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[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] AUNT PARKER. BY B. L. FARJEON. Author of li No. 119, Great Porter Square," The "Sacred Nugget," At the Sign of the Silver Flagon," "Grif," "Bla.de o' Grass," The House of White Shadows," Joshua Marvel," An Island Pearl," &c., &c. CHAPTER XXf. A NIGHT OP HORROR. It was altogether a new and novel experience in my life, and I prepared myself to enjoy it to its full. I breathed more freely. Aunt Parker was gone; I was my own mistress; fairyland was before me, in the shape of story books; what more, after the heavy oppression of the days since I lost my dear parents, could I desire? I was not afraid of being alone. I had passed through an education of silence and solitary con- finement which had accustomed me to solitude; moral forces within me had been awakened, and afforded me compensation for many hardships. Aunt Parker's behaviour towards me had brought to my aid, not a spirit of rebellion to chafe my soul, but a spirit of fortitude to sustain and strengthen it, I looked around, I was in Aunt Parker's room, in which she had left me, and from the window of which I had watched her departure. How peace- ful everything appeared! The simple presence of Aunt Parker, even although no word might pass her lips for hours, was aggressive, and suggestive of violence. Even had I not been certain of it, I should have felt, spiritually, that she was not in the house. The first thing to do was to completely master the situation. There was my food to be arranged on the shelves in the cupboard—three loaves of bread, a dab of salt butter, a plate of cold beef, a jug of milk for to-day and a tin of Swiss milk for to-morrow, a little tea in one cup and some brown sugar in another. These comprised my stock of provisions, and I thought it a liberal supply. I set the various articles in order in the cupboard, and then went into my own bedroom and brought out my books. Robinson Crusoe in his island was not more indeDendent and resigned than L True, he had Friday and a parrot to speak to; but as I was a little girl I thought I could do very well without Friday, and although I did not possess a parrot, there upon my window sill were my little friends, the birds, pecking at the crumbs. I was more than resigned I was contented and happy. Happiness often comes from contrast with misery which has gone before; perhaps this was my case, and it proves that, in the experience of many, trouble may be the parent of pleasure. Even the simple fact that I now knew what day of the week it was, whereas for months past I had been ignorant of it, was a great delight to me. Which book should I read first? I took them up one by one, and laid them before me, as though they were dishes in a grand feast. It was difficult to decide, and I thought I would leave it to chance. So I retreated a few steps from the table and shut my eyes, and, advancing to my precious library, put out my hand and lifted up "Nicholas Nickleby. I deposited the other five books in my box, and sat myself down to sweet delight. I was soon in the land of dreams. I must have read for nearly two hours when, with a sigh of exquisite pleasure and regret, I laid aside the book. Alonzo had presented himself reproachfully to my mind. It was past the time of his usual visit, and although I did not expect him on this day, he might be there and waiting for me. I would go out and see, and, to please him, would put on my pink frock. I had changed my dress, and was looking out of the window preparatory to running down stairs, when my heart suddenly began to beat with great violence and as suddenly almost stood still. For from my window, walking up and down in front of the house, I saw Mad Maxwell. I was shut up in the house with a madman, and Aunt Parker had set him to keep a watch over me. My terror was so great that it was a wonder I did not lose my senses, but the instinct of self- preservation overcomes all other feelings, and I flew like lightning to the door of Aunt Parker's bedroom, and locked it. There were two bolts on her door, and these I shot, the higher one by standing on a chair. It was the work of a very few moments, and then, breathless, I was back in my own room, cowering down by my window, and peeping out in such u. manner as to myself escape observation from the grounds. Yes, he was there still, the madman who was dangerous to approach, dangerous to speak to. Up and down, up and down he paced, as though he were a piece of mechanism and not human. Twelve steps this way, twelve steps that, neither more nor less, with the precision and regularity of machinery. I counted them, from one to twelve, and counted them again and again, and for so many times and so mechanically that my mind was fast becoming vacant, and it would have re- quired but little to cause me to rise from my stooping posture and walk the twelve steps this wav and that, in insane sympathy with the move- ments of Mad Maxwell without. It was merciful that my moral self-control came now to my aid, as it had done on previous occasions, and that the balance of my mind was restored. Aunt Parker had once more proved herself as good as her word. I have taken means to dis- cover whether you obey me or not; a strict watch will be kept upon your movements during my absence." Yes, that was what she said, and I had attached no importance to her warning. It was perfectly clear to me now I had a madman for my keeper. It was not, possible for me to be mistaken it was not possible that his regular movements in front of the door below were the result of accident; thev were premeditated, and the duty imposed upon him had been drilled into him by my aunt. How cunning she was! how cruel, how merciless and implacable! Had I been a venomous creature she could not treat me more inhumanly. And yet, as will presently be seen, I did her an injustice in this instance. I could not fasten the door of my own bedroom. There were no bolts on it, and it was always locked from within by Aunt Parker; I searched for the key, but could not find it; my aunt must have taken it away with her. I tried to move first my bed, and then a cheat of drawers which stood in my room, against my door, but I was not strong enough. However, while Mad Maxwell was walking in the grounds I was comparatively safe. The horrible fear which stole upon me was that he might enter the house and come up to my room. What should I do then ? Throw mpself from the window, and bedashed to pieces? Now, it was while I wa8 contemplating this dreadful series of circumstances that I made a discovery. Looking about for a means of escape in the event of Mad Maxwell trying to force his way into the room, I cast my eyes upwards, and saw what had never before attracted my attention, a bolt in the ceiling. The bolt was in an extreme corner, and it fastened a trap door which opened up communication with the roof. Here was a means of escape, if I could reach the trap door and open it. I would try. Fortunately, my chest of drawers was in a corner, immediately below the door. By standing on a chair which I lifted on the top of the drawers I found that I could obtain a firm hold of the bolt. It was difficult to move, being very rusty, but despair gave me strength, and after incredible labour I succeeded in drawing it out and in pushing the trap door upwards. A quantity of heavy dust fell down and almost blinded me. I thought little of this, however, and as little of having made my fingers bleed in my struggle with the rusty bolt. I was too grate- ful at discovering a possible means of escape from Mad Maxwell. The labour of opening the trap door had been accomplished intermittently; a dozen times at least I descended from the chest of drawers to see if my keeper was still outside. There was no change in his movements; he still kept up his monotonous iparch to and fro. What surprised me was that I did not observe him raise his eyes to my window. It grew dark. Aunt Parker had left me two candles. One of these I lighted, and then I brushed the dust from my clothes, and washed my hands and face. The cold water refreshed me, and I experienced a sense of hunger; I had eaten nothing since Aunt Parker's departure. Very little sufficed to satisfy me; a slice of bread and butter and a draught of milk gave me strength. All the while I ate I continued to watch Mad Maxwell's movements. There was no variation in them. I thought it likely that when it grew dark he would leave his post; I was mistaken. Night fell, and there he was still. Perhaps he was waiting for midnight to force his way up. The idea was har- rowing. I opened "Nicholas Nickleby," and tried to read, but the words swam before my eyes. There was nothing I could do but sit, and start up, and listen, and watch, and walk restlessly about. I did not dare to undress and go to bed I did not dare to put out the light. If there had been a clock in either of the rooms it would have been an inexpressible comfort to me; the night seemed in- terminable. It must soon be morning-it must soon be morning-it must, it must, it MOST!" That was my refrain, and it seemed as if it would never be morning again, and as if the world and my life were enwrapped in an eternal night. Tired out and exhausted, I fell asleep, but my inward agita- tion was too great to allow me to sleep loug or undisturbed. To wake up in terror, my heart almost frozen by the thought that there was someone in the room-to be afraid to move or breathe-to rise from the chair presently when my courage returned and creep slirinkingly into Aunt Parker's bedroom and look fearsomely around-to go to the door and try it softly, and draw a long, long breath when I found it still fastened-to return to my own room, where the dim, flickering light of one thin candle was creating monstrous shadows on the walls—to peep out of window and see Mad Maxwell continuing his monotonous watch-to wonder whether I had been asleep for minutes or hours—to listen to the dreary wash of the waves, than which no sound on earth can bring a deeper despondency to the soul in such circumstances as mine—to fall into a chair, com- pletely worn out and doze-to wake up again palpitating with fright—in this way passed the interminable night. At length, at length, a faint grey light appeared in the sky, grew broader, sweeter, more luminous. The dense blacks gra- duated into dark purples, which, swiftly now, because light brought hope and strength, merged into glowing rose tints, heralding the blessed sun. The tears ran down my tace, and I sank upon my knees in gratitude and said my morning prayers. Rising from my knees I listened, but could hear no sound of footsteps in the grounds. Mad Max- well's measured tread had ceased. Very cautiously and softly I raised the sash and leant out of the window. Below, stretched in front of the door, lay Mad Maxwell, fast asleep. He must have sunk exhausted at his post, and seemed to have made no effort to enter the house. His face was raised to the light, and there were signs of pain and suf- fering in it. I threw myself upon my bed dressed as I was, and, drawing the counterpane over me, slept long and peacefully. When I awoke the first sound which saluted me was the twittering of a friendly bird; it had flown boldly into the room to pick up the crumbs.

CHAPTER XXII. ALONE WITH MAD MAX WET. T. It was a bright and beautiful day, and there were no signs of Mad Maxwell when I had washed and prepared breakfast. I did not light a fire, but I put some sugar in a cup of milk and dipped my bread in it. I did not dare to unlock the door, for though my fears were lessened they were not removed. There was another night before me perhaps two; and I had heard from Aunt Parker how cunning mad people often were to put those about them off their guard. This might be the case with Mad Maxwell. Looking from my win- dow I could see no trace of him, but doubtless he was on the watch. So as to be prepared for an emergency, I mounted the chest of drawers and stood upon the chair to ascertain whether it would be very difficult and would take a long time to get through the trap door. It certainly was not easy, but an hour's practice enabled me to raise myself by a spring into a kind of loft. It was low and dark up there, but there were places where I judged it would not be difficult to push up the tiles and make a hole through which I could mount upon the roof and call for assistance. There would be a greater chance of my being seen and heard and rescued there than if I remained in the room below. There was a great deal of lumber in the loft, and under other circumstances I might have been curious to examine it, but my only care now was my safety, and all that I did, therefore, was to move into a convenient place a short pole which would enable me to break upwards through the tiles of the roof. should there be need for me to do so. My survey and all arrangements being com- pleted, I descended to my room and sat near my window-not quite close, because I did not wish to attract the attention of Mad Maxwell. From where I sat I could see some portion of the public road outside the wooden boundary of Restoration Hall. No person thence could see me sitting, as I was doing, well within the room; it was only when I sat quite close to the window that my face was visible to people outside, and then only at certain points. From the sea shore, with a glass a person who was curious could obtain a better view. The day was Thursday. The night had been so long that it seemed an age since Aunt Parker had gone away. Previous to the experience of the past night I should not have thought it possible for me to wish for her presence near me, and now I found myself looking forward eagerly to the hour of her return. Cruel and hard as she was, I had less to fear from her than from Mad Maxwell, whose disease, she had warned me, was likely to take the most dangerous turns. It was a desolate, lonely locality, and I had fre- quently wondered how it was possible that people could live in it frtfm choice. Two years ago a book had fallen into my hands," Elizaheth, or the Exiles of Siberia," which I had read with avidity. The horrors of Siberia had impressed themselves upon me, and, since my entrance into Restoration Hall,I had sometimes thought that the part of the country in which it was situated was to England as Siberia is to Russia, and that there must be many unfor- tunate persons confined in it who were suffering great hardships and miseries. On this bright day, during the afternoon, I saw but one person in the road, a butcher boy with a basket on his arm. He was riding a grey horse, and although he gazed with great pertinacity up at my window, I took care that he should not see me. He rode past the house three or four times, and more than once he waved a white handkerchief in the air, evidently making signals to someone. I jumped to the con- clusion that he was in league with Mad Maxwell, and that while the madman was keeping watch over me inside the grounds, the butcher boy was one of those who had been sent by Aunt Parker to watch me from the public thoroughfares outside. There were joints of meat in the basket which hung upon his arm, and as he lingered about the house for considerably over an hour, the idea sug- gested itself that some of his master's customers were waiting for dinner, and I hoped they would beat him for the delay. Eventually he disappeared, and I saw no more of him on that day. The evening shadows began to fall, and I looked out for Mad Maxwell. There were no signs of him, and the torture of his absence, strange as it may sound, was greater than the torture of his pre- sence. What was he doing? Had he devised some cunning plan to take me by surprise ? All that it was in my power to do was to pray for the time to pass quickly, which was of little avail, for the minutes were like hours. Of the two candles left by Aunt Parker there remained but one, and so that it should not be all used up-in which case the whole of to-morrow night would have to be passed in darkness-I re- solved at first to wait till the last moment before I lighted it, and then to be very careful and saving of it. I should have carried out this resolution had it not been for the sudden fear which shot through me that Mad Maxwell, who must surely be lying in wait in the grounds, upon looking up at my window would imagine that I was asleep, and would take advantage of my unconscious state to force his way in. I lit the candle instantly; the morrow must take care of itself. I dreaded the terrors of the night before me I invented new ones, and magnified them to harrow my soul. If Mad Maxwell came and knocked at the door, should I answer him and attempt to mollify him? If he set fire to the house what should I do? There would then be no safety on the roof. I remembered a ladder in the grounds. What if he were to place it against my bedroom window and attempt to force an entrance that way ? Would Aunt Parker ever come back, or had she, out of her hatred for me, left me to be killed by Mad Maxwell or to be slowly starved to death ? Amidst such a sea of fears as that which surged around me there is generally one feature which becomes predominant, and in my case this feature was the ladder. The idea grew stronger every moment, until it became a conviction, that Mad Maxwell intended to use the ladder as a means of getting at me. Fixed in front of the window of Aunt Parker's bedroom were three iron bars, which would not allow of an entrance from without. There was no such protection to the window in my room. Clearly, then, I was safer in Aunt Parker's apartment than in mine. I softly drew back the bolts upon her door and determined to remain in her room during the night. In the event of my hearing Mad Maxwell making the attempt I feared I could quickly turn the key in Aunt Parker's door and make my escape downstairs. I left the communicating doors between the two rooms open, and left the candle burning in my bedroom, and sat down by Aunt Parker's bed and waited. I heard nothing, saw nothing. Not a sound reached my ears; there was no movement except the shifting of the shadows on the walls. Terrible enough, but I kept whispering to myself, Don't be frightened, Lina, don't be frightened; thev are only shadows, and can't hurt you." As on the previous night, I dozed off again and again, and awoke in deep agitation, my heart beating violently. But nothing occurred. At what hour it was I do not know, but it was in the midst of this black night that a deep sleep fell upon me Nature compelled me to it; I was completely ex- hausted. It was not to be expected that my sleep would be dreamless, nor that my fancies should be cheer- ful ones. My dreams took the colour of my fears, and the figure of Mad Maxwell ran through them in the most horribly fantastic fashion. Now he was a being of monstrous proportions; he wrenched the house from its foundations, and ran with it into the sea. Down we plunged, the waves boiling and hissing around us, and he crying, "You thought to escape me; but I have you tight and safe. Come down-deeper, deeper, deeper!" Now he was his own unnatural self, and we were in a wood. After me he raced, and I flew from him among the trees, till he caught me and threw me up into the branches of an old oak which grew in my dear garden in Oaklands. But I was no safer there than elsewhere. He chased me through the air, and I found myself suddenly imprisoned in a house on fire. It was the house I really was in- Restoration Hall. I was alone, but Mad Maxwell was outside fixing the ladder against the wall. Up he crept, his wild eyes glaring at me; into the room he sprang, and clasped me in his arms. Maddened and overwrought, I awoke, and thought I saw the madman actually climbing over the window-sill. I rushed to the door, and, turning the kev, flew downstairs to the front door. It was unlocked, and the next moment I was in the open air, running this way and that, wringing my hands in delirious agony, and screaming for help. A pitch black night. Not a star in the sky. I sank to the ground, and, burying my face in my hands, burst into a fit, of violent weeping. My tears relieved my bursting heart; gradually I became calm, and I knew that I was alone and safe. As I re-call this reminiscence I can see myself, a pitiful little figure, without a friend in the world to help me, crouching in the midst of the darkness and the solitude of that dreadfulnight.. J gazed upon the house, and saw the dim light of the candle burning in my room. Thank God! What I had gone through was a dream. Lonely, friendless as I was, the sense of comparative safety made me almost happy. What should I now do ? Return to my room ? No, I could not do that. I would keep in the grounds till it was daylight. Then there would be only one more day and one more night, and Aunt Parker would be back. I was about to rise when I heard a moan. I pressed my hand to my heart. What new and strange terror was now to visit me ? I lay and listened. The moan was presently re- peated-and repeated yet again in the course of a few moments. It was the sound of a human being in pain, and there was in it a note of such exqui- site suffering and helplessness that, after my first sensation of fear was over, a feeling of pity took possession of me. I had from my earliest years felt not only deep sympathy for suffering, but an overpowering desire to do something to relieve it. I could not bear to see any living creature in pain, but never had an appeal been made to my sympa- thies in such an extremity as this. Again and again the moan came to my ears. I could not resist it. It drew me forward instinctively, and I rose and took a few faltering steps in its direction, and then, in a sudden revulsion of fright, I turned and fled to the house, and, running upstairs, locked myself in Aunt Parker's room, and stood looking helplessly around. And though I could no longer hear the sound of suffering, it came spiritually to my senses, and smote me, not only with compas- sion, but with shame it seemed a reproach against my inhumanity. The experiences I had gone through since the death of my parents had made me in some respects older than my years. Child as I was, I had grown into the habit of reasoning upon things, and of considering them, to some ex- tent, in a rational light. I thought of the face of Mad Maxwell as I had seen it in the early morn- ing's light, when he had fallen asleep upon his watch. Its expression was tender and human, and had left an impression of pity on my mind. Was it possible that a man who in his sleeping moments could raise emotions so gentle was capable of such paroxysms of fury as Aunt Parker had warned me against? Were he so dangerous as she said he was surely I should have received some confirmation of it during the months I had dwelt in Restoration Hall. There had been no evidence of violent mad- ness presented to my senses. His manner was gentle; the look in his eyes was such as I had seen in the eyes of a wounded animal; I had never heard the sound of his voice. Had Aunt Parker not spoken against him I should have courted his society instead of avoided him. If there had been in his mind any desire to form acquaintanceship with me-as on two or three occasions during the early weeks of my sojourn in this desolate house there appeared to have been—he had seen my pur- posed avoidance of him, and had not forced his attentions upon me, Was this the conduct of a madman ? Then, had my experience of Aunt Parker taught me to piace faith in her statements? Did I believe her to be honest and truthful ? On the contrary, had I not the best of reasons for my firm conviction that she was a false and cruel woman ? If false and cruel to me, why not false and cruel to Mad Maxwell, who was as much in her power as I was myself? Perhaps not so logically, but in such a form as to cause me to arrive at a more favourable and kindly opinion of Mad Maxwell, did these considerations affecting him present themselves to me; and, in- fluenced by them, I strove to gather courage to leave the house and ascertain whether I could be of any assistance to him. It required a strong effort on my part to bri ng myself to this resolution, and a still stronger effort to carry it out. With trembling limbs I descended the stairs and opened the front door. There was no change in the night; I could not see a yard before me, but the darkness was pierced, as it were, with moans of suffering, which came more frequently now from the kitchen in which I had often seen Mad M<txwell at work. I had never been in this kitchen, and did not know whether Mad Maxwell slept there. The door was closed when I reached it, and there was no light visible from without. I lifted the latch and, find- ing the door unlocked, entered the room. As I placed foot in it a moan from the sufferer was arrested in its utterance, and I was greeted by silence and darkness. I took the precaution to leave the door open as a means of escape in case of danger, and I waited for a few moments for some guidance in speech from the man I had come to assist. No word, however, was spoken to guide me, and in perplexity what to do I groped with my hands upon a table which stretched lengthways before me, and I found what I was instinctively and unconsciously searching for—a box of matches. I immediately struck one and lit a candle which fortunately lay near. Raising it above my head I looked around, In a corner of the kitchen, crouched more like an animal than a human being, against the wall, was Mad Maxwell. His ^unshaven face, the wild and mournful eyes which met my own, the gloom of the apartment, unnerved me for awhile; I put down the lighted candle and was about to creep away when a pathetic sob from the man arrested my steps. I turned and slowly approached him. There was blood upon the ground, and I saw a great gash in a naked foot which he was making an effort to nurse. It was so cruel a wound as to render him incapable of supporting himself upon the limb. He could do nothing himself to relieve his suffering— that was clear; and, shocking as was his appear- ance, I had not the heart to desert him. His wistful eyes followed mv movements, and I knew afterwards, though I did not then, that. he was in doubt whether I had come for good or ill. You will not hurt me ?" I said, timidly. The wistful eyes had now a look of wonder in them, as though there was to his ears an unaccus- tomed note of tenderness in the voice that ad- dressed him. You will not hurt me ?" I repeated. He made no reply in speech, but he shook his head gently, and the soiled and hairy face seemed to have a childliku expression in it which gave me confidence. You can speak, can't you ?" I asked, approach- ing closer to him. A wan smile of self-pity came to his lips, and low and slow was the voice in which he made reply. SpeFtk ? Yes, a little. But you are a man," I said, growing bolder. A man ?" he echoed, in the same low, slow tone, which was that of a being given to much silence, and therefore uncertain of his words. No. I am a brute. You know it. She has told you." Short as this speech was it occupied a long time in its utterance. "Who has toli me?" I inquired. "Aunt Parker ?" Aunt! Yes, my aunt. Did she tell me. do you mean ?" Yes." No, she did not tell me that." Something, then. What ?" I hesitated. Should I be quite open and frank with him? If I told him truly the character I had received of him, and it proved to be really a faithful description, it might infuriate him. And yet I did not hesitate long. I glanced behind me ib see that the road was clear for escape, and did not lose sight of the circumstance that his wounded foot would prevent him from pursuing me. She said you were mad." "Yes." he said, with no change in his singular manner of speakitig, I am mad." He acknowledged it, and exhibited no sign of anger. He acknowledged it in the tone of a child making confession of a fault. How could I recon- cile these opposing evidences? But you will not hurt me," I said, will you, if I try to do you good ? I had a dream of you, a frightful dream, and you were treating me in- humanly. I woke up so terrified-t thought it was real, and that you had climbed up the ladder into my room to kiil me—that I ran out of the house. Then, when I found that it was not real, and had got over my fright, I heard you groan, and I thought you must, be in pain and would like me to come and help you. It was a long while before I could get courage enough to come, but now I am here, you see, and your foot is so bad, and you look so very, very ill, that if I was sure you would not spring upon me when I am quite in your reach I would bathe your foot, and do what I can to make it well. You won't hurt me, will you-and I may trv?" At first when I spoke he was looking straight at me, but as I went on his head sank upon his breast, and I could not see his face; and now, when I had finished, he held out his hands, palms upwards, with a kind of entreaty in the action which I could scarcely fail to understand. His face was still hidden from me. and it seemed to be his wish to keep it hidden. It was this hiding of the face that rendered me uncertain what to do it did not harmonise with the mute appeal con- veyed by the #ction of his hands, which he still held wide apart. But my doubts were soon resolved. He brought his hands slowly together, and clasped them tightly; and then he spoke. There is a rope under the table; tie my hands with it; I shall then not be able to hurt you." The difficulty he had in expressing himself coherently was surprising in a grown man, and might have still more discouraged me had it not been for the unmistakable sincerity and despair in his voice. I had read somewhere that a great actor, when he wished to depict a certain kind of emotion, had the power of throwing tears in his voice. It reminded me of Mad Maxwell, on this and other occasions; there were tears in his voice when he bade me look under the table for a rope and bind him with it, I did look under the table, and I saw the rope, but I made no use of it. In an incontrollable impulse of compassion, I knelt by his side, and laid my hands upon his wounded foot. (To be continued.1

FEMININE FANCIES, FOIBLES, AND FASHIO. Sr A LADY, [All Rights Reserved.} We are in the midst of winter now, and have certainly experienced genuine winter weather during the past week. The heavy snowfall and subsequent thaw have rendered locomotion both difficult and dangerous. The outer world is very uninviting, and all whose avocations permit them to remain indoors think themselves fortunate. It is not a very cheerful beginning to the year, but, as there is no choice in the matter, we must even make the best of it. Householders are grievously troubled by the penetration of the snow through the roofs; and by all the miseries incidental to a domestic deprivation of water. A little care and forethought obviates a good deal of this, but un- doubtedly accidents will happen when the atmosphere is in its present condition. Too much vigilance cannot, however, be exercised in getting the snow cleared, as its penetrating power is amazing. Society is going to lose its Indian lion. The Sultan of Johore is about to return to Singapore, after having been feted and made much of during his visit. He has shown, I understand, all the traditional liberality of an Indian prince. His jewels, too, keep up the tradition of Oriental splendour. He wears eight rings of immense value. On one hand he wears diamonds and rubies, and on the other diamonds and emeralds. His :aigrette, too, is the admiration, and perhaps envy, of his fair hostesses. The great man cannot trust himself to the mercies of English cooks, or is, perhaps, afraid lest their manoeuvres should infringe the rules of his caste. When he is invited out to dinner he sends his own native servant to make ready for him. This attendant kills the poultry and makes the curries, which are described as being something quite out of the common. Un- happily, I am not in his confidence, so I cannot furnish you with the recipe. During his stay in London the Sultan has visitsd the exhibition at Portland tlau, wlucu is called India in London," and it is no small praise to the managers that the Indian prince expressed his satisfaction with it. Two of our great, families have sustained severe losses this week. The Duke of Devonshire has lost his only sister, Lady Fanny Howard, who was greatly beloved and esteemed. Lady Fanny, who resided at Eastbourne, had long suffered from delicate health, but her friends did not imagine there was any ground for alarm until just before her death, which, consequently, came upon them with the greater shock. The husband of Lady Fanny, your readers may be interested to know, was the son of the Young gallant Howard" who is chronicled in Byron's fine passage on Waterloo as a victim of that fatal day. The other bereavement to which I alluded was sustained by the Duke and Duchess of Richmond, whose third son, Lord Francis Gordon Lennox, died suddenly on New Year's morning. He had been out hunting on the Wednesday, and so little was any such catastrophe dreamed of that his mother had issued invitations for a party, some of which were actually not received until the news of her loss arrived. Lord Henry Lennox was entertaining the Sultan of Johore on New Year's evening in happy ignorance of the tragedy at Goodwood, which he did not hear of until the next dav. Such contrasts are painfully startling, and add to the bitterness of bereavement. These two deaths will throw a shadow over the opening of the London season, for the Lennox and Cavendish families are very widely connected. The wedding of Miss Alice Millais, daughter of our famous English painter, at Kensington last week was naturally a very brilliant affair. It was celebrated at St. Mary Abbott's Church, Kensing- ton, at three in the afternoon. Happily, the snow, which had fallen heavily all the morning, relaxed its efforts by that time, and did not mar the effect of the scene. The beauty of the bride and bride- maids and of the little pages, nephews of the bride, who bore her train, was the theme of uni- versal comment. The pages wore costumes of pale moss-green velvet, the coats turned back with white silk and adorned with collars and ruffles of old Venetian lace. The bride herself wore a dress of rich white satin, made with a long train. The bodice was cut square in front, which was filled in with Venetian point lace of great beauty, and the salne valuable old lace was used for trimming the skirt and adorning the sleeves and the back of the neck. A large tulle veil and diamond tiara completed the costume, which will be immortalised in something more lasting than a lady's letter, inasmuch as Sir John Millais intends to present his daughter and son-in-law with a painting of the ceremony as a wedding gift. Talking of wedding presents, I notice that at several recant weddings friends have re-placed the customary donations of china, jewellery, or plate by a simple cheque. This is, no doubt, a more useful form of bestowing one's favour, but it would only be permissible from relatives or inti- mate friends. It takes off something of the grace of the present, though it saves the trouble of selection to the donor, and spares the recipient the morti ft- cation of receiving half a dozen articles of the same sort whilst another item of domestice service equally necessary is omitted altogether: A relative of my own on the occasion of her wedding had several presents of plate, but, unluckily, among them were three butter dishes and no cake basket. The terrible domestic tragedies which have occurred during the last few weeks from ladies' dresses catching fire have induced the general inquiry whether it is not possible to reuder light materials uninflammable. As a matter of fact, this can be done in more than one way: If the mualin, net, or other thin material be steeped in a solution of tungstate of soda it will not ignite. Another means of rendering these articles fireproof is by soaking them in a mixture of borax and sulphate of magnesia, dissolved in warm water, in the proportion of four parts of borax and three parts of magnesia in twenty parts of water. Surely it is wise to take some such precaution to avoid such terrible risks if thin dresses must be worn but 1 wish our modistes and leaders of fashion would adopt the more sensible method of wearing thiaker materials in winter. This would avoid the less startling, but often equally fatal, risk of cold. I do not see why warm materials should not be made of light colour and be equally attractive, as well as much safer. The question was raised many years ago when a terrible disaster on the stage turned public at- tention to the perils of muslin dresses. A favourite danseuse, Miss Clara Webster, was performing, when her short, thin skirts caught fire at the footlights. In a moment she was in a blaze, and ran shrieking round the stage, to the horror of the terrified audience. Eventually a man climbed up from the pit and extinguished the flames with his coat, but the poor girl was so fearfully burnt that she died, after great suffering. The affair made a most painful impression, and an order was issued compelling the protection of the foot- lights by wire, or some other shield. This is now universal, and lias, doubtless, prevented many disasters. A NICE CAKE. Take ilb. of butter, worked to a cream, 6oz. of castor sugar, 4 eggs, putting in one egg at a time, and beating it up with the butter and sugar; lIb. of currants, fib. of sultanas, lIb. of raisins, lIb. of candied peel, and ilb. of flour. Flavour with 2 spice, according to taste, and add a cup of milk. Beat up all the ingredients well with the hand. Bake four hours in an oven which is not too fierce.

BRITISH AND CONTINENTAL RAILWAY TARIFFS. "They manage these things better in Germany" will inevitably be the exclamation of everyone who peruses the timely Report on the Railway Goods Tariffs of Germany, Belgium, and Holland, compared with those of this Country," just pre- sented by Sir B. Samuelson, M.P., to Mr. C. M. Norwood, as the president of the Association of the Chambers of Commerce of the United Kingdom. Below are a few contrasts, selected at random:— HARDWAKE — Birinin-liam to Loiidon-Britisti rate per ton.. 23s 6d 'Lance Bame distance—German rate per ton lis 4d Same distance—Belgian rate per ton !3slld Same distance— Dutch rate per ton lis 3d I WOOLLEN GOODS Bradford to London—British rate per ton 39s 4d Bame distance-Germaii rate per ton.20s Bt to 239 8d Same distaijee-Belgian rate per ton 18s 4d Same distance-Dut ch rate per ton 14s 6d Gx.NERkL MACHINKRY:- Leeds to Hull—British rube per tori (esport, 12s 6d) 25s Od Same (iistaiiee-Gernian rate per ton 45 6d Same distance—Belgian rate per ton (export, 5s 6d) S« Od Same distatice-Dutcti rate per t07i 5s 6d AGRICULTURAL MACK INKS Bedford to London—British rate per ton 188 Sd to 22s Od Same distance-German rate per ton, 55 10d to lis 2d Same distance-Belgian rate ner ton 7s 9d Satrie distance—Dutch rate per tOil. ¡S 4d to 915 6d HERRINGS Edingburgh to Birmingham-British rate per ton 60s Od to 683 4d Same tiistanco-Germaii rate per ton.S3s Bd to 26s Id CATTLE :— Hull to Maijoijester-Britisli rilte per wagon. 593 3d ballle distance—German rate I. 38s 6d Same distance— Rtlgian rate 293 6d Same tlisuuiee—Dutch rate 37s 6d Contrasts like unto the above could be multiplied until almost every one of the seventeen pages of contrasted tariffs which Sir Bernard Samuelson has provoided had been extracted, excepting those relating to coal, coke, limestone, and iron. These contrasted tariffs will be heard of a great deal during the next few months.

ESTABLISHED NEARLY bO YEARS.—White's Cele- brated Moc-Main Trusses. Single Trusses, from 10s. Double Trusees, from 38s. Sent, free from observation and post free. WHITE'S MOC-MAIN LEVER TRUSS is the most effective invention for the treatment of Hernia. The use of a steel spring, 10 hurtful in its effects, is avoided, a soft bandage being worn round the body, while the re- quisite resisting power is supplied by the Moc-Main Pad and Patent Lever, titting with so much ease and close ness that it cannot be detected. Send for descriptive t'ircular, with testimonials and prices, to J. White and Co. (Limited). 228. Piceadilly, London. Do not buy of Chemists, who often sell an IMITATION of our Moo- Main, J. White and Co. have not any Agents. bilgc

SPIRIT OF THE WELSH PRESS. [Br GWYLIEDTDD."] But for the Llanberis strike, the Welsh papers would be more than usually dull this week. Mr. Assheton-Smith has finally put his foot down, and stated, in reply to a request to refer the difference between him and his quarrymen to arbitration, that he intended to manage his own affairs with- out the interference of outsiders. The men have held several meetings to consider this letter, but it has not transpired what resolution they have come to. The question, as I stated in my letter of last week, is not one of wages, but of manage- mert. The men, it appears, have had a good deal of their own way, and had come to the belief that the quarries belonged to them and should be managed as they thought best. When the manage- ment became more rigid the leaders rebelled, and some of them had to be discharged. Most of these were deacons and preachers with the Calvinistic Methodists. It was alleged that they were dis- missed because of their Nonconformity, and the men who now refuse to work pose as martyrs, and appeals are made to the public for sympathy and help. The Daily News has a special reporter on the spot, who takes the part of the men. The Herald, in a temperate article, recommends arbitra- tion. The Radical papers, not only justify the action of the men, but use threatening language towards the owner of the quarries. A writer in Gwalia, under the signature An Old Quarryman," discusses the question in a long and able letter. He traces the origin and history of the quarrel, and shows conclusively that the laxity and favouritism which had prevailed in the quarries had turned the men's heads. The writer says—" The complaint that the chief managers are not practical quarrymen is absurd. Why should the two principal agents be singled out ? There are other officers beside Mr. Vivian and Mr. Davies who have never worked in a' bargain.' If practical knowledge 'is necessary in the chief manager, it is surely necessary in the slate manager and overlooker. The head men have nothing to do with setting bargains or fixing prices. These offices are held by practical men. It is evident that the objection of the men is personal. There was a time when nearly all the gooa places were held by men belonging to a particular sect or denomination. There was no need then to ask to what chapels the men who had the good bargains' went. Complaints are made that Mr. Assheton-Smith showed favour to certain persons after the election of 1880. No one who knows how Mr. Smith was treated then will be surprised to find that he remembered those who were his friends and supporters." Great efforts are being made to induce the farmers to turn against their landlords. The Baner has been hammerlDg. at it for several months, but the response has hitherto been feeble and fitful. The Genedl gives an account of a meeting held at Aberystwith last week, under the presidency of a fanatic named Tobit Evans and a. preacher named Glyn Jones, who formulated a scheme of Home Rule for Wales. The Genedl pities the ignorance and political blindness of Englishmen, but takes comfort in the hope that whan the Church will be disestablished they will acquire the enlightened wisdom which now characterises the inhabitants of other parts of the kingdom." The Rev. Michael D. Jones, of Bala, writes to the paper that the ardent patriot and world-renowned" Michael Davitt has promised to attend a conference in some part of Carnarvonshire next month, and urges his countrymen to send deputations to it from every part of the Principality. Mr. Michael Jones has another letter, in the Celt, wherein he combats the notion that Mr. Parnell looks to Mr. Gladstone for Home Rule for Ireland. Was Glad- stone the friend of Ireland when be imprisoned Mr. Parnell and 1,200 others without trial? Some people think that it was for the good of the world that Mr. Gladstone caused 8,000 ishmaelites to be slaughtered in the Soudan because they defended their own country." Lladmerydd," of tbe Tyst, is not pleased with the efforts now being made to effect reforms in the Church of England. He refers to an influential memorial that has recently been signed in favour of the Church, and regrets to find that several Nonconformists have attached their name to it, but is much comforted with the fact that there is not the name of a single Independent upon it. I am not much surprised at the Unitarians who have signed it," says the Doctor. Their idea is to make the Church broader and more comprehensive. There can be no greater inconsistency than for an Independent to favour the connection of the Church with the State. There is no reason for out- existence as a religious body if we favour the Establishment. There is a twist in the intellects of those of our body who do such a thing. There is no doubt that the Church requires reform, but let it be disestablished first, and let those who feel interested in it perform the task." The Gwetthiwr contains a long and virulent attack on Mabon" by Mr. David Morgan, a miners' agent from the Aberdare Valley. Mr. Morgan gives details of the terms upon which he and Mabon" corresponded some years ago with the Western Mail and South Wales Daily News, and insinuates that his successful rival is not what he professes to be. See how the Nonconformist ministers have been persecuted by the Western Mail," says this accuser of his brother; "I have too much of the fear of God upon me to call the clergy of the Church of England such names as this beast gives our respected Nonconformist ministers—men who, in the Holy Scriptures, are designated angels.' And I am sorry that' Mabon' had a hand in the matter." Mr. Morgan promises to resume the dirty work next week. The Herald has the following on the attack made by certain members of the Cor ph" upon the Rev. Edward Matthews :—"There are among the Cal- vinistic Methodists of South Wales a number of censors—big and little—who blame the renowned Matthews o Ewenni' for exercising his right and privilege to pen a letter in support of the Tory candidate for South Glamorgan. Mr: Matthews is quite able to defend himself, but it is painful to notice the intolerant spirit displayed by men who call themselves Liberals. Judge not, ye garrulous reverend brethren, lest ye be judged give practical scope to the Liberalism which ye profess, but which we almost doubt if ye have." The Gwyliedydd is almost wild over the imprison- ment of Mr. Stead, of the Pall Mall" revelations," and says that "All sects, nations, and classes, except the wanton and adulterous, agree that he is a man of God." And the Celt follows suit with the following Pharisaic utterances -—"Such a thing must not be tolerated. Heaven will have vengeance on the stain, and the imprisonment of the bright Christian, W; T: Stead, will have to be accounted for by and bye. If reform is to come it will not be through the instrumentality of the London press. The London press writer is a man of the world.' He has an occasional fit of piety when a good mac like Lord Shaftesbury or a bishop dies. He is eminently religious then. These flippant wordlings who now control the London press palliate vice. Reform must come, in spite of the London press; the Christian Church must take the matter up." The Llan publishes a sketch of Vaynor Church, near Merthyr, and an interesting account of the parish. The writer says that the churchyard is one of the most notable in the Principality, wherein rest the remains of priests, bards, scholars, and a multitude of other eminent per- sons—among them those of the Iron King, Robert Thompson Crawshay, whose grave is covered by a stone slab weighing eight tons. It appears that tbe original name of the parish was "Meini Oerion." In 1400 it was called Faenor Wen," and now Y Faenor." If this interpretation is correct the word Faenor or Vaynor means—the cold atones. In the absence of other material, I will close this article by a description of the character of the ad- vertisements in the Welsh newspapers. The most remarkable feature is the number and extent of quack advertisements which distinguish some of them. It would be an interesting study to solve the question why Welsh newspapers and quack advertisements go together, and if the union is indicative of intelligence and culture or the reverse. The Tarian and the Gweithiwr, both pub- lished at Aberdare, and read chiefly by colliers, contain 48 columns each, of which sixteen are occupied by quack advertisements. The last page of each paper is like a handbill, describing the wonderful qualities of a certain pill which cures all diseases to which flesh is heir. It would be a proper subject of inquiry why colliers con- sume so many boxes of pills, whilst men and women of other occupations seldom use them. The Tyst and the Celt, both organs of the two sections into which Independents are divided, are large patrons of quack advertisements. They also have the last page occupied by the advertisement of a certain manufacturer of pills. The two papers have 48 and 36 columns respectively, of which ten and eight are filled with quack advertisements, being about one-fifth of the entire papers. The Seren, the Baptist organ, has 40 pages, of which eight are devoted to quack advertisements. It seems that the Independents and Baptists stand in the same relation towards quack advertisements. They evidently suffer from the same ailments, and use the same remedies. But when we come to the Methodist papers there is a remarkable falling off in the demand. The Gwyliedydd has 2 columns out of 16. the Baner 5 out of 64, and the Goleuad 4 out of 48 filled with quack advertisements. The Llan has only 1 out of 16, showing that Churchmen consume less pills than any other religious body. One would be disposed to infer from the foregoing figures that quack medicines are to a large extent a matter of sect. A prize ought to be offered at the next Eisteddfod for the best elucida- tion of these wonderful symptoms. They cannot be accounted for on the ground that the patients are Welsh, for I have the Druch before me, which has only one column out of 48 given to that class of advertisements. Neither can they be accounted for by supposing that they belong to Nonconfor- mists and Radicals, for the Wesleyan and Calvinis- tic Methodists are equally Radical with the Inde- pendents and Baptists. I have ransacked my brain over the matter for several hours, and give it up in despair.

A NICE BIT OF BOOKBINDING. Following the example of Mr. Joseph Zaehnsdorf, who lately bound two Elzevir editions in human skin, another London binder has executed an order to encase a copy of Hans Holbein's Dance of Death in the same ghastly integument, certainly a very appropriate covering for this work. These are not the only instances, however, in which the casing of the "human form divine" has been utilised. In the library at Mexborough House, near Methley, Yorkshire, there were formerly two books, Sir John Cheek's "Hurt of Sedition and Braithwait's Arcadian Princess," both bound in the prepared skin of Mary Bateman, the York- shire witch," who was executed early in the beginning of this century for murder, but these were among those which disappeared during the cataloguing of the library for sale, when one of the former Earls of Mexborough was in difficulties. Yet another instance. When the writer was last in Paris he was shown a small book by a dealer, who solemnly avowed it was bound in a portion of the skin of the notorious Louvet de Couvray, and which he valued at I,Ooof., and for authentication of which he produced a long pedigree.

CURRENT AGRICULTURAL 1 TOPICS. [Br ASRICOLA," OF TilE" FIRLB."] The statement that a Kentish landlord has received notices from no fewer than nine of his tenants of their intention to leave their farms unless a great reduction of rent takes place only affords a sample of what is now taking place very generally in many other parts of the kingdom. Many landlords have received similar notices from their tenants en masse, consequently, the hint given by Mr. Clare Read. in his speech at the Watton dinner recently, was not thrown out a minute too soon. Mr. Read is reported as saying that, however generous landlords bad been in their allowances of large percentage reductions, the time has arrived when there should be a per- manent reduction of rent to enable tenant farmers to meet the times. Seldom has Mr. Read hit the nail rightly en the head better than by this obser- vation. Even a 25 per cent. or 30 per cent. re- mission at an audit is but a gratuity, and the tenant does not know how much to expect next time. Any business ought to be conducted on better principles than this. If farms are rented too dear, why should the sums declared as their rents be even nominally more than the real value which the farmer can afford to pay ? Mr. Clare Read has apparently shifted his ground somewhat from his old theory, promulgated in the House of Commons in the session of 1879, that in Great Britain nothing but pastoral farming and laying out as little capital as possible on the land can pay under present circumstances. The language he used at Watton was the follow- ing HI will say to my brother farmers, do what you can to the land. Although you may at the present moment think that good cultivation will not pay, you must remember that bad farming will be your certain ruin." This is precisely what I and many others declared at the very time when Mr. Read made his famous House of Commons speech referred to above, and Sir J. B. Lawes pub- lished a pamphlet with the express endeavour to prove that increased production is no remedy for agricultural depression and low prices. The Parliamentary Bill drafted and prepared by Mr. George Barham, managing director of the Dairy Supply Association, to regulate the sale of imitation butters and prevent their being palmed off on the public as the real thing, has been printed. Moreover, it has been adopted by the Council of the British Dairy Farmers'Association, and referred to a special committee to consider if it can be further perfected ere being entrusted to one of the agricultural members for introduction to Parlia- ment. Some of its clauses appear to hit the bull's eye with great force. For instance, by Clause 3 the name butterine" would not be allowed to any spurious or imitation article. It provides that On and after the 1st of January, 1887, all com- pounds of butter and fat, or of various fats with- out butter, or of any substances of a fatty, greasy, or oleaginous nature, and intended to be sold for human consumption, should be called by names clearly and entirely distinguishable from the word •butter,' and from any compound modification or derivation of that word, and no adjectival or ex- planatory word shall be coupled with the word butter. By the folio wing clause, any person selling such compounds under the title of "butterine" or American butter" would be subjected to a penalty. By Clause H, all compounds of this artificial nature must be branded either as margarine" or some other distinctive name before they can be sold in this country, and the clause applies to imported articles likewise. Further, they are not to be coloured yellow or orange in imitation of butter, but to retain the white hue of their original fats, or have a colouring otherwise than that of butter imparted to them. All home factories for the production of such articles are to be registered, and penalties are to be imposed for any evasion of any of the sec- tions. It remains to be seen what objections caii be raised against so far-reaching a measure. About a fortnight since Lord Harris wrote to the papers stating his opinion that fattening cattle for show purposes could not pay, and offering details from his own experience in proof of the argument. But the cattle breeders of Sussex and Kent are up in arms against hie lordship's theory, one farmer contending that Lord Harris paid toe much for the animal respecting which an account was rendered, and hinting besides that it was not well fattened, or, at any rate, could not be con- sidered a fair specimen for a test, as it remained stationary for two months while the fattening was being proceeded with, aa the live weight taker, periodically distinctly shows. Farther, one grazier furnishes a detailed account showing that an animal he fattened for show purposes certainly did pay a reasonable return, everything being taken into account. Probably Lord Harris only intended to show by his illustration that bullocks usually fed for Christ- mas shows are made a great deal too fat, more than is profitable either to the grazier, butcher, or consumer, which is palpably and notoriously true. When steers are fattened from calfdom and slaughtered at from eighteen months to twenty- four months old, not only has their meat less sur- plus fat and waste than that of older and more thoroughly matured animals, but they afford a greater gain per day from birth, and consequently pay a larger profit for breeding and grazing than other beasts would. Such young cattle brought to earliest possible maturity will assuredly form the beef of the future, although the traditions and interests of the leading fat stock shows may be antagonistic. Beef producers must in future breed their own stock to make the business a good paying one, and feeding from calfdom for early maturity is the most economical and profitable way of doing it. The same rule applies to sheep also, and espe- cially to the long-woolled breeds, the wether mutton having become unsaleable unless the sheep are killed young. When snow lies thick on the ground for many days in January the farmer naturally finds tending his flocks his greatest care. This is especially the case when the lambing season has commenced, or when a large proportion of the ewes happen to be near their time of yeaning. The losses and casual- ties in flocks vary materially 'under such circum- stances, simply because their owners and the shepherds they employ adopt such very different tactics, some being almost suicidal in their absurd negligence of precautionary measures, while others, on the contrary, are strictly provident in the most minute particulars. Well-sheltered folds ought always to be provided for ewes forward in lamb to inhabit. This ought to be the stereotyped rule of practice, which, if observed faithfully, would pre- vent losses from being sustained when heavy snowstorms occur in the night, as was the case in many parts of England when the snowblast came on the night of the 5th, or rather three or four hours before daybreak on the 6th inst. When severe frosts occur, and last several con- secutive days, the inability of getting at turnips standing on the land owing to the depth of snow by (which they are covered may be considered a good rather than an evil. Nothing injures sheep so much as having to eat frosted roots, this being the source of chills, agues, colics, and innumerable diseases. On the other hand, sheep delight in having to devour a large proportion of dry food in the winter season, and although ewes with young lambs naturally thrive best on some provi- sion of a succulent nature, straw chaff intermixed with root pulp, or well steeped by having an infu- sion poured over it of meal or treacle dissolved in boiling water, will serve for the time being as an excellent substitute. If there are lambs requiring something beyond their mothers' milk, pollards or meal intermixed with a little root pulp will be partaken of by them very readily if placed where they can have access without their dams being able to follow.

THE LEATHER AND THE GRAIN TRADE. The Farmer of Monday says:—Thaw and rain have succeeded snow and frost. Supplies are small and prices generally without change. English wheat is slow to sell, and weak at quota- tions. Foreign wheat is steady in price, but only in slow retail demand. Flour is quiet in price and demand, but foreign sorts are rather firm. Maize is in retail sale at last week's reduction. Malting barley is steady, and feeding quiet. Oata are firm at Friday's 3d. advance. Beans are firm, and peas are 6d. dearer. The wholesale cargo trade is steady.

Epps's COCOA.—UEATKFUL AND COMFOETIN#.— "By a thorough knowledge of the natural which govern the operations of digestion and nutrition, and by a careful application of the fine properties of well-selected Cocoa, Mr. Epps has provided our jjreafctiist tables with a delicately- flavoured beverage which may save us many heavy doctors' bills. It is by the Jodieious use of w»ch articles of diet that a constitution may be gradually built up unul strong enough to resist every tendency to dise;¡,¡¡e. Hundreds of subtle maladies are floating around us ready to attack nereYer there is a weak point. We may escape many a fatal shaft by keeping ourselves well fortified with pure blood and a pro- perly nourished frame. Civil Service Gazette.—Made simply with boiling water or milk.—Sold only in packets, labelled— "JAMES KPPS a; Co., Homceopathii Chemists Londou. Alllo makers of KPIMS'S Afternoou Chocolate Bssenoe. 66690 HOME, SWHET HOME!—THE SWEETEST HOUSES in this Town are those where Hudson's Extract of Soap í8 in daily UM. RBiCARKABLl! BMAPFEABAXCt: Of all Dirt from everything EV uliq Sffjtseirs EXTRACT OF S3 A TV

GARDENING NOTES. [Br MR. J. Mum, MASSAU.] AIMJMN-SowK ONTOWS.—These are always & useful and profitable crop, and for exhibition ir the early summer months there are none to equa them; they are generally sown in September, anu if put in at that time the plants will now be six inches high, or thereabouts, and their spring culture may begin at once. As a rule, they come up much closer than they can be matured, and it is generally necessary to draw some of them up and transplant them in the eprmg, but this trans planting checks them a little, and those whicv grow on without being disturbed make the fine bulbs. It is too early yet, however, to transplantr but it is full time to top-dress them, and a little guano or some other kind of artificial manure should be spread along the side of the plants, then put a sprinkling of fine ashe" on the top of this and finish off by treading along each side of th< rows with the feet. This will stimulate the plants and check any grubs which may threaten their destruction. Recent frosts may have loosened the soil about the roots, and there will not be mud growth so long as the soil is in this condition; but making it firm in the way suggested will worl wonders and growth will soon be rapid. In abou a month some of the smallest of the plants may 1:>1 drawn out and transplanted into rich soil, but a' the best should be left to form early bulbs, whic will be very useful for the kitchen in May an June, and for exhibition in July and Augus Those transplanted will only be fit for kitchen us< and they may be used from April onwards. Where summer onions of last year are scarce, those in question will be invaluable, and should be pushed on with stimulating manures. Those who omitted to sow oniona in the autumn may make good the omission now by buying a few hundred planti from those who possess plenty of them. Although these may not make exhibition bulbs from fifteen inches to twenty inches in circumference, they will make useful plants long before any of th. spring-sown ones bulb. PzoPAtATINW CHRYSANTHEMUMS.— Those who grow chrysanthemums for exhibition frequently put the cuttings in to root in December, but first rate plants may be raised by propagating from the middle of January until the middle of February, and we never think of putting in any cuttings until this time. The j oung sucker-like growths which spring up from the roots and the bottom of the old stems make the best cuttings. They should be cut off from three to four inches in length; the bottom leaves should be picked off and the top should be left alone. Single two-inch pots are the best for rooting them in. Each one should have a little drainage placed at the bottom, then be filled up with a stiff sandy soil. One cutting should be placed in the centre of each, and then they should be placed in a greenhouse or under a frame or handlight to root. They will root well enough without artificial heat by keep- ing them in a close place and free from damp. Indeed, they may be rooted in a window, and those who have no frames or handlights may practice this plan. If space and flower-pots art limited, a number of cuttings may be placed round the edge of a larger pot. In this case they wil have to be divided up further on, but when put in singly they can be potted on without disturbing the roots, which is an advantage. Of all late autumn flowers none are so showy or useful as chrysanthemums, and everyone ought to cultivate them. They are perfectly hardy, and only require rich soil and abundance of water in the summer time to bring them to perfection. Although more may be rooted now than can be grown in pots, the surplus can be planted in the open borders to produce flowers in October and November, when blossoms of any kind are very valuable. EARLY PEAS AND BROAD BEANS—From th. middle of January to the middle of February is a good time to put in the first spring crops of these. Both the seed and the young plants are very hardy, and there is no danger of them failing if they are treated fairly well. Sutton's Ringleader is a capital early pea, and Seville long pod bean will meet the requirements of all. Make the ground very rich for them. Open the drills four inches deep. Sow rather thickly. Cover up with the soil on each side, and finish off by placing a layer of fine ashes over the top. This will be a great advan tage to the young plants when they are just coming through the soil. Peas sown in autumn, and now Lome inches high, should be earthed up and staked to afford them shelter, as wind injures and retards them more than frost or cold. SPRING CABBAGES.—These will be the first vege- tables to come to maturity in most gardens now, and all blanks in the rows should he filled up, and the most forward of the plants earthed up. Where they are backward sprinkle a little guano round the stem of each before earthing up. Where plants are scarce a pinch of seed of Webb's Emperor may be sown in a sheltered corner. These plants will be ready for planting in six weeks, and they will head in June. IHK following interesting and suggestive notes are by A Thinker in the Journal of Horticul- ture :—Were I to venture to say all I think on the events pertaining to gardening and tbe cultiva- tion of the land generally during the past year, it is almost certain I should tread on somebody's tues," and that would be quite out of harmony with the sentiments of the season, when everyone is wishing each other a happy new year. I am not at aU certain that the year that has just closed bas been one of the brightest and be*t for gardeners generally; and it is certain it has not been prosperous for their agricultural brethren, but I think this—that there has been more j despondency on the part of farmers than is justified, and that they have not strivea with the same zeal to meet and overcomz obstacles as gardeners have. There seems to have been a resting from strong effort on the part of agriculturists in the lurking hope that some magician's wand would, by a miraculous swoop. suddenly bring prosperity to an oppressed" com- munity. I believe in no such things. Farmer! have given up," gardeners have plodded on,' and the result is that gardens have been as pro- ductive as ever all through the depression period but farms have not. The only safe and sount principle to act upon in good and bad times is tc make the best of opportunities; and the greater the difficulties tbe greater should be the efforts to surmount them. It has become almost a habit to think and say that times" were never so bad as now. If my memory is not deceptive, I have known them decidedly worse—worse for everybody; labourers, farmers, gardeners, land- lords. I can remember when wages on farms and in gardens were at the least 10 per cent. lower than now, and the necessaries of life, on the average, 10 per cent. higher—that is, 20 per cent. in favourjof the present over the good old times" of the past; while the national rent roll now is certainly greater than it was then, notwithstand- ing the reductions." I can well remember the time when garden and farm labourers received 10s. a week on an estate where the wage rate is now 20 per cent. higher, and the rental of the same estate is much greater now than it was then. Farm produce was lower in price than it is now— mutton 4d. to 6d. a pound at the butcher's; buttei 8d. a pound; eggs 24 for a shilling; oats 15s. a quarter; barley 25s., and wheat as low as it is now, sometimes, at others a good deal higher. But farmers lived" and paid their rents then. Why cannot they do so now ? Permit me now to express my thoughts very plainly on a public question of vital import, If I were a landlord fand had tenants who bad been accustomed to pay, say, £2 an acre for the land in the so-called good times," but now by gradual reductions pay little, if any, more than half the amount,and are still not satisfied, I should make no further abatement. I am beginning to think that rent reduction is a sort of fashionable epidemic, and that the more it spreads the worse is the farming. If a man with a thousand acres of land that, if well managed, would grow five or six quarters of wheat per acre cannot pay 25s. an acre and live, I believe five men with two hundred acres each can. The better the rents, in reason, the better is the farming as a rule, and it is a question if reduction is not in danger of being overdone. One great landlord has stopped it effectually by reminding his tenants that he has received no requests from holders of medium-sized farms for any further abatement. They will all farm better now. But what has this to do with horticulture ? It has a very great deal to do with it. If thf rents of the large estates of this country are allowed to glide away to nothing, how is horti- culture to be supported and high-class gardening1 to be maintained ? For my part, I like to see a flourishing aristocracy, the land worked well and capable of yielding more food and leaving a good margin for rent. That is surely not antagonistic to a rich mercantile community. Is it not rather the reverse ? And does it not follow that the greatet the proceeds from land or commerce the bette are the emoluments of the wage-earning class" Amidst all the depression I am more u de pressed" by the falling wage-rate than anything else. If the millions cannot earn money to spend, general stagnation must sooner or later prevail. 1 am of opinion that bringing down wages to the lowest possible point is of .benent to no one, but acts prejudicially all round. What does it mean ? It means less work—limited production. Taking the community throughout, if wages are reduced 5 per cent. tbe value of labour given in returr will fall in greater proportion. Nothing cai prevent this. However high the professioi of individuals or humble their calling they give their services grudgingly o. willingly according to emoluments. It is always better to face facts than to shirk them. If low wages were conducive to prosperity, low wage counties would be the richer and high wage dis- tricts the poorer. Exactly the reverse is the case. And it is precisely the same with nations. So- called cheap labour, like cheap shoddv-made goods, which ought to be ticketed bads," are dear in the end. The principle applies to gardeners, for 1 must not forget them. Thoroughly competent men, well paid, give in return their honest, hearty services, never knowing when they have done enough; but the under-paid crawl their time over gruwbFogly, and these are the really unprofitable. perhaps I shall not be able to make wage-payer believe this, but, however that may be, I am con- vinced of the absolute truth of the statement, which is not made in the interests of a class, but for the mutual bene^ of all concerned 1 am obliged to observe whtt seems an absurdity during the past year-apple trees groaning with fruit that could scarcely be sold at any price, while a month or two afterwards (and now) markets were suppJied wath American produce. Here is the bumiM*tln?(spectacle of apples being sent 3.000 or ml,es to market while home- grown fruit is gomg a-begging. How is this ? Simply that Transatlantic growers have planted freely and exclusively the most tempting market varieties, while in this country there has been no systematic action in improving the supply of use- ful fruit; or at least it did not commence soon ¡ enough, and Britishers are, for the time, left behind their rivals in the competition.

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