[ALL RIGHTS RE, 6E, P,.VliD1. TECHNICAL AGRICUL- TURAL EDUCATION. No. 6. BY PROFESSOR BUCKMASTER (Science and Art Department) South Kensington). HYGIENE AND "PREVENTION OF DISEASE IN ANIMALS. Technical instruction in agriculture is a very different thing to technical instruction in other industries. We can easily sea how the science of mechanics would be useful to men engaged in making machines; a know- ledge of drawing and geometry useful to the surveyor, carpenter, wheelwright, mason, and persons engaged in any con- structive art; every industry has its cognate science. Mechanics, geometry, and chemistry have, perhaps, the widest indus- trial applications; and within the last 25 years magnetism and electricity have been directed to many industrial uses. Neither Franklin norGalvani nor Oersteelever dreamed that any industrial results would follow their experiments. Technical instruction in its more rigid definition means instruction in art, but as every industry is both a science and an art, the definition has often been narrowed to the teaching of science, leaving the applications of the science to be taught at other times by other teachers, but a complete system of technical instruction would include both the soience and the prac- tice. It is very strange how there could have arisen any opinion that theory and practice were sometimes opposed to each other instead of being what they really are, parts of the same kind of knowledge. It will in many cases be difficult to unite these parts in the same person, but the science of an industry may be taught the same way as other sciences are taught. You may teach a lad all the ohemical processes involved in the manufacture of sulphuric acid, superphos- phates, and other products in a class-room, and when he has acquired a knowledge of these technical processes it is easier to understand their appl ication in tbepractice of the industry. A lad instructed in mechanical and machine drawing and theoretical meohanics, other things being equal, will make better progress in the machine shop than a lad who is ignorant of these soiences, and the fear is that if he knows nothing of these subjects before he enters a workshop it is doubtful if be ever learns them afterwards, except he become a Btudent in some science class or technical school. A few years ago a large engineering firm in the West of Kngiand offered to take as apprentices without premium all lads who had passed oertain examinations of the Soience and Art Department. It was found that these lads made quicker progress, were more careful in the use of material, and, what is equally important, they were steadier, and employed their leisure more profitably. The only pubho body which has taken a continued interest in the technical education of their apprentices and young men is the London and North Western iiailway Company. For nearly thirty years oluses have been held at Crewe and Wolverton, and every year one and sometimes both of these places carry off W bitworth Scholarships and Royal Exhibi- tions. The average intelligence and ability of these workshops have been raised, and you have side by side the soience teaching of the class- room with the practical work of the shop. The desirability of extending this technical instruction to other than manufacturing and engineering industries has now become a necessity, not only for the purpose of meeting foreign competition, bat for carrying on the work of the country on scientific and business principles. The county councils are making praiseworthy efforts to extend technical in- struction into agricultural districts. In many districts county oouncils have decided that as agriculture is the chief industry it ought to have the first consideration. Other industries have to work on dead matter, but the farmer has to deal with the delicate and complex organism of animal and plant life. The teaching of the old philosophy, that the same laws under the same conditions produce the same result, is no doubt true, but in agriculture how often are these results influenced by rainfall, earth temperature, and sunshine ? iint this is no reason why farmers and farm labourers should not be technically eduoated. As well might we say it is of no use teaching navigation and nautical astro- nomy to sea captains, because they are some- times overtaken with storms. Much valuable knowledge to stockmen and young farmers not only as to the treatment of different soils and the use of manures, but the beat methods of rearing and feeding stock and preventing disease, may be communicated by class teach- ing. Fluke in sheep may he prevented, but the methods involve too great a change in our system of farming to permit of its application. The natural history of the fluke is as well understood as the natural history of a butterfly. Errors in feeding are a fertile source of ailments in stock, and simple matters of illness ought to be easily diagnosed by farmers; good nursing and the restorative power of Nature will often be wiser than bleeding and drenching, which are often very popular, and frequently do far more harm than good. In the general management of live stock attention must be given to ordi- nary sanitary conditious. This demands con- itant watchfulness. Inherited weakness is nooner affected than animals which come from healthy parents. It is as important to breed from a sound, hardy race as it is to grow from Bound seed, and to do this there must be lound, hardy parents. The proper ventilation of buildings isoften disregarded; there should be a removal of bad air and a oonstant supply of pure air. And what is called open-air is frequently contaminated with foul gases which are given off from stagnant pools and ditches and heaps of putrefactive matter. A stink in the open air may be as dangerous as a stink in a room. The confined, ill ventilated shed and stables in which animals are often kept are a fertile source of lung affections. The blood is not properly oxygenated or made healthy by respiration, because the air drawn into the lungs is impure and poisonous. The nutritive processes of digestion and assimilation are impaired, often ending in disease and death. Light is also very important. Calves and pigs kept in dark sheds are never so healthy al those which have an abundance of light, and, what is also important, the same tjuantity of food will give better results. We can understand how impure air may endanger health by its producing impure blood, but light is a more subtle force, and its influenoe on health not so easily explained, but from ex- periments made on feeding calves it was found that those fed in the light were healthier and increased in weight more than those fed in emi-darkness, and yet how often do we find calves and other animals kept in places with Wsarcely a ray of pure sunlight. In a similar way water is often the cause of ill-health among farmstock. Farmers often Jook with indifference at the filth and refuse matter whioh pollutes our streams, in whioh it must be said the auipials assist; but the danger is not so much from fresh matter, but the I constant drainage from manure heaps, and the fermenting matter from cesspools and sewers. | Filthy water has its apologists, like foul air. ( It is said that animals prefer drinking the drainage of the cattle yard, bnt health cannot be maintained without pure air and water, and every justification for bad air and water would equally apply to bad food, which is the staple support of life. The natural food of animals is not much liable to contamination, but the introduction of cake and other feed- ing stuffs has opened the door to all sorts of imposition. The ingenuity in preparing manures which are recommended as containing everything also applies to cake. The farmer has a largo amount of faith in the plausible assertion of others; dear bought experience has taught many that a healthy scepticism with regard to the genuine- ness of feeding stuffs and manures is a neces- sary state of mind if they are to be protected against fraud and imposition. Common sense will in many oases be useful in teaching a farmer what he ought to avoid. The use of his nose and eyes will tell whether the atmosphere in which his stock feed is foul, whether the water is contami- nated, whether the hay is mouldy, whether his roots are frozen. No language is strong enough to denounce the cruelty of keeping growing stock on poor and insufficient food, especially during the period of gestation. Most veterinary surgeons are of opinion that much injury arises from the use of roots as the chief article of food for breeding ewes. Care should also be taken as far as possible to protect stock against contagious and infec- tious disease. Pure air and water, good food and shelter in severe weather, will no do everything, but it will do some- thing. An infected animal must be taken from some farm or place before it is sold in the market; it must travel perhaps several miles along the road, but the most common sense precautions are often dis- regarded. Much may be done to prevent contagion and infection among stock. Ani- mals not sold at market may come into con- tact with infeoted animals, and on their return home they should for a time be kept by them- selves. Recently purchased stock should not be turned out with other animals for some days. These general precautions are more important at one time than another, but the stock farmer should always have them in his memory. Farmers should know what diseases are contagious and what are infectious. The story of the Scotchman who took to Australia his native thistle illustrates what is meant by an infectious disease. Thistles were previously unknown in Australia until introduced by the Scotchman. When seed-time came. the light pluffy seeds were oarried to neighbouring farms until thistles have become the great difficulty of farmers in Australia. We can see these seeds floating in the air but the atmosphere may be full of unsown seeds of diseases which are either inhaled or fall on sores or outs, and there fertilise, like the thistle-down, into malignant diseases, and if the constitution has been previously weakened by bad food or an insuffioiency of food or impure air or other causes, the results are often fatal, and a fresh batch of seeds are liberated to carry on the disease, and what is rather unfortunate the most dangerous are not always evident to our sense of smell, There are other diseases which can only be oommunicated from one to the other by actual contact; these are called con- tagious, such as itoh and ringworm. Sudden changes of temperature exercise a great influenoe on the breath of animals, and the term cold is used to expresss! all derangements of the respiratory organs. Cattle and sheep cough when in perfect health, but the cough due to the irritibility of the air passages can be easily distinguished from the common cough or hoose." Influenza may be distinguished from an ordinary cold by the physical prostration which charac- terises the early stages of the disease. As the disease progresses the organs of chest, intestines, and brain may become affeoted; as soon as signs of influenza are evident in the drooping walk and watery eyes, work should be stopped, the animal placed in a well ventilated box, and encouraged to eat with a bucketful of clean warm water with half an ounce of nitre dissolved in it, the appetite should be stimulated with easily digested food, and the nostrils kept clean by occasional sponging with vinegar and water. Good nursing in all cases of derangement of the breathing organs is of the first importance; these are the kind of things farmers ought to know something about; it is the technical side of their business, which is not to be taught by lectures alone. Farm- ing is an industry which depends on the most varied kind of knowledge, but hitherto no attempt has been made to bring this know- ledge in its most elementary form within the reach of those engaged in agriculture. How far county councils in agricultural counties will be successful in their desire to promote technical instruction depends mainly on the sympathy of those for whom the instruction is intended. The eduoational effort which underlies this teaching can never be overtaken with lectures, and it is to the rising generation that our hopes should be chiefly directed. To a technical knowledge of the industry there must be added forethought and industrious business habits, and without these qualifications pro- fitable farming is no more to be expected than good crops without manure. No greater mistake oan be made than when a young man enters on the business of farming with an opinion that his education is finished and he knows all about it.
JURIES AND BODY VIEWING. Among the duties of an English citizen who happens to be summoned to serve on a Conner's jury none perhaps is felt (says the Daily News) t » be more burdensome thin that of attending t.o inspect the body of the deceased. Ciearly, there- fore, care should be taken neither to impose this usk without necessity, nor to make it when un- avoidable unnecessarily repulsive. Mr. Ansdell, the deputy-coroner for Central Warwickshire, has promised to draw the attention of the Home Secre- tary to this subject, with the view to the introduc- tion of a Bill next session for abolishing a part of a juryman's duties, which he is of opinion may well be dispensed with. The juryman's griev- ances nppoir to be greatly aggravated by the circumstance that so imny parishes neglect to provide a public mortuary. In the case which gave rise to these observations the body was lying in a room in which the deceased had lived alone for many years. So hortiuly neglected was the nputment that it had been found necessary to strew pieces of bread on the floor in order to attract the swarms of 'nice away from the body. In this instance a verdict of Died from natural causes" was returned, and the coroner observed that the vint that the jury had been compelled to make to this miserable place "could in no way assist them to arrive at a conclusion as to the cause of drath, which, in this instance, as in many others, had been satisfactorily given by a qualified medical man."
THE VALUB OF ENO'S 11 FRUIT SALT cannot be told. Its success in Europe, Asia, Africa, America, and Australia proves it. It Is pleasant, cooling, health- giving, refreshing, and Invigorating. You cannot over- state Its great value In keeping the blood pure and free from disease. Its preparation has been truly styled one of the triumphs of modern chemistry. In hot or foreign climates it Is Invaluable. It allays nervous excitement, and restores the nervous system to its proper condition 0>V natural means). In the nursery it is beyond praise. vitlution.-Examine each bottle and see the capsule is marked Eno's Fruit Bait," without which you have been imposed on by a worthless imitation.—Of all Chemists. Prepared only at Eno's Fruit Salt" Works, London, B.E., by J. 0. Eno's Patent. L8535 PA,at AND JtoCKii'* Welsh Yarns art the kit.
Dead or Alive? ■» I want you to come and see my daughter, doctor." Nothing seriously the matter, I hope ?" "I fear there is. She has had a violent shock. I may say that the whole family has received a violent shock, but it has fallen most heavily upon Dora, poor child." .^orry to hear it. I see by your hat you have lost someone." That is not all." Ida Let me know all about it." That is my object in coming to you, in preference to writing for you to call upon us in the usual way. Unless you understand the case, you can do no good." Very true. Now, sir, I'm all attention." In the first place, doctor, do you believe in a dual state of existence, or, rather, of non- existence ?" The doctor looked puzzled. Do you believe," continued bis visitor, ,II in personal ubiquity-do you believe that while a man is lying a corpse in one place he can appear living in another fifty miles awaJ ?" I can believe in anything or nothing, according to circumstances. Come, sir, let us get away from abstract questions, and come to facts." "You have heard us speak often of Richard Burton ? The young man to whom your daughter was engaged ?" Yes, he. They were boy and girl to- gether. They fell in love, and were roman- tically attached at the age of fourteen. At sixteen they would have ben clandestinely married, or got into some mischief of that kind, if I hadn't put a spot to the nonsense. I told young Burton he must go away for ten years, promising that if, at the end of that time, they were still in the same mind they should be married, and have a comfort- able settlement; but that, if I found him philandering about my girl while both were young and foolish, I would send her away to a boarding-school, and give him a horsewhip- ping. fie accepted the condition.?, and they parted with mutual tears. For a we^k Dora was pale and unhappy, but after that she recovered her spirits, and seemed happier that when she was under the morbid in- fluence of a precocious passion. Richard Burton corresponded with the regularity and effusion of a German student, writing once a week from Bombay, where I had found him a small appointment. His constancy was a matter of regret to me, and to Dora also at times I am inclined to think. There's a good deal of life in her blood, and 1 believe she would have accepted a lover in the place of young Burton long before the ton years expired if his constancy and their mutual promises had permitted. 1 also felt that I was bound to support his claim, and whenever I saw a young fellow dangling about her heels, I took care to point out as sternly as I could that she should marry Richard Burton or nobody. I told her I would give her not a penny if she married without my consent or was faithless to her lover. These threats had a strong effect upon' her, nevertheless I believe the young puss bad had more than one clandestine flirtation, The fact is she wanted to get married." She felt a little anxious about the future, I dare say. At twenty-six a girl is getting on, and if at the last moment Burton bad found some one he liked well enough to marry, your daughter would have stood a fair chance of being left an old maid." H Just so. That is what occurred to me, so I determined to abridge the term of probation, and wrote to Barton, telling him that I was sufficiently satisfied with the fidelity proved by seven years of separation, and that if he chose to come and marry Dora at once he should, have her and ten thousand pounds in'o the bargain. He replied to my letter by telegraph, saying he would quit Bombay at once and come to make Dora his wife. I don't know whether she was pleased or dis- tressed at the prospect. She was very much disturbed and unquiet. Sometimes she seemed absorbed in reverie, and once she said,' Oh; papa, suppose Richard has got something the matter with his liver!' It's a curious fact that everyone who comes home from Bombay has, you know. Well, doctor, in due course a telegram comes from Richard Burton at Marseilles, bidding Dora expect to see him in a few days. That tele- gram was dated March] st. On Maroh 5th we were all seated in the drawing-room when the servant announced that a visitor was in the reception-room, waiting to see me, Dora turned ghastly pale. I think we were all ner- vous. I know I was. In the reception-room I found a gentleman with a short beard and a dark complexion. You don't know me ? he said. 'You are Richard Burton,' I replied. He pressed my hands in silence, and then asked where was Dora. 'I must see her at once.' I left him, and sent Dora to him. Soon afterwards they came up into the drawing- room, looking wonderfully happy. « He has nothing the matter with his liver/whispered Dora to me me. Well, doctor, for the five days Richard Burton was with us I didn't see much of him, as you may suppose. He and Dora were inseparable. The old flame had revived in her breast with double intensity. Occa-I sionally I got a few words with him about old times. He talked reasonably upon every- thing, but one peculiarity was obvious to us all. lie would never talk about the future. It was always of the present and the past. On the fifth day Dora oame to me in tears, saying that Uichard was going to leave us in the evening, and that he would tell her nothing of hia reason for going, or give any promise to return. He had not said oue word about the marriage." That was odd," Most peculiar. You must not let him go, papa, without discovering what takes him from us so mysteriously, and when he intends to return,' said my daughter. After dinner Burton rose from the table, and with an apology left the room-stopping at the door for a moment to cast one last look at Dora. He is going away, papa,' said she, as soon as the door closed, and then she burst into tears. I sprang from my ohair and went out into the hall. Richard Burton had his hat on; his hand was on the handle of the street door. Where are you off to, Burton ?' I asked. He shrugged his shoulders in silence. •' You shan't pass by that door,' I cried, putting my back against it, 'until I know where you are going.' I must go all the same,' he replied. Must go ?' Yes; there is no help for it. They are going to screw me down to-night and I have eighty or ninety miles to go.' What on earth do you mean'?' t asked. I will tell you if you will let me pass.' H I opened the door. He passed slowly by me. On the doorstep he turned and said in a hollow voice: I am going to be buried.' I was so con- founded that whether he sank through the earth or walked off like a substantial being I can't tell you. But from that day to this we have not seen him." He was mad, of coarse," said the doctor. So I believed then. But now comes the strange part of the story. Sometime after a telegram eame from the office where Burton had occupied a position, informing me that Richard Burton, who left Bombay in very delicate health, had caught cold on the voyage and died at Dover, on his way to Loudon." Impossible ?" If Fact, I assure you. I telegraphed at once for particulars. This is what I learnt by re- turn— Richard Burton landed at Marseilles on the 1st of March Unable to proceed alone, he engaged a servant, who went with him by train through France and across the Channel to Dover. He was carried to a hotel, and there, on the evening of his arrival, he died. Six days afterwards he was buried.' That was the day after he or his ghost had parted from us in Grosvenor-square." You believe this ?" It is impossible to doubt it. I went to Dover and made inquiries. At the Royal Hotel an invalid had been brought in the morning of March 4, and he died in the evening. The only clue to his identity was the visiting card in his card-case bearing the address of the Government office in Bombay. The hotel proprietor had advertised for his relatives in the newspapers, and the body had been kept six days. I saw the register of his death and burial." Astonishing t" Unfortunately, my daughter, by accident, opened the telegram containing the facts relating to Burton's death. This, succeeding her terrible suspense and anxiety at his pro- longed absence, has thrown her into a state which seems to me to be bordering on in- sanity. She doesn't weep, but her condition is the more alarming in consequence. Now doctor, I want you to see her. Possibly you can prescribe some medicine or course of treatment which can arouse her from the awful lethargy into which she has sunk." I will certainly come and see her," said the doctor, though what I can do in such a case must be of a pureiy tentative sort." < < Well; doctor, what do you say P" "I say that your daughter is in a very perilous condition. It is a source of wonder to me that this affair has not deprived her of reason. Women—especially women of her age and condition—are so inclined to believe in supernatural effects." "And you, doctor—after what you have heard and seen—don't you believe in super- natural effects ?" I will tell you what I do believe: I believe that Richard Burton is the most heartless scoundrel living." Living What do you mean ?" Hang it, sir, don't you see through this tragic farce ? Don't you see that Burton is no more dead and buried than I am ?" That I don't. The proof of his death and burial I have seen with my own eyes." What have you seen ? The registration of a man's death, whose identity is only known by the discovery of an address card in his pocket." Explain." "I will as olearly as if I had seen it all done. Iiichard Burton is on his way to Lon- don. On the voyage he makes the acquaintance of an invalid. They exchange cards. At Dover the invalid dies, ar.d Burton comes to London. There he meets your daughter. After a few days of billing and o oing he discovers that Miss Dora is not exactly to his taste, lie finds evidence of past flirtations, and becomes jealous, No one on earth is so selfish as your romantic young lover. He wishes to get out of the marriage without appearing false to his past protestations. Again—no one on earth is so cowardly as your selfish, romantio young lover. Ile secs in the paper what you did not see-an adver- tisement for the friends of the deceased Richard Burton-the advertisement published by the hotel keeper. At once he seizes the opportunity, half ghastly, half ludicrous, and sneaks away from you and your daughter. Now, air, do you see anything supernatural in that ?" 14 By gad, if I meet the rascal he shall pay for it." Don't be hasty. In all possibility you will see him again. But you must think of your daughter. The mortifioation of dis- covering his deceit might be fatal to her reason." What do you suggest, then P" That you shall make Richard Burton fulfil his engagement, and marry your daughter." But how are we to find him ?" Leave that to me. 1 am going to Dover this afternoon." • I t » I | I Here I am doctor. I received your tele- gram, and rushod off at once, Have you found any trace of Richard Burton ?" I have him. He is in my consulting room. In one minute you shall see the young man who left you to go to be buried, Come along." The doctor opened the door of the consult- ing-room and his friend passed in. Upon the threshold he stopped abruptly for the sight of Richard Burton as he had last seen him him took his breath away. He could not realise the fact, having believed that the doctor had followed up a wrong scent. Richard Burton—you here ? he lex- claimed. The young man rose, with a strange air of mystification. Upon my honour, sir, 1 think you are in error I" he said. "My name is not Richard Burton, and I have not the pleasure of know- ing you." That is what he has already told me," said the doctor. "He don't know me. His name is not Richard Burton I" "My name is John Chaucer," said the young man. And now, sir," he added, turn- ing to the doctor, will you be good enough to tell me why you desired me to meet you here ?" I will. Be good enough to sit down here, my dear sir." The young man, Richard Burton, or John Chaucer, seated himself in the chair offered by the doctor. It was an ingenious surgical contrivance for securing a patient, and the moment he seated himself a semi-circular bar conoealed in the curved back of the chair shot out, and, surrounding hia body and arms, prevented his rising. He regarded this operation with something like consternation. Be under no apprehension," said the dootor, opening a small case and taking out a lancot; I am only going to open a vein, with a view to testing whether you are alive or dead." There is no necessity for any such test. I assure you I am a:ive," said John Chauoer. That is what you say. Now my friend here, Mr. Grey, maintains that you are dead. He declares that you stayed in his house five days, and left it to go to be buried at Dover. I wish to prove whether he is right or wrong." Oh, rather than be bled I will admit that I did stay in his house five days, and left it to be buried." You will also admit, perhaps, that you made love to Miss Grey in that time ?'' Ob, yes." "Come, we are getting on. You will also, perhaps, admit that you offered to marry that young lady p" Yes," "You said, I think, that your name is-" "Jobn Chanoer." There's a little discrepancy here, which. must be put to the test," the doctor said, with a flourish of his lancet. jy[r< Grey says that you are Richard Burton." Oh I'll agree to anything rather than be bled. My name, to please Mr. Grey, shall be Richard Burton." 4, Very good. Noiv, it is "my opinion that if you are a living man you can't fail to low so charming a young lady as Miss Dora Grey, and that having promised to marry her, ant received her consent, with the consent of het father, and his promise to make a handsomt settlement of ten thousand pounds on the daj of your marriage, you must be dead in a good many ways to wish to escape such a chance )f happiness." 1 assure you I am not dead in any way.' "In that case I think we can test yotr veracity without recourse to the lancet. I have drawn up a memorandum of agreement, by which Mr. Grey undertakes to settle tert thousand pounds on you and his daughter art the understanding that you shall marry the said daughter within one month from the present date; and you on your part under- take to marry the young lady, and abstain for the future from playing practical jokes on the family. Will you sign that ?" Certainly. I have no objection what- ever. If Mr. Grey signs first I will sign after." Done cried Mr. Grey, putting his name to the paper. The doctor liberated the young man, who in his turn took the pen. What name shall I put ?" he asked. Richard Burton, of course." Very good, there it is-Iliebard Burton —but, to make it quite binding, I've written my own name as well.- The other fellow is dead, you know." What! You still persist in that story. Certainly. And now that you have given me this agreement, I may as well tell you the whole secret. Miss Grey and 1 have been lovers for six months—not more. Our meetings were secret because of your stric- tures, Mr. Grey. When she discovered that her old lover, Richard Burton, was coming to England she was greatly troubled. We decided that I should go to Dover, and, if possible, find Mr. Burton before be came to London, tell him our position, and appeal to his generosity to give up a girl who did not love him. Poor Burton died, as you have heard on the day he landed at Dovfr, and I came to London to bring the sad news to you, Mr. Grey. You mistook me for Burton, and suggested to my mind a plan of enjoying the company of Dora with your sanction. That plan succeeding so well, suggested another. Dora and 1 intended to carry this supernotural deception still further, but happily our scheme was upset by the better one of the energetic medical gentleman, who tracked me from Dover, brought me here, and compelled me to sign this agreement, which gives me a wife and ten thousand pounds.J.fan of the World,
T FOOTLIGHT FLASHES. BY CRi riCUS." The the thing.—HAMTBT: "Tnnpt;)t o') is the title of a new.ballot to bo produced at the Alliau-bra on December 14. Mr. D'Oyly Cut^, in search of a librettist, Iian applied to Mr. J. M. Barrio to writo the libretto of a comic opera for the Savoy Theatre. It is probable that Mr?. John Wcod will take over the Court Theatre on her own account, aad that Mr. Arthur ChudLigh wiil ret.ro. Mr. Jones has a surpiije in stor.) for playgoers at .OC the Avenue, of which, however, it would ba prema- tura at present to divulge the secret. Tho theatre to be built on part of the si'e of Waterloo House for the occupation of Mr. John Lart will probably bo called the Pall M ill. Alihough the last weeks of tha 11 Direiiig G-rl ut the Hayntavket are nowt a(Wfrtise(i, liam,at:l has not yet been dtfmiiely pl.owl in rehearsal. Mr. Haddon CUanibcrs'a new pliy, which Mr. Thomas Tli,' une has placed in rohckival at the Vaudeville, bjars the title of The Honourable Herbert." Du: in,, the holidays the Royalty is to e opened with a mixed onUniinuieat, consisting of children's opera" at.d shadow p,mt.')mimc, given by the London Juvenilo O¡wr" Company. At the St. James's Theatre rehearsals have began of an original comedy, in four ncte, hy Mr. Ooinvns C irr, which is to follow "Lord Atierley" as soou as that piece hils ceased to attract, January 17th, 1892, is the d,ite which has been selected for the pioduction of-Messrs. Sims and Pettitt's comic opera h Hlue-J!lyO"d Susan," with Arc9''0 mo Carr, the c»urp~s r of Joan of Owing to the continue I sucgws of "Cavallr-rii Rusticara,' _Signor Lago h** re-engaged tho principal artists up to tho 12th inst., nnd'ilia sea- son nt the StiNfi t-sttiry Theatre will consequently ba prolougtd to that date. Mr. Osmond Tearl-, whilst recently fulfilling an engagement at the Victoria Opera Housf*, ÐuroLy, received a cftblegram from Melbourne; accepting his terms for a twelve or c-iglneen months' engage- ment in the Antipodes. Mr. Tearle will in all probability make the tour, setting out immediately the present lour finishes. Saturday, the 19th inst, has now been definitely chosen for the production at the Lyric of Mr. W. S. Gilbert's new comic opera, to which Mr. Alfred Collier has supplied tho music. The pieco, accord- ing to rumour, contains some of the best work Mr. Gilbert has yet done; and Live report, we mar state, is merely a reflection of-, Uie author's own opinion, there ara good groandarfor hoping tlwt it will be amply confirmed bv ttift first public per- formance of TlW Moimu bmte." In the New Review Mr. H. D. Traill has a tilt at. the literary-drama." Let-, AtmSit&w# he sajs, be satisfied if the returns fromis latest farcical comedy run into five figurc-s," but do nct let bim. imagino that hois adding to BaglisU literature, tor what is the right, sort (.f itandilug for the st&o cannot of its very nature help-- being the wrong- 5 sort. of Imnuling for the study. The literary drama he looks upon as an iiupoisibilit,y-indeed, as a contradiction in terlns-iind that he who says "literary-drama" srays sminia. ture-fresco, and connects iaa.kind. f centaurina union two mutually cxelusiveferms of art."
Ostrioh feathers frequenW* fetch £70 per pound. The sun never sets on the set! of the United States. When it is six o'clock at Attoo Island, Alaska, it is 9.36 o'etack jtou. the next day on the eastern coast of Maine. An old book of know" contains the following:—If it happens to rain on Whit- Sunday much, thunder and. lightning will follow blasts,, mildews, &oi; but if it be fair; great plenty of cam.
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