a desolate island. I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered, until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as day, or your fair lady's eyes, sir (with your pardon for men- tioning her), and I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way, and nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog-I could never find out how I got into it; and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain was I that it would be my burying-place. So I sat down upon a stone which, as good luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch nay head, and ring the mlagone-when all of a sudden the moon grew black, and I looked up and saw some- thing for all the world as if it was moving down between me and it, and I could not Ml whst it was. Down it came with a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an eagle-as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry. So he looked at me in the face, and says he to me, "Daniel O'Rouke," says he, "how do you do 7" Very well, I thank you, sir," says I; I hope you're well ?" wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to speak like a Christian. What brings you here, Dan ?" says he. "Nothing at all, sir," says 1; only I wish I was safe home again." Is it out of the island you want to go, Dan ?" says he. It is, sir," says I. So I up and told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water; how I swam to the island and how I got into the bog, and didn't know my way out of it. Dan," says he, after a minute's thought, "though it was very improper for you to get drunk on Lady- day, yet as you are a decent, sober man, who 'tends mass well, and never flings stones at me or mine, nor cries out after us in the fidlds,-my life for yours," says he so get up on my back, and grip me well for fear you'd fall off, and I'll fly you out of the bog." I'm afraid," says I, your honour's making game of me; for whoever heard of riding a-horseback on an eagle before ?" 'Pon the honour of a gentleman," says he, putting his right foot on his breast, I am in earnest; and so now either take my offer or starve in the bog be- sides, I see that your weight is sinking the stone." It was true enough as he said, for I found the stone every minute going down from under me. I had no choice; so thinks I to myself faint heart never won fai" lady, and this is a fair persuadance. I thank your honour," says I, for the loan of your civility, and I'll take your kind offer." I therefore mounted upon the back of the eagle, and held him tight enough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. Little I knew the trick he was going to serve me. Up—up—up—God knows how far up he flew. I Why, then," said I to him-thinking he did not know the right road home-very civilly, because why ? —I was in his power entirely,—« Sir," says I, please your honour's glory, and with humble submission to your better judgment, if you could fly down a bit, you're now just ever my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to your worship." Arrah, Dan," said he, do you think me a fool ? Look down in the next field, and don't you see two men and a gun ? By my word it would be no joke to be shot this way. to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked up off a cewld stone in a bog!" "Bother you said I to myself, but I did not speak out, for where was the use ? Well, sir, up he kept, flying, flying, and I asking him every mmute to fly down, and all to no use. Where in the world are you going, sir ?" says I to him- Hold your tongue, Dan," says he; mind your own business, and don't be interfering with the business of other people." of other people." Faith, this it my business, I think said I. Be quiet, Dan," says he; so I said no more. At last, where should we come to but to the moon itself! Now, you can't see it from this, but there is —or there was, in my time—a reaping-hook sticking out of the side of the moon, this way Tdrawing the figure on the ground with the end of his stick]. Dan," said the eagle, I'm tired with this long fly; I had no notion 'twas so far." "And my lord, sir," said I, "who in the world axed you to fly so far ? Was it I ? Did not I beg, and pray, and beseech you to stop half an hour ago ?" There's no use talking, Dan," said he "I'm tired bad enough; so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I rest myself," Is it sit down on the moon ? said I; "is it upo* this round thing, then ? why, then, sure I'd fall off in a minute, and be kilt and split, and smashed all to bits—you're a vile deceiver, so you are t,, "Not at all, Dan," said he; "you can catch fast hold of the reaping-hook that's sticking out of the moon, and 'twill keep you up." I won't then," said I. May bo not!" said he, quite quiet. "H you don't, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf in the morning." Why, then, Fm in a fine way! said I to myself; and so, giving him a hearty curse in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off his back with a heavy heart, took a hold of the reaping-hook, and a mighty cold sear It was, I can tell ye that. When he had me there fairly landed, he turned round about to me, and said: II Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rouke," said he; I think I've nicked you fairly now! You robbed my nest last year ('twas true enough for him, but how he found it out is hard to say); and in return— you're freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a cock-throw." Is that all, and is this the way you're to leave me, you brute, yeu?" says I. "You ugly unnatural baste, and is this the way you serve me at last? Bad luck to yourself, with your hooked nose, and to all your breed, you blackguard! Twas all no manner of use. He spread out his great big wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled after him to atop but I might have called and bawled for ev-r, without his minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to this— sorrow flyaway with him You may be sure I was in a disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a door opened, right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as if it had not been opened for a month before-I suppose they never thought of greasing them-and out there walks,-who do you think ? but the Man in Moon !-I knew him by his bush. (7b be continued.)
BE KIND. I would not hurt a living thing, However weak or small; The beasts that graze, the birds that sing, Our Father made them all, Without whose notice we have read, A sparrow cannot fall. 'Twas but the other day I met a thoughtless boy Bearing a pretty nest away It seemed to give him joy But oh I told him it was wrong To rob the little feathered throng. I passed another by It seemed a saddening thing To see him seize a butterfly, And tear away its wing, As if devoid of feeling quite I'm sure that this could not be right. The patient horse, and dog, So faithful, fond, and true, And e'en the little leaping frog, Are oft abused, too, By thoughtless men and boys, who seem Of others' comfort not to dream. Yet surely in our breasi A kindlier soul should dwell, For 'twas our bleasea Lord's request To use His creatures well; And in His holy book we find A blessing given to the kind.
IT is easier to still the wave of passion than to break the dead sea of indifference, which, like the Lake Asphaltes, destroys the energies of all that approach it, until, like the birds that are said to drop lifeless on its dull surface, the heart sinks to rise no more. POOR young thing! She fainted away at the washtub, and her nose went right into the soapsuds. Some said it was overwork; others, however, whispered that her beau had peeped over the back fence and called out, Hullo, there, Mary, is Miss Alice at home?" THE RISK OF CAMBEBWELL.-In point of population, Oamberwell offers, perhaps, the most striking example of increase which can be found throughout the metropolitan suburban area—the number of its inhabitants having grown from 7059 in 1801, to the astonishing amount of 111,306 in 1871. It seems, indeed, that, with the dawn of this century, Oamberwell suddenly broke through the trammels which had been imposed upon suburban buildings during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and had made their prescriptive influence felt throughout the eighteenth. Happy would it have been, both for th9 citizens and the City of London, had those laws been maintained and enforced in a salutary, judicious, and moderate manner. Then, it has been remarked, we should not have seen, as we do now, so many square miles of fertile agricultural ground covered with useless bricks and mortar, the crowded habita- tions of a seething population; then, indeed, we should not have had miles of beggarly two-storeyed tenements swallowing up all the open spaces about the metropolis, but should have adapted a system of building more consonant with the principles of sanitary laws, as well as with those of social and political economy. In few matters, during the first half of the present century, has there been a greater change than in the mode and pace of travel- ing and abundant illustration of this fact is shown by a retrospect of the character of the communication between London and Oamberwell as existing in the years 1796 and 1877. In the former year, one Oamberwell caach waa advertised to leave the "Anchor and Vine," Oharint; -jirosa, twice daily, and another to leave the" Kings and Key," Fleet-street, three times daily. Now, besides omnibuses, whose name is legion, there are several railway stations in Oamber- well, and, likewise, a line of tramway from West- mmater to Oamberwell-green and New Cross, besides other tramway lines from Oamberwell to Blackfriars and the City. By means of its railway and tramway communication, in addition to the ordinary omnibus service, Oamberwell is now placed within easy reach of the central portion of the metropolis.—Old and New London. THE BOOXB OF SAMUEL.—The books of Samuel bears distinct eridence of being to & certain extent a compilation from earlier sources, though the unity of style shows that they must have been works of the same age, or that the compiler adapted them to the style of the age in which he was writing. The only source actually named is The Book of Jasber (i.e., The Book of the Upright "), from which David's lamentation over Saul and Jonathan, entitled the Song of the Bow," is quoted (2 Sam. i. 18). If the conjecture that the Book of Jasher was a collection of historical poems be well grounded, it is possible that the other poetical compositions contained in the Books of Samuel may have been borrowed from it. But, notwithstanding the learning and ingenuity which has been devoted to this book, our knowledge of its con. tents and character is still too indefinite to allow us to say whether these ancient odes are derived from that, or from other sources.—The Btbl* Educator. CHRISTOPHER NORTH AS AN ANGLER.-Has he not sketched himself a hundred times in his books ? Nay, does he not limn his own portraiture, uncon- sciously, yet none the less delightfully, in every line of them ? We can see the well-knit yet bulky frame, the long hair curling down the neck of Ajax—no love- locks for lady's chamber, but playthings for wind and water on his wild moorland excursions, yet hyacin- thine withal, as befitted the friend of the muses, the favoured son of Apollo—we seem to hear the cheery VOIce, now toned in unison to some grand simile of Homer, now dinging some native lay of tragic love, and then again raised till the welkin rings as he shouts to his henchman Hamish to gaff the salmon that he is leading downwards to the one rocky ledge where alone the feat would be possible. Yet whether on his loved carpet of heather, or in the lecture room, or the reviewer's study, it is always the same great heart beating kindly to the universe, sympa- thising with every form of good, and assimilating beauty from all that is exalted in nature, or history, or man's life—a soul fired with the true enthusiasm of humanity reflecting all that is pure and noble and of fair report about it, as the summer sea catches the tints of heaven in its bosom. But we have now to do with Wilson merely as angler and, to dwell first upon the practical side of angling, never was more censum- mate artist than he in choice of flies and ability to send thirty yards of silk and hair across a roaring stream so that the line should light on the very spot behind the big boulder where lurks the salmon. His eagerness for sport, too, was unbounded; his appetite for fresh air, exercise, and wading, regard- less of cramp or rheumatism, insatiate. Ao moor- land with its thick crop of heather, no rugged mountain of granite, swathed in mists and dipping down to bogs which would swallow up an army, deterred his venturous steps when grouse were to be shot or trout taken. His mind was well stored with philosophy and poetry, and he was never weary of dilating on both with more of enthusiasm, perhaps, than of sound critical judgment, but still with a suf- ficiency of learning, a fund of humour, and a love of his own country's literature in particular, which made him a delightful companion by lock or river. If Sir H. Davy be the philosopher of angling, Wilson is as indubitably its poet. Let him once close his hand on the butt of the nyrod, and what charming rhapsodies on Nature, what touching reminiscences of youth does he not pour forth! Who can forget the inimitable progress of the angler, from the unbreeched child at the brookside with crooked pin and cotton line, through the boy catching his first trout, to manhood's struggle with a forty-pound salmon, which ae traces BO eloquently that we reflect while reading wherein lies the true poetry of the craft ? Angling, he shows us, binds together everyageof human life with a chain of sympathetic memories, when a man is once smitten with enthusiasm for it. As Wilson wanders on from pool to pool, here extracting a grilse from" Bluidy Breebs," there a sea-trout from the Gurly," but ever attended bv a supreme love for Nature, we are in. sensibly reminded of a brother poet's picture of one who Murmured by the running brooks, A music sweeter than their own. Nothing is too prosaic for him to glorify. The salmon-fly, dressed like Iris, has often been celebrated in song; who but Christopher North could wax poetic over a fishing-rod ?—Frater's Magazine.
LADIES' COLUMN. --+-- THE FASHIONS Several new shapes of bonnets are observable, says the Queen; those for town wear are small, and for country large. A leading Parisian firm is making Oolimagon bonnets of black lace, with a bouquet of crocuses, lilac, &c., at the side; also bonnets iringed with flowers, and trimmed with two feathers that cross at the top. Thus a bonnet, with two red feathers, has a small band of forget-me-nots; one with pink feathers has rosebuds, one with navy-blue feathers has heliotrope, one with black feathers has pale yellow primroses. There is a great variety of sobet tints about the new spring millinery, and prominent are mode, drab, silver, beige, tan, wood, mastic, and ashes of roses, which is a pinkish drab. The contrasts are yellow shades, from cream to mandarin, pale blue, poppy- red, and greens. A novelty used with quiet colours is the silver and gold ribbon, an inch or so in width, thin and flexible. Satin is used in ribbons, and cut bias from the piece the former are "two tone," both sides satin, yet each of a different colour, and from one to two inches is the popular width. Ribbons watered on one side and satin on the other, fringed ribbons, embre and shaded ribbons, and jardiniere ribbons are all in vogue. The last have the fringe of many colours, while the stripe in the centre is of plain satin, silk, or watered surface. The new gauzes for trimming are endless. There are satin gauzes with lace-like stripes alternating with thin satin lines. In other gauzes the stripes are watered. In some they have a velvet mossy pile, and others have chenille loops between gauze stripes. There are bourrette gauzes, with knotted threads; cobweb gauzes, as delicate as though woven by spiders; a new fringed gauze, with rows of Tom Thumb fringe The beaded ornaments are likewise most varied. Pearl galons are made up of four er five rows of beads, pearl fringes to match; pearl comb-shaped ornaments for bows, and balls of pearl on rods for brooches. Grey, jet, and rainbow beads are mounted in a similar manner; four silvered balls en gold stems are also worn. Pale green leaves are now made of oil silk instead of muslin, and there is no wire down the centre. A quantity of green rubber tubing," as it is technically called, is used to tie in clusters and hang like grasses, or to string pearl beads upon in most incongruous fashion as fringe. The flowers represent every blossom known to the garden, the woods, or the fields, and with these are natural grasses, seed pods, grain, and other odd clusters of (skeleton buds, being merely the green calyxes of rosebuds stripped from their celoured petals. Worm-eaten, faded green leaves are among the most natural things in spring millinery. Tuscan straw, grey chip, alternating with silver braid, black and white chip are all shown. Ostrich tips dusted with gold are novelties in spring bonnets I had forgotten. The daisies or marguerites -the flower of the Queen of Italy-are formed into chains, and arranged round the brims of some of the newest bonnets. UNDER CLOTHING. Bath coating is used for flannel petticoats and much gored, straps being sewn to the side seams, and buttoned across the back to keep the fulness in its place. But the chief novelty in these is the band, which is made to closely fit the hips, and is cut on the cro., Bin. deep at the back, having no fulness at the waist. Flannel pecticoats are embroidered in either wool, silk, or flax thread, which last is cheap, washes well, and has a good appearance, but a newer style is a band of Torchon insertion above the hem, and below a cluster of seven narrow tucks, a frill of Torchon quite at the edge. White petticoats for walking are barely more than two yards and a half wide, are not trained, and are often made with kilt pleatings headed by insertion, and have now generally a low bodice cut in one en Princesse. They have runners a quarter of a yard below the band if there is no bodice. Evening petticoats are much trained, being exceedingly plain in front, and have often a bodice cut in one, with the same, number of Beams a dress now has. A new Paris model consists of but two pieces, joining on the cross down the centre of the front and back; many gores at the waist take away all fulness, and the back forms the queue de paon. Measuring round this train, the width of the skirt would be nearly fouryards; acrossthe skirt, without the train, two yards and a half. It is trimmed with kilt plait. ings, having frills of embroidery and deep lace round. Crinolines and tournurea of all kinds are out of date but many dress petticoats have plaited flounces of coarse muslin up the back to some half-yard belnw the waist. Skirts are all bordered with lace, but the muslin portion of the flounce should not now bo F-oon. The way to arrange these interior trimmings is to have a strip of muslin four inches wide, with luce two inches deep sewn to it, and then to tack it within the edge of the skirt so that only tiui is virtue, the muslin being laid on with a slight plait, all turned one way, and three inches apart. Black silk petticoats, lined with washleather, are warm and useful winter skirts. Plain washleather, bound with black leather, is also the only petticoat worn by some fashionable women, and washleather, lined with red flannel, is used for habit skirts, bodices, and vests.
USEFUL HINTS. STUFFED JOHN DORy.-Pick out all the flesh from a whiting, pound it with an equal bulk of bread- crumbs soaked in milk, a piece of butter, a small onion or a shftlot blanched, pepper, salt, and grated nutmeg to taste; mix the whole very well, and work it into a paste with the yolks of one or two eggs. Lift up the flesh from the backbone of a good-sized John Dory, stuff it with the above composition, and tie it up with string; lav it in a buttered tin with a table- spoonful of minced shalots, a couple of bay leaves, some whole pepper, and salt to taste pour in enough stock and white wine in equal parts to cover the fish, place a sheet of buttered paper over it, and put the tin in the oven for about three-quarters of an hour, more or less, according to the size of the fish. Rt move the string, and serve with seme of the liquor strained and thickened with a little butter and flour. STEWED PIGS' FEET.—Put the feet into a stewpan with a thin slice of bacon, one blade of mace, six peppercorns, three sprigs of thyme, one onion, and one pint of good gravy, and stew them till perfectly tender; the time this will take must depend upon the size of the feet. When they are so lender that the bones separate easily from the flesh, strain the liquer; reserve the bacon, chop it up finely, and add it to the sauce with a thickening of butter and flour. Split each foot in two lengthways, and serve with the gravy poured round, and with nicely-cut sippets of fried bread. MAsHED SPINACII.-Pick and wash the spinach very carefully, and then put it into boiling salted water, and boil ten minutes, or until quite tender; drain, then paaa it through a hair sieve, season with pepper, salt, and put it into a stewpan with a piece of butter and a few tablespoonfuls of cream or Bechamel sauce; stir over the fire until quite hot, and serve either with cutlets, fricandeau, grenadine, poached eggs, &c., or in a vegetable dish with fried sippets of bread. FEATHERS.—It happens sometimes that feathers that have been prepared by baking have a putrid, un- pleasant taint, caused by having some of the skin ad- hering to the auill; this may perhaps be thought an insurmountable difficulty to overcome; but if, after a family wash, the bag, tied closely at the neck, is dipped into the copper of soapsuds while boiling, and moved about with a stick for a short time, then lifted up and squeezed with a stick against the sides, then taken out and hung out in the air and shaken several times, in the course of a few days, when the feathers feel dry and light, and are free from smell, they may be again out in the oven and kept aired for use.- Casselts Household Guide.
THE difference between the preacher, the builder, and the architect of a church is this: One is the rector, the other is the erector, and the third is the director. DYING THOUGHTS.—There is an anecdote In Young's Memoirs" about certain signs of repen- tance in a convicted felon about to be executed which would be laughable were it not 119 grim, and which is, doubtless, like a good many more eleventh hour repentances. One Maskelyne, a leather-headed chawbacon, such as abound in the agricultural dis- tricts of England, had shot at a farmer with intent to rob, and, if necessary, to kill. He was a parish ioner of Mr. Young, who, at his most urgent request, visited him in prison. I knew," Mr. Young says, that his soul's health was well cared for by the chaplain of the gaol, and I had but little faith in my own power of making any vital impression on him in one interview." However, he went, and laboured faithfully with the poor fellow. The result, as he tells it, was this: When last I saw poor Maskelyne I was telling him that the holiest man that has ever lived, when he has come to die, has died a sinner, pardoned for his Saviour's sake alone, when he burst into a passion of tears. I caught him by the band, supposing them to be tears of penitence, thanked heaven, and took courage from such evidence of sensibility. He continued to weep eo bitterly that I felt hopeful that the frozen fount had thawed at last. These tears are a goodly sign, my friend. You sorrow, I trust, for your sins past ? You seek for pardon ?' Judge of my horror at his answer: I Dtp, sir, I don't. 1 was not thinking about my sins. It is as I'm so dreadful hungry. I do assure you I feel as if I could eat a jackasa I"
VARIETIES. 1 StDOLL-The earth with its scarred face is the symbol of the past; the air and heaven, of futurity. Kind words do not cost much. They never blister the tongue or lips, and we have never heard of any mental trouble arising therefrom. PlUDB AND CONTEMPT.—The disesteem and con- tempt of others is inseparable from pride. It is hardly possible for us to overvalue ourselves,, but by under- valuing onr neighbours. HOPB. He seldom lives frugally who lives by chance. Hope is always liberal, and they that trust her promises make little scruple of revelling to-day on the profits of to-morrow.—Johnson. The love of a cross woman, it is said, is stronger than the love of any other female individual. Like vinegar, the affections of a high-strung woman never spoil. It's the sweet wine that becomes acidulated, not the sour wine. Forbearance is the keynote of married life. There can be no great discord, no large divergencies from tunefulness, so long as the husband forbears and the wife forbears. Now, this cannot be attained without some labour. Results are approached gradually in character, as they are in making a sand hill. I TRUTH IN TRIFLES.—Delude not yourself with the notion that you may be untrue and uncertain in trifles, and in important things the contrary. Trifles make up existence, and give the observer the mea- sure by which to try us; and the fearful power of habit, after a time, suffers not the best will to ripen into action. GOODNESS AND WICKEDNESS.—If there is one lesson which history and revelation unite in teaching, it is this—that goodness and wickedness ever have been, and, as long as the world lasts, ever will be, mixed up in this state of our existence—that social progress and civilization will never make goodness universal, eradi- cate vice, or bring the flesh into final subjection to the spirit. ROICISH CARDINALS.—It is stated that the privilege of wearing the red hat was granted to the Cardinals of the Romish Church by Innocent IV., in the thirteenth i century, as an emblem of their readiness to shed their blood for the Catholic faith. For a century and a half before they had been allowed to wear red shoes and red garments. In the year 1630 they were given the title of Eminence, ihaving been previously designated Most Illustrious. Cardinals may, with the consent of I the Pope, lay aside their rank and return to secular life; and many have done so. Even those in holy orders have been permitted to divest themselves of both rank and orders and to marry. A JAPANBSB BKLLB.—Describing the toilet pre- parations of a Japanese damsel, a correspondent says that it is a matter of no light consideration, and to be i in good time for the feast she must be up and dressing long before the sun rises from behind Fuzi, the great sacred mountain. The long, coarse tresses of black hair must be washed, combed, and greased till the head shines like a knob of polished black marble. The cheeks must be rouged to the proper tint, the throat, neck, and bosom powdered, carefully leaving, however, on the neck three lines of the brown skin of the owner, in accordance with the rules of Japanese cosmetic art. Then the eyebrows must be carefully rounded and touched with black, the lips reddened with cherry-paste, with a patch of gilding in the centre. When all this has been done, and she gets together a proper allowance of pocket-handkerchief- paper, her tobacco-pouch, pipe, and fan, she sallies forth. A FIGHTING ARCHBISHOP.—Dr. Blackburn was in the early part of his life an active buccaneer in the West Indies, for even buccaneers could not be with- out their parson. In one of their cruises, the first; lieutenant having a dispute with him, told him, that if it were not for his gown, he should treat him in a different manner." Oh," says Blackburn, that i need be no hindrance, as it is easily thrown off-and now I am your man." On this it was agreed that they should fight on a small island near where the ship lay, and that the one who fell should be rolled; into the sea by the survivor, that it might seem as if, walking on the cliff, he had slipped his foot and tumbled in. The lieutenant fell, to all appearance shot dead. Blackburn began rolling him down one or two declivities, but just as they came to the last, the lieutenant recovered sufficiently to call out, "For sake, hold your hand." Ah," said Blackburn, "you spoke just in time, for you had but one more cast to the bottom. Will it be be- lieved that this same fighting parson and baccaneer was afterwards promoted to be Archbishop of York P When Sir Charles Wager heard of the promotion, i "What," said he, "my friend Dr. Blackburn made Archbishop of York! I ought to have been pre- ferred to it before him, for I was the elder buccaneer of the two." ANNE BOLBYN.-Henry the Eighth was married to Anne Boleyn on the 25th of January, 1533, in a garret at the western end of the palace at Whitehall. She is described as a fair young creature, so exquisitely moulded in form and feature that she enslaved the eyes and understandings of all she encountered; and such is the interest with which her memory is still invested, that numbers daily visit her chambers at Hever Castle, near Edinbridge, in Kent, and eagerly listen to the romantic traditions which point out the; hill where Henry used to sound his bugle when he, came to visit her in their happy days of courtship, from his palace at Eltham, and the exact spot in the garden where, at the turn of a walk, she suddenly I came upon the King, who was so struck with her wondrous beauty, that from that moment he was inspired with the fatal passion which raised its un- fortunate object to the throne but to transfer her to the block. The axe with which the little neck of the cruelly sacrificed Queen was severed is still pre- served in the Tower, and shares, with her grave in the chapel, the melancholy interest associated with her name. It is said that during the night which followed her execution her body was secretly removed from its grave before the altar of the Tower chapel, j and buried in the church of Salle, in Norfolk, where a black marble slab is shown as the covering of her remains. BUN JOHNSON.—Ben Johnson was always con- vivial, but sometimes rather too egotistical. An in- stance of this failing in our great comic writer is related by Mr. Howell, who, in a letter to a friend, says, I was yesterday invited to solemn supper by Ben Johnson, where there was good company,! excellent cheer, choice wines, and jovial welcome. One thing intervened, which almost spoiled the relish; of the rest, that Ben began to engross all the dis- course, to vapour extremely of himself, and, by villify- ing others, to magnify his own muse. T. Ca. buzzed; me in the ear, that though Ben had barrelled up a great deal of knowledge, yet it seems he had not read the ethics, which, amongst other precepts of morality, forbid self-commendation, declaring it to be an ill-favoured solecism in good manners." It Urould seem that Mr. Howell had met with "rare Ben" at an unlucky moment; for he was generally considered a man of the most social habits, who accommodated himself to the company he met with. An instance of this occurred when drinking with a few friends at a tavern he was in the habit of fre- quenting, and where he had run up a score. The landlord applied to him for the money; but know- ing the talents of his guestx said he would forego the debt if Ben would tell him what would please God, please the devil, the company present, and him- self. Ben did not hesitate, but thus addressed his landlord:- God is pleas'd when we depart from sin, The devil's pleas'd when we persist therein; Your company's pleased when you draw good wine, And thou'd be pleas'd if I would pay thee thine." The landlord acknowledged the merit of the im- promptu, cancelled the debt, and sent in an additional bowl to keep up that hilarity which Ben had thus happily provoked. SIBERIAN MINEs.-The exiles who live in the mines are convicts of the worst type and political offenders of the best. The murderer for his villainy, the intel- ligent and honest Polish rebel for his patriotism, are deemed equally worthy of the punishment of slow death. They never see the light of day, but work and sleep all the year round in the depths of the earth, extracting silver or quicksilver under the eyes of taskmasters who have orders not to spare them. Iron gates, guarded by sentries, close the lodes, or streets, at the bottom of the shafts, and the miners are railed off from one another in gangs of twenty. They sleep within rock hewn recesses-very kennels-into which they must creep on all fours. Prince Joseph Lubomirski, who was authorized to visit one of the mines of the Oural at a time when it was not sus- pected that he would publish an account of his ex- ploration in French, has given an appalling account of what he saw. Convicts racked with the joint pains which quicksilver produces; men whose hair and eye- brows had dropped off, and who were gaunt as skele- tons, were kept to hard labour under the lash. They have only two holidays a year, Christmas and Easter; I and all other days, Sundays included, they must toil until exhausted nature robs them of the use of their limbs, when they are hauled up to die in the in- firmary. Five years in the quicksilver pits are enough to turn a man of thirty into an apparent sexagenarian, but some have been known to struggle on for ten years. No man who has served in the mines is ever allowed to return home. The most he can obtain in the way of grace is leave to come up and work in the road gangs, and it is the promise of this favour as a reward for industry which operate even more than the lash to maintain discipline. Women are employed in the mines as sifters, and get no better treatment than the men. Polish ladies by the dozen have been sent down to rot and die, while the St. Petersburg journals were declaring that they were living as free colonists; and, more recently, ladies connected with Nihilist i conspiracies have been consigned to the mines in pur- suance of a sentence of hard labour. It must always be understood that a sentence of Siberian hard labour means death. Goodness of heart is man's best treasure, his brightest honour, and his noblest acquisition. It is that ray of the Divinity which dignifies humanity. Our conviction is that ninety-nine hundredths of all the finery with which the ladies decorate their persons go for nothing as far as husband-catching is concerned. Nothing so humanizes the soul as sympathy. No- thing so thoroughly proves the man as his sympa- thizing with and alleviating the miseries of his fellow- creatures. INCREDULITY.—Of all the weaknesses which little men rail against, there is none they are more apt to ridicule than the tendency to believe; while of all the signs of a corrupt heart and a weak head, a tendenoy to incredulity isthe worst. Philosophy inquires before it denies. Enthusiasm is the blossom of which all true great- ness is the fruit; imagination the germ of all glorious deeds; and few are ever distinguished for high practical greatness who could not refer to a childhood of enthusiasm. It is the romance of the boy that becomes the heroism of the man. THE WORD FAREWELL.-If ever a latent feeling of love and friendship assumes a tender reality, sweeping the innermost depths of the soul, and kindling sad emotions in two warm hearts, it is a memory lingering upon the parting hour, and we whisper that little but impressive word-farewell. Proper benevolence is the most graceful and agree- able of all the affections. Benevolence embraces all beings capable of enjoying any portion of good—mani- fests itself in being pleased with the share of good every creature enjoys, in a disposition to increase it, in feeling an uneasiness at their sufferings. FATE.-No more despondent truth than that of fate ever appealed to the fact for a softened expression. No one is less deserving a poet's care. Despite the robe of imagery which he disposes in such artistic folds, the idea retains its original gloom, and calls up from the silent halls of our hearts reflections which it were a mercy to leave undisturbed. To gain a name of worth, a man must have an aim, a purpose for which he lives-not merely a bubble upon the stream, tossed to and fro by each succeeding wave; not merely the plaything of fate, but a being of determination, who looks to some harbour where he wills his boat shall anchor, and in willing conquers circumstances, and is not their slave. THE FOUNDATION OF FRIENDSHIP.—In the matter of friendship, I have observed that disappointment arises chiefly, not from liking our friends too well, or thinking of them too highly, but rather from an over estimate of their liking for and opinion of us, that if we guard ourselves with sufficient scrupulousness of care from error in this direction, and can be content, and even happy, to give more than we receive. READY MONEY.-Keep ready money on hand if you can. No matter if it is only a little sum. If it is only sufficient for the current expenses, it is a great con- venience, to say the least. Any one who has tried and compared the credit with the cash system will readily admit the correctness of the above remark. When you buy for cash you generally get things cheaper- get better weight and measure, and all the favours the dealer can extend to his patrons. On the chronic credit system, the matter is usually reversed. If you try to avoid credit by borrowing, you improve matters very little, if any. Hence we give this advice, Turn an honest penny" whenever you can, and always have sufficient money on hand to meet your small engagements. D&BAMS.—When do we live more intensely than when we dream P It is among the visions of sleep, not among those of waking, that we grow old and white-haired. There are people who never dream, happily or unhappily for them, and such people never grow old. After all, the body claims half our care and thought when our eyes are open; when our eyes are shut, it claims nothing. In sleep, rage, love, despair, terror, shame, remorse, all the tumultuous host of the passions, take prisoner the unguared soul. It is in a single night that men's hairs have grown white suddenly; never in a single day. Then we have no shield of common sense to keep off ghosts, no friendly shelter wherein to hide from them. Our lovers and friends are far from us, though by our sides; we are alone in chaos. If any one will question himself honestly, he will find that no actual emotion hx> ever equalled in intensity the night fancies which he laughs at when he wakes and most forgets by the end of breakfast time.-Cornhill Magazine. SMOKING IN PERSIA.—The Persian pipe is oomposed of a brass or silver or even gold enamelled head, which contains the tobacco. This is principally grown at Shiraz, and lacks the pungency of the American or Turkish plant, and it is generally smoked in Turkish harems; indeed, we have heard it whis- pered in scandal-loving circles that it used to be the fashion in India for ladies to smoke the hookah. The tobacco is well wetted, and then the moisture is partially squeezed out of it in a piece of linen. Then about a handful is placed in the bowl of the pipe, and some lumps of live charcoal are placed upon it. The head fits upon a perforated stem of wood, which in its turn fits into a (generally) globular-shaped vase of silver or glass; this penetrates into water, with which the globe is three parts filled; on one side of the vase is another wooden stem ending in a mouthpiece. Then by inhaling the smoke from the head of the pipe through the water into the lungs the operation is perfected. The inhalation keeps the charcoal alive, which burns the tobacco and allows smoke to gene- rate. The smoke is puffed out of the smoker's nostrils, and at first induces a species of gentle intoxication not provided against by the Permissive Prohibitory Bill" of Sir W. Lawson; but after the first few times of smoking this wears off, unless the dose be long eontinued.—Gentleman's Magazine. A PRETTY SPOT.—Mr. Ruskin has nearly completed a characteristic piece of work at Croydon. All along the valley which runs at the base of the chalk downs delicious springs rise, which form the head waters of the tributaries of the Thames. As the towns have sprung up the usual results have followed which wait upon "enterprise" in building. The springs have been choked, befouled, appropriated, and, worse than all, have been converted into cesspools. In one case, the inhabitants of the village, in which there were several springs of Castilian purity bubbling up from the gravel and uniting in a watercourse, set to work to tuin the drainage from their privies into it, although the land all round was of the poorest possible descrip- tion. In another case advantage was taken of a beautiful burst of water by the erection of a police- station right over it, and clapping a cesspool in its midst, so as to get the benefit of the flow," the said now being afterwards conveyed to an open pond. Mr. Ruskin has laid hold of one of these springs, which expanded into a roadside pond, has cleaned it out, paved it with bright pebbles, lined the sides with grass, on which a few boulders of rocks are placed, and is now about to erect a marble tablet on a wall by the side of it to the memory of a near rela- tive. It is now one of the prettiest little spots within fifty miles of London, and worth a journey for the purpose of looking at it. ORIGIN OF THE NAME HORSE CHESTNUT.—The following curious derivation of the name Horse Chestnut Esculus Hipposeastanum), as well as the fact giving rise to it, may possibly be as new to the readers of The Garden as it was to me, particularly as neither Loudon in his "Encyclopaedia," nor any French book on the subject, that I have seen, makes any mention of it. On examining, either with or without a glass, the mark left by the leaf stalk after its fall, a very distinct impression of a horse shoe im- bedded in the bark may be observed, bearing in relief seven dots, simulating the heads of as many nails. This mark assumes much more accurately the shape of the horse shoe on the twigs of last year's growth than on older wood. This derivation seems much less "far-fetched" than the two following, given by Loudon:—" It is said by some to be applied ironically; the nuts, though having the appearance of Sweet Chestnuts, being only fit for horses; and by some others, because the nuts are used in Turkey for curing horses of pulmonary diseases." If fit for any animals, Horse Chestnuts are more likely to be called only fit £01; pigs. First, because the irony would be so much the greater; and, secondly, because horses do not eat them willingly* ^;8 to their use in the medicinal line, it is possible that Turks, being no great doctors, may administer them to consumptive horses, but they can hardly be of much use in lung complaints, as their only medicinal property recognised in civilised phar- macopeia is that of a tonic, and, as such, the tincture of Horse Chestnuts is sometimes given for gastralia. The oil of Horse Chestnuts was, a few years ago, greatly puffed up in Paris as a cure for gout; it was applied externally, but was of little or no use, and is now considered merely as a quack medicine. Starch seems to be the best product of these nuts, but some- how the manufacture of it has never paid in this country, although Horse Chestnuts may be had almost everywhere for the mere gathering. Like Cassava (or Manioc) and many other feculent roots or nuts, repeated washings and triturating will, rid them of their bitter and acrid principle, leaving the fecula in an eatable state; the only question being that of the cost of the labour required for the operations.—2 he Garden. If rich, be not elevated; if poor, be not dejected. Manners are more important than money. A boy who is polite and pleasant in his manners will always have friends, and will not often make enemies. Good behaviour is essential to prosperity. PROGRESS IN EGYPT.-In Cairo, gaspipes have been laid down in all the principal streets, and these are better lighted than those of some European capitals. The principal thoroughfares are supplied with water- mains, and good water is distributed throughout the city. According to the American Artizan, new streets have been opened and narrow ones widened. An artifi. cial lake has been formed, and surrounded with iron railings, in a fashionable part of the city, which was formerly traversed by an offensive ditch. About the lake have been placed gravelled walks, flower-beds, stands for bands of musicians,- and for jbeatricaljepreaenfationfl,