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 Age. It is an entertaining, and (as I conceive) a very innocent Amusement. The Result of these rambling Imaginations will be found in the following Poem; which if equally diverting to my Readers, as to my self, I shall have gain'd my End. I have intermix'd the preceptive Parts with so many Descriptions and Digressions in the Georgick Manner, that I hope they will not be tedious. I am sure they are very necessary to be well understood by any Gentleman, who would enjoy this noble Sport in full Perfection. In this at least I may comfort my self, that I cannot trespass upon their Patience more than Markham, Blome, and the other Prose Writers upon this Subject.

is most certain, that Hunting was the Exercise of the greatest Heroes in Antiquity. By this they form'd themselves for War; and their Exploits against Wild Beasts were a Prelude to their future Victories. Xenophon says, that almost all the ancient Heroes, Nestor, Theseus, Castor, Pollux, Ulysses, Diomedes, Achilles, &c. were, Disciples of Hunting; being

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 .

Wayside Songs. By Edward C. Qoodwin. 1 vol. c York: Mason Brothers.—These poems are of ious merit. Some are quite common-place; but i cannot be said of all. We quote one of the best. THE FISHERMAN'S ORPHAN.

The harbor bar moaned loud that day, The curlew shrieked about the bay, And to our little sheltered core Thick clouds of mist the sea-weed drove.

I met but once my mother's sight, For I was born the vory night My father's boat was washed on shore, dismantled of its sail and oar.

That barren grave-yard on the height, Above which sea-birds wing their flight, Is full of mounds—and often there I linger, when the evening air

Fills softly on two narrow graves, O'erlooking far those slumb'ring waves, That murmur ever of the sea That lonely made the world to me. The volume is printed on handsome, hot-pressed per, and reflects much credit on the publishers.

Short Sermons On Important Subjects. By Jonan Edmondson, A. 31. With an Introduction by p. J. P. Durbin, D. D. 1 vol. Philada: Leary Gelt.—The author of this fine octavo volume a Wesleyan minister in the British connexion, le sermons were first published, we believe, by J Methodist Book Room in London. They come jhly recommended, in an introduction from the a of Br. Durbin, well known as one of the most ltivatcd and eloquent divines in the United States, ne surmons are short and plain, devoted to unconovoTted moral and religious subjects, and written a pure and agreeable style. The volume contains id clear type, with more than ordinary neatness. handsome portrait of the author faces the title page.
 * er five hundred pages, and is printed with large

The Spanish Conquest in America. By Arthur Mp>. 2 vol: New York: Harper & Brothers. 'I>ilatla: T. B. Peterson.—The purpose of this work i to detail, not merely the Spanish Conquest of ■merica, but also the results of that Conquest. The uthor aims to show how the extirpation of the native acea came about, bow other races were introduced, 'hat colonial government prevailed, how slavery ?ew, and how the encomiendas, on which all Indian ociety depended, were settled. His book aims, heref'>rc, at more than a mere narrative of events : ivory indication of pains-taking on the part of Mr. •Mps. The work is a duodecimo.
 * 18 "a effort at a philosophical history. There is

•r<"-k Adams. By Captain Chamier. 1 vol. Pkilsda: T. B. Peterson—The mutiny on board "* Bounty," and the foundation, by the ring leader, of a colony in the South Seas, are events »ell known to the reading public. Capt Chamier h" ma,1« these transactions the subject of the preMnt n0T8'» which is written with much power.

Salad for the Social. By the author of " Salad for the Solitary." 1 voL New York: Deuiitt <b Davenport. Philada: T. B. Peterson.—A capital book, which originated in a practice, on the part of the author, of treasuring up choice passages of favorite writers. These passages have been reduced to order, in the " Salad for the Social," so that the work, in manner, resembles somewhat Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy." Washington Irving, 0. P. R. James, and other eminent literary men, speak very highly of the "Salad." It is numerously illustrated, and issued, altogether, in quite an elegant style. With persons of taste and reading especially it will be a great favorite.

Vagabond Life in Mexico. By Gabriel Ferry. 1 vol. New York: Harper & Brothers.—The author of this book resided in Mexico for seven years, and is, we believe, an equally capable and reliable writer. " The Mexican Vagabond," " The Franciscan Monk," "The Thieves Lawyer of Mexico," and "The Pilot Ventura," are among the characters sketched by Mr. Ferry. The book is written in a brief, gossipping style, and gives a vivid idea of the manners of the lower classes in Mexico. Some of the adven tures, narrated in the volume, are of absorbing interest.

Yankee Travels Through the Island of Cuba. By Demoticus Philalethes. 1 vol. New York : D. Appleton & Co.—The writer of this book is an American, who spent some time in Cuba, where he carefully studied the men, government, laws and customs of the Island. The result is a work of considerable value; quite thorough, if not exhaustive; and one which we can recommend to the public. At present, when there is so much curiosity respecting Cuba, the book ought to have a large sale.

Gleanings. Some Wheat—Some Chajf. By Miss A. A. Qoddard. 1 vol. New York: D. Appleton d; Co.—A collection of short tales and sketches, of much more than average merit The stories generally have that unity, which so many writers overlook ; they are characterized by incident rather than by sentiment; and they nearlj all "point a moral." Miss Goddard is a writer of whom we hope to hear more. The volume is very neatly printed.

A Treatise on Arithmetic Theoretical and Prac tical. By Elias Loomis, L.L.D. 1 vol. New York: Harper & Brothers.—This work aims at something more than being merely practical. Every principle is sought to be developed in its natural order; every rule to be demonstrated rigorously, though briefly: in short, the pupil is taught to think, and not only to learn by rote. We think the book an advance on most former arithmetics.

Select Orations of M. T. Cicero. Translated by C. D. Zonge. 1 vol. New York : Harper and Brothers. Philada: T. B. Peterson.—Another volume of that excellent series, "Harper's Classical Library." For what students call "a pony," the translation is capital.


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Doctor Antonio. By the author of "Lorenzo Btnoui." 1 vol. New York: Thomas Kelton & Sunt. Philada: T. B. Peterson. —This is one of the most delightful novels in the language: in its way, indeed, almust equal to the "Vicar of Wakefield." What adds to its merit, at least in a literary point of view, u <he fact, that, although the author is an Italian gentleman, it is writton in the purest idiomatic Eng lish, so that no one would suspect that it came from the pen of a foreigner. The characters are sketched with great force, and with a truth of detail that is wonderful. The progress of the love, that grows up between Luey and her youthful doctor, is traced with all the delicaey of a woman. The story is laid in Italy, and the desoriptions of scenery are among the most felicitous wo have ever read: we realize, the cloudless skies of Lombardy, the blue Mediterranean, the delicious atmosphere, the mountains, the olives, the palm trees. Amid the trash, with which the press teems, it is a relief to discover such a book as this. Vet we recommend it ouly to persons of culture and refinement. Those who like the melo-dramatic, who must have highly seasoned dishes, will find little to admire in "Doctor Antonio." For such, its flavor is too exquisite, its bouquet too delicate. But those who have a sufficiently elevated taste, will sce a thousand beauties in this charming tale, and will prefer it to any, or all of the spasmodic novels, which happen, just now, to be so popular.

Homeric Ballads, and Comedies of Lucian, Translated hy the late William Maainnt L.L. D. Annotated by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie. 1 vol. New York: Bedfield.—Those translations have always been considered, by competent erities, to reproduce, pre-eminently, the spirit of the originals. Maginn was a capital Greek scholar, as well as a master of idiomatic English, which few such scholars are, so that ho united tho two qualifications most necessary for success in his undertaking, yet most rarely found together. Tho annotations of Dr. Mackenzie add greatly to the value of tho work. Whoever would know how and what Homer wrote, must read Maginn, and not Pope, or even Cowpor or Sotheby.

Paul Ferroll. A Tale. By the author of "IX Poems, By V." 1 vol. New York: Redfield.—K story of very considerable merit, as is proved by the fact, that it has already passed through four editions in England. The London Globe says: "It is a book that will bo very much read, talked about and mar velled at:" and in this opinion we coincide. The incidents arc well managed, it has much originality, and it is put together, as a whole, in a highly artistic manner. Many parts display very great power. Redfield has published "Paul Ferroll" in a neat duodecimo, bound in cloth, for the comparatively low price of $1,00. It can be sent by mail.

The Museum. No. 18 of Harper's Story Books. New York: Harper <k Brothers.—This number is devoted to explaining various curiosities, in a style suitable to tho juvenile intellect Each number of this serial is complete in itself.

Benaj or, The Snout Bird. By Caroline Let J/nA 1 voL Philada: T. B. Peterson.—This his aim been one of the most popular of Mrs. Bcntx'a nerdi It is now re-published, in " Peterson's Series of lift, Hentz's Revised Novels," in a style of great beutt. Tho paper is thick, tho type new, and the bisdng very elegant. In fact, no series of novels, issa&J a the United States, equals this in typographieal ixpearance. "Rena" is not only an appropriate teA for summer reading, but one that most persons wc:like to preserve in a library; and therefore thisMperiority should recommend the present volume to puchosers. The price of "Rena," as of all the otbor novels of the series, is $1,25, an astonishing< - i price, when we consider everything.

Trijleton Papers. By Trifle and the Editor, 1 vol. Boston: Whittemore, Niles & Hall.—A cem of meritorious articles on literature, life, m«u«u and other topies, written with taste, intelligents it: occasional humor. The volume is neatly priiud The " Trifleton Papers" had acquired quite a repu tation, before being collected, and while appe«iij in a New England journal.

A Defence of the American Poliey, as Oppoted te the Eneroachments of Foreign Influence. A*4aprdaily to the Interference of the Papaey in tie Pum tical Interests and Affairs of the United Stzta. fy Thomas B. Whitney. 1 voL New York: fe&ff* Daveuport.—Neatly published, in duode«mo fcrawith gilt muslin binding.

8ICK-R0OM, NURSERY, 4c.

To Dress Veoetables fon Children'.—Tbefr rice ought to be cooked in no more water thas necessary to swell it; their apples roasted, orsw* with no moro water than is necessary to steam tht-« their vegetables so well cooked as to make thom re quire little butter, and less digestion; theix *fp boiled slow and soft. The boiling of their »>& ought to be directed by the state of their bowob: u flatulent or bilious, a very little curry-powder cuj be given in their vegetables with good effect—^ as turmerio and the warm seeds (not hot pepjxe) are particularly useful in such ca^es.

To Prepare Fruit fon Children.—A formed wholesome way than in pies or pudding<, is to f* apples sliced, or plums, currants, gooseberries. J; into a stone jar, and sprinkle among them ss masugar as necessary. Set tho jar in an oven orea» hearth, with a tea-cupful of water to preveat & fruit from burning; or put tho jar into a sauw-F4x of water until its contents bo perfectly done. Sha of bread or some rice may be put into the j*r. taw1 with the fruit.

White Caudle.—Make the gruel as above, sot* through a sieve, and stir it till cold. When to » used, sweeten it to tasto, grate in some nuuaeg. »" add a little white wine; a little lemon-peel or joi:* is sometimes added. The yolk of an egg. well beamft may likewise be stirred in when the gruel is boffi»f


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 taught carefully that Art, as what would be highly serviceable to them in military Discipline. Xen. Cynegetic. And Pliny observes, those who were design'd for great Captains, were first taught certare cum fugacibus feris cursu, cum audacibus robore, cum callidis astu: to contest with the swiftest Wild Beasts, in Speed; with the boldest, in Strength; with the most cunning, in Craft and Subtilty. Plin. Panegyr. And the Roman Emperors, in those Monuments they erected to transmit their Actions to future Ages, made no scruple to join the Glories of the Chace to their most celebrated Triumphs. Neither were their Poets wanting to do Justice to this heroick Exercise. Beside that of Oppian in Greek, we have several Poems in Latin upon Hunting. Gratius was Contemporary with Ovid; as appears by this Verse,

But of his Works only some Fragments re-


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 10 the most elegant in bis manners, had the most fashionable friends, was most admired by the other girls; but still, notwithstanding all these advantages, I had an unaccountable and ground less leaning toward you, which prevented my quite deciding in his favor. A conversation which I had with you, sir, one day on the most trivial of subjects determined my life's choice; a conversation which I do not believe you remember, or have ever thought of since."

"What was it about?" I asked, curiously.

"About smoking!" eried Mary, with tho mer riest laugh. "Do you remember, as we sat on the piazza at our country hoase one summer day after dinner?"

"No, I recollect nothing about it."

"Well, it was simply this. I desired you to make my presence no obstacle if you wished to enjoy a cigar. You replied that you did not smoke. 'Why not?' I asked, with some curiosity. 'Beoau e,' you answered, quite simply, 'I think it's time enough for a young man to indulge in such luxuries, when he is able to pay for them with his own money.' And then you added, carelessly, 'Smoking is an expensive habit, I suppose you know.' I did not know; I had never thought about it before ; but I did now. I admired and respected you for that answer, John. It let me see through your honorable and honest character."

"Smoke and fudge!" I interrupted, with an attempt at a frown ; but the little woman paid no heed to the sham, which she instantly saw through—she was speaking very earnestly now, with a flush on her soft cheek and a sparkle in her eyes.

"I thought about that speech after you left me, John, and pondered it, and liked it more and more. You were at that time just estab lished in business with your father's means; mj yet you had nothing of your own, and you were right, quite right. I saw, even by so slight i thing, that you were actuated by high princi ples, and then it was, John, that I began to lihe you so very much. Besides this, I applied mi new ideas to Morris, and what did I find! t young man, whose parents were actually pinch ing themselves to give him a fine collegisto education, selfishly indulging in all sorts of ex travagance, not merely in the trifling matter of cigar-smoking, but of dress, fashionable atouHments, &c. It showed the wrong spirit, Jobi, and my choice was made from that hour—ob. how little I repent it!"

The tears were in her eyes as she spoke, ani she rose hastily, doubtless the reader has alreidj conjectured, to throw herself in her adorinj. husband's arms, &c., to make a pretty conelni ing scene for my story. Not at all, though I confess there aro some such sentimental piisages in our married life, (for Mary is Ten romantic) still in the present instance she sinply took down another cigar from the mu«lt, seeing my first had vanished in smohe, ul having lighted it, she handed it to me with Iff brightest, sweetest smile, saying,

"And now you see, John, how it comet ti»tl am so passionately fond of cigar-smoke."

Of course I can't expect my intelligent t«d" to be quite of my wife's way of thinking. W course he sees through all this smoke which & conjured up about me, as clearly, if not more «. than I do. We know, of course, that smoU is smoke. But let me tell him that smoke of K* kind is a smoke of "virtuous powers." Itpenetrates with a delicious aroma, not to the brain, but to the heart. It sweetens the temper—it tranquillizes the mind—it softens the heart I would simply advise such poor, pitiful bachelors as don't know what I'm talking about, to throw away their cigars, if need be, and try it They will find it surpass the finest Havanas.

VIOLETS. BY

wILLIAM RODERICK LAwRENCE. Violets! violets! From whenco do ye conio, With your blue leaves so tender, So frail and so slender, Say where is your home, Sweet violets?

Violets! violets! So daintily fair We most cordially greet; While your perfume sweet Floats out on the air, Bright violets !

Violets! violets! Pure gems of the field; That bloom in tho glade, In sunshine and shade, What pleasures yo yield, Fair violets!


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 "VENGEANCE IS MINE."

BY

THE

AUTHOR

OF "THE VALLEY FARM."

It was a terrible night. The rain rushed ! i'.ra in cataracts; the lightning blazed continu ally; and the thunder broke in sharp, startling peals, until earth and heaven rocked under the concussion. I have seen many tempests, but never one like that.

"The Nittany will be in a flood," said the landlord, for I was boarding, for the summer, at a mountain inn. "We shall hear of damage by morning."

He had scarcely spoken, when the door opened, mj the gust, driving in, almost flared out the eandle. A noighbor entered, horror and alarm ea every feature, so that, even before he spoke, n knew he came on some fearful errand. Both '•he landlord and I sprang instinctively to our fcet.

'•Mary Ennis " ho began.

""hat?" gasped the landlord, interrupting Mm. "She hasn't made away with herself."

"God knows!" was the nnswer "She disap peared from the house, just as the storm came op: and was met, frantie-like, going down the mountain. Her poor old father is 'most dis trieted. I am going, with Jem Wright and w>ms others, to look for her. We want more. "ill any of your folk turn out?"

I tad been long enough in the village to bo fandliar with the story of Mary Ennis. She was the only child of her parent, a venerable old man, whom all reverenced and loved for his sin gle-minded piety. Two years before, she had bcen the pride, alike of him and of the neigh borhood. Of a rare and delicate style of beauty, aeiable and unassuming, she had won all hearts. "er own, however, was given to a young gentlewan, the heir of an estate a mile below the vil'"50, who had just returned from college, and who "fell in love," as tho phrase goes, "at first sight" Ho was one of those eager natures, 'hose selfish desire to have their own way at once, and at every cost, is often mistaken for energy; and the ardent manner, therefore, in which he urged his suit, passed with Mary, as it passed with many others, for proof of his exces sive love. This characteristic he exhibited in reference to an engagement. Her father objected, in vain, to it, saying that Mary was too young, that both might change their minds; but George Barlow, for that was the lover's name, would not hear of a postponement: "he loved Mary," he said, "and should always love her; he was willing to wait till she was nineteen, as Mr. Ennis wished; but he should always fear to lose her, unless she was plighted to him:" and his inflexible, persistent selfishness carried the day. In Mary's eyes, she was, from that hour, virtu ally his wife. Her every thought she held saered to him; she consulted all his tastes; and she even found a seeret pleasure, as gentle souls like her's do, in saerificing her own will to his. He was exacting, imperious, wilful, and often harsh; but she did not see it; for her affection transformed everything. Love was a necessity to her, and now that she had fixed her affections, and that custom warranted her in giving free course to them, she grew to fairly worship him. Her love became a part of her existence. It was her very lifo. A year passed. George often went to the city, always on the pretence of business, but really from love of change. During one of those visits he became enamored of a celebrated belle, the very opposite, in everything, of Mary. It was not strange, this sudden passion. Novelty was everything to this selfish man. His reputa tion for a good estate secured him a weleome with the fashionable rival ; and her coquetry, which ought to havo opened his eyes, only fixed his admiration, by alarming his sense of security. He forgot his vows to Mary; lingered in the me tropolis till he had secured his new mistress; and then returned home to prepare for his bride and break off his engagement with Mary. Selfish as he was, however, he began to doubt, as he approached the village, whether he had not acted the rascal. Everything he saw re minded him of Mary. Here was the little pond where they had gathered water-lilies ; there were the wood-walks they had threaded so often; and yonder the old tree, at whose roots they hod found the first violets of the season. But he soon suc ceeded in persunding himself, as men bent on such erimes always do, that ho was the injured party, rather than tho wrong-doer. "She has lost my affections," he said to himself, "because she is too tame for me; if I marry her, it will


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, of which his Lordship was once a component part; and the ministry, to their surprise, getting popular, found that the command of the Carabas interest was not of such vital importance to them as heretofore, and so his Lordship was voted a bore, and got shelved. Not that his Lordship was bereaved of his splendid office, or that any thing occurred, indeed, by which the uninitiated might have been led to suppose that the beams of his Lordship's consequence were shorn; but the Marquess"s secret application at the Treasury were no longer listened to; and pert under-secretaries settled their cravats, and whispered "that the Carabas interest was gone by."

The most noble Marquess was not insensible to his situation, for he was what the world calls ambitious; but the vigour of his faculties had vanished beneath the united influence of years and indolence and ill-humour; for his Lordship,

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 to avoid ennui, had quarrelled with his son, and then having lost his only friend, had quarrelled with himself.

Such was the distinguished individual who graced, one day at the latter end of the season of 18—, the classic board of Horace Grey, Esquire. The reader will, perhaps, be astonished, that such a man as his Lordship, should be the guest of such a man as our hero's father; but the truth is, the Marquess of Carabas had just been disappointed in an attempt on the chair of the President of the Royal Society; which, for want of something better to do, he was ambitious of filling, and this was a conciliatory visit to one of the most distinguished members of that body, and one who had voted against him with particular enthusiasm. The Marquess, still a politician, was now, as he imagined, securing his host's vote for a future St. George"s day.

The cuisine of Mr. Grey was superbe; for

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 although an enthusiastic advocate for the cultivation of the mind, he was an equally ardent supporter of the cultivation of the body. Indeed, the necessary dependence of the sanity of the one on the good keeping of the other, was one of his most favourite theories, and one which, this day, he was supporting with very pleasant and facetious reasoning. His Lordship was delighted with his new friend, and still more delighted with his new friend's theory. The Marquess himself was, indeed, quite of the same opinion as Mr. Grey; for he never made a speech without previously taking a sandwich, and would have sunk under the estimates a thousand times, had it not been for the juicy friendship of the fruit of Portugal.

The guests were not numerous. A regius professor of Greek; an officer just escaped from Sockatoo; a man of science, and two M. P.'s with his Lordship; the host, and Mr. Vivian Grey, constituted the party. Oh, no! there

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 were two others. There was a Mr. John Brown, a fashionable poet, and who, ashamed of his own name, published his melodies under the more euphonious and romantic title of "Clarence Devonshire," and there was a Mr. Thomas Smith, a fashionable novelist;—that is to say, a person who occasionally publishes three volumes, one-half of which contain the adventures of a young gentleman in the country; and the other volume and a-half, the adventures of the same young gentleman in the metropolis;—a sort of writer, whose constant tattle about beer and billiards, and eating soup, and the horribility of "committing" puns, give truly a most admirable and accurate idea of the conversation of the refined society of the refined metropolis of Great Britain. These two last gentlemen were "pets" of Mrs. Grey.

The conversation may be conceived. Each person was of course prepared with a certain quota of information, without which no man in

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 London is morally entitled to dine out; and when the quota was expended, the amiable host took the burthen upon his own shoulders, and endeavoured, as the phrase goes, "to draw out" his guests.

Oh, London dinners! empty artificial nothings! and that beings can be found, and those too the flower of the land, who, day after day, and day after day, can act the same parts in the same dull, dreary farce! The officer had discoursed sufficiently about "his intimate friend, the Soudan," and about the chain armour of the Sockatoo cuirassiers; and one of the M. P.'s, who was in the Guards, had been defeated in a ridiculous attempt to prove, that the breast-plates of the household troops of Great Britain were superior to those of the household troops of Timtomtamtomtoo. Mrs. Grey, to whose opinion both parties deferred, gave it in favour of the Soudan. And the man of science had lectured about a machine

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 "Yes! very quiet." "As you say, Miss Graves, very quiet, but a little heavy."

"Yes, heavy enough."

"If you had but seen the quantity of pine apples that boy Dormer Stanhope devoured at our Fête Champetre!—but I've the comfort of knowing that they made him very ill—eh! Dr. Sly?"

"Oh! he learnt that from his uncle," said Miss Graves—"it's quite disgusting to see how that Vivian Grey encourages him."

"What an elegant, accomplished, woman Mrs. Felix Lorraine seems to be. Miss Graves!—I suppose the Marchioness is very fond of her?"

"Oh, yes—the Marchioness is so good-natured, that I dare say she thinks very well of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. She thinks well of every one—but I believe Mrs. Felix is rather a greater favourite with the Marquess."

"Oh drawled out Miss Gusset with a

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 of the Bohemian writers, and since his time there has been a great reawakening of the national spirit, and the language which had sunk to be a despised dialect of the common people of the towns and the peasantry of the rural districts, now claims half of the University of Prague, has its seat in one of the finest theatres in Europe, and is once more the proud mouthpiece of art and science.

The writer, some of whose stories are here brought to the notice of the English reading public, was one of those who helped on the attainment of this proud result. Palacky and Jungmann aroused the interest of the people in their own history by publishing historical and antiquarian works in the vernacular. Cajetan Tyl is still remembered as a patriotic dramatist and writer of fiction, and Erben’s Slavonic folk-lore has a general interest, but none of the Bohemian writers has caught so speaking a likeness of the inner life of the Bohemian people as Viteslav Halek, no one is remembered with such enthusiastic affection by all classes, or strikes so responsive a chord in the feelings of high and low. Already throughout Bohemia societies have been formed for the reading of his works, although he has not been dead fifteen years, and when I lodged in Smichoff with an honest Bohemian stonemason and his wife, I found it difficult to keep their hands off my copy of his stories. The more cultivated classes admire him for the simplicity of his style, and even the Germans are constrained grudgingly to acknowledge his merits. A complete edition of his works has, indeed, been lately published in the original language edited by a writer, whom from his name (Ferdinand Schulz), I should judge to be a German.

These works consist of some half-dozen dramas drawn chiefly from Slavonic history. The first of these, Czarevic Alecsej, was acted about the year 1860, and is modelled to some extent on Goethe’s Egmont. For another, composed and brought out about the same time, Kral Rudolf, the author had the honour of a short imprisonment at the hands of the Austrian Government. Sergius Catiline, Zavis z FalkenštejnaFalkenstjerna [sic], Kral Vukasin (dealing with Serbian history), and Amnon and Tamar are the names of his other dramas. They are all tragedies, and somewhat heavy-reading. Amnon and Tamar, written in 1874, is the most powerful of them, but the subject is objectionable.

It is difficult for a foreigner with an imperfect knowledge of the language to judge correctly, but I should say that none of the other plays rise much above the level of Tennyson’s and Swinburne’s dramatic efforts. Most of them, however, are the work of the poet’s earlier years as a writer, and it is noteworthy that his latest works are far above those of a more youthful period, and this makes his somewhat premature death the more regrettable. These dramas fill two volumes.

Another volume is devoted to lyrical pieces, ballads, and romances, written at different times between 1854 and 1870. A few samples are


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eternal beings, magnificently enhaloed, the one in a blinding excess of white radiance and the other in a bewildering extravagance of colours, converse amidst stupendous surroundings. These surroundings are by tradition palatial, but there is now also a marked cosmic tendency about them. They have no definite locality; they are above and comprehensive of the material universe.

There is a quality in the scene as if a futurist with a considerable knowledge of modern chemical and physical speculation and some obscure theological animus had repainted the designs of a pre-Raphaelite. The vast pillars vanish into unfathomable darknesses, and the complicated curves and whorls of the decorations seem to have been traced by the flight of elemental particles. Suns and planets spin and glitter through the avanturine depths of a floor of crystalline ether. Great winged shapes are in attendance, wrought of iridescences and bearing globes, stars, rolls of the law, flaming swords, and similar symbols. The voices of the Cherubim and Seraphim can be heard crying continually, "Holy, Holy, Holy."


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 which might destroy fifteen square feet of human beings in a second, and yet be carried in the waistcoat-pocket. And the Classique, who, for a professor, was quite a man of the world, had the latest news of the new Herculaneum process, and was of opinion that, if they could but succeed in unrolling a certain suspicious-looking scroll, we might be so fortunate as to possess a minute treatise on &c., &c., &c. In short, all had said their say. There was a dead pause, and Mrs. Grey looked at her husband and rose.

How singular it is, that when this move takes place every one appears to be relieved, and yet every one of any experience must be aware that the dead bore work is only about to commence. Howbeit, all filled their glasses, and the Peer, at the top of the table, began to talk politics. I am sure that I cannot tell what the weighty subject was that was broached by the ex-minister; for I did not dine with Grey

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 that day; and had I done so, I should have been equally ignorant; for I'm a dull man, and always sleep at dinner. However, the subject was political, the claret flew round, and a stormy argument commenced. The Marquess was decidedly wrong, and was sadly badgered by the civil M. P. and the Professor. The host, who was of no party, supported his guest as long as possible, and then left him to his fate. The military M. P. fled to the drawing-room to philander with Mrs. Grey; and the man of science and the African had already retired to the intellectual idiotism of a May Fair "At Home." The novelist was silent, for he was studying a scene—and the poet was absent, for he was musing a sonnet.

The Marquess refuted, had recourse to contradiction, and was too acute a man to be insensible to the forlornness of his situation; when, at this moment, a voice proceeded from the end of the table, from a young gentleman,

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 who had hitherto preserved a profound silence, but whose silence, if the company were to have judged from the tones of his voice, and the matter of his communication, did not altogether proceed from a want of confidence in his own abilities. "In my opinion," said Mr. Vivian Grey, as he sat lounging in his father's vacated seat—"in my opinion, his Lordship has been misunderstood; and it is, as is generally the case, from a slight verbal misconception in the commencement of this argument, that the whole of this difference arises."

The eyes of the Marquess sparkled—and the mouth of the Marquess was closed. He was delighted that his reputation might yet be saved; but as he was not perfectly acquainted how that salvation was to be effected, he prudently left the battle to his youthful champion.

Mr. Vivian Grey proceeded with the utmost sang froid: he commented upon expressions, split and subtilized words, insinuated opinions,

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 and finally quoted a whole passage of Bolingbroke to prove that the opinion of the most noble the Marquess of Carabas was one of the soundest, wisest, and most convincing of opinions that ever was promulgated by mortal man. The tables were turned, the guests looked astounded, the Marquess settled his ruffles, and perpetually exclaimed, "Exactly what I meant!" and his opponents, full of wine, and quite puzzled, gave in.

It was a rule with Vivian Grey, never to advance any opinion as his own. He had been too deep a student of human nature, not to be aware that the opinions of a boy of twenty, however sound, and however correct, stood but a poor chance of being adopted by his elder, though feebler, fellow-creatures. In attaining any end, it was therefore his system always to advance his opinion as that of some eminent and considered personage; and when, under the sanction of this name, the opinion or advice was

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The largest sphere of work of the union lies in the introduction of wage rates for persons employed in the metal industry. The union has worked out a uniform scale which embraces all workers, office staff, technicians, engineers employed in metal working and metallurgical undertakings.

The wage rates define the legal position of the worker in production and cover all aspects of the productivity and the valuation of labour.

The scale establishes the standard of output of separate workers, of gangs, and whole factories, and connects the standard of wages with the quantity of output.

The union was guided in its task of working out wage rates by the resolution on the regularisation of wages carried at the second conference in January, 1919. We quote this resolution almost in full as it lays down the theoretical basis and practical policy of the Union in connection with wages.

"Having heard the report on the system of wages the Second All-Russian Conference of Metal Workers recognises:

1. In the period of capitalist economy the workers' struggle with the employers for the improvement of their material conditions, which compelled the further technical development of capitalist production, inevitably expressed itself in the demand for monetary guarantee of the minimum standard of living.

2. Under such conditions, the only system of money payment for labour was daily or monthly wages, the raising of which, while improving the condition of the, workers, compelled the employers in their capitalist interest to perfect the methods of management and to introduce new and more suitable means of production as well as to unite isolated economic units in large trustified undertakings.

3. In the period of socialist revolution which Russia is now experiencing, payment of labour by time loses its character as a means of protecting the interests of labour, for the reason that to the extent to which the State authorities succeed in acquiring the economic apparatus of the country, the economic apparatus is concentrated on the task of satisfying the essential requirements of the working class.

4. At the same time, as a result of the transition of the whole economic apparatus into the hands of the proletarian State, payment of wages on a time rate can no longer fulfil its former function of compelling technical developments in undertakings, leading to the industrial development of the country, for the reason that the economic class struggle between the proletariat and employers has become a historical anachronism in a period of proletarian dictatorship.

5. In the transitional period of development of national economy, in the struggle of the working class for the acquirement of the economic apparatus, the most powerful means of reviving Russian industry is the administrative-technical reconstruction of undertakings with complicated organs of


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 entertained and listened to, Vivian Grey had no fear that he could prove its correctness and its expediency. He possessed also the singular faculty of being able to improvise quotations, that is, he could unpremeditatedly clothe his conceptions in language characteristic of the style of any particular author: and Vivian Grey was reputed in the world as having the most astonishing memory that ever existed; for there was scarcely a subject of discussion in which he did not gain the victory, by the great names he enlisted on his side of the argument. His father was aware of the existence of this dangerous faculty, and had often remonstrated with his son on the use of it. On the present occasion, when the buzz had somewhat subsided, Mr. Grey looked smiling to his son, and said: "Vivian, my dear, can you tell me in what work of Bolingbroke I can find the eloquent passage you have just quoted?"—"Ask Mr. Hargrave, Sir," replied the son, with the

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 given in the present book of translations. These were most of them written in 1858. They are very popular in Bohemia. In fact a large number of them have been set to music and are now the volkslieder of the people. The student of Heine will observe that several of the ideas in these Bohemian poems have been adapted from the Jewish writer. For example, one of Halek’s lyrics beginning:—

is a very close copy of Heine’s

A wild poem by Heine, beginning, Ich kam von meiner Herrin Haus, in which the dead are supposed to rise from their graves and recount to one another what brought them there is also twice imitated by Halek in his idyllic poems. Once in a scene in a poem called Alfred (1858) and again most elaborately in a poetical historical retrospect, Dedicove bile hory (1869).

This brings me to mention his volume of Idyllic poems written at different times between 1858 and 1871, some of which I judge to be the most perfect of his works. In the latest of these idylls Devce z Tater [A maiden of the Carpathians] the splendour of the language and melody of the verse outshine that of any modern poet, Leopardi not excepted. The story is simple and interesting, the sentiment healthy, and the characters life-like; could it be adequately translated English critics would, I think, admit it to be one of the most perfect idylls in any language. Krasna Lejla and Mejrima and Husejn, Turkish stories in verse (1859), and Alfred (a Czech romance) are also readable and highly poetical. Goar and Cerny prapor [The black flag] are the names of two others.

A volume of prose stories written between 1857 and 1859 is of less interest. The stories are diffuse, full of criticisms about art and Wagner’s music, the plot is slight and the characters commonplace. Two volumes of prose stories written at a much later period, a story called In the cottage and on the estate, and a volume or two of criticism comprise the rest of Halek’s works.

One of these volumes of stories is here presented to the public in an English dress and of their merits the English reading public can therefore form its own opinion. The stories are for the most part translated literally and I must apologize for retaining here and there


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 man;—"only it must be invented first," thought Vivian, as he took up his light to retire. "But never mind, never mind;—

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Author talk:F. Bull

Frederick Bull?
Frederick Bull audited the accounts of the Wellington Philosophical Society. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/EP18850214.2.15 Evening Post, Volume XXIX, Issue 37, 14 February 1885, Page 2 Noracrentiss (talk) 19:54, 30 November 2023 (UTC)

F Bull's paper "On a new Seismograph or Earthquake Recorder" was read at the Wellington Philosophical Society on 23 September 1885. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZTIM18850924.2.9 New Zealand Times, Volume XLV, Issue 7588, 24 September 1885, Page 2

title: Author talk:F. Bull


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 main. There are many others of more modern Date. Amongst these Nemesianus, who seems very much superior to Gratius, tho' of a more degenerate Age. But only a Fragment of his first Book is preserv'd. We might indeed have expected to have seen it treated more at large by Virgil in his third Georgick, since it is expressly Part of his Subject. But he has favoured us only with ten Verses; and what he says of Dogs, relates wholly to Grey-bounds and Mastiffs.

And he directs us to feed them with Butter-Milk. Pasce Sero pingui. He has it is true touch'd upon the Chace in the 4th and 7th Books of the Æneid. But it is evident, that the Art of Hunting is very different now; from what it was in his Days, and very much alter'd and improv'd in these latter Ages. It does not appear to me that the Ancients had any Notion of pursuing Wild Beasts by the Scent only, with a regular and


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 management, and the technical reorganisation of factories, on the principle of the fullest subdivision of labour of the managing staff as well as of separate, workers.

6. Thus as a condition precedent to the organisation which should accustom Russian industry to the spirit, hitherto foreign to her, of modern, large, Western European industry, in the conditions which we are experiencing at the present moment, it is to a considerable degree important to standardise labour by a definite system of wages based on the principle of the responsibility of the workers for the productivity of their labour.

The Conference therefore resolves:

1. As the improvement of the condition of the working class in the period of the political dictatorship of the proletariat wholly depends on the success of its efforts to revive the productive forces of the country, the All-Russia Union of Metal Workers must construct its system of wages as a system which regulates productivity with the aim of reviving national economic life.

2. The piecework system of remuneration applied during the last six months played an important historical part in the process of reviving Russian industry, and must be practised the future in so far as the possibilities of changing over to more perfect method of remuneration are still technically unrealisable.

3. The Congress recognises as the fundamental principle of remuneration of labour, the collective responsibility of the working class of a given undertaking or group of undertaking (trusts) for the general output. The Congress proposes to the Central Committee to exert its efforts to widely extend this System of wages."

All the leading work as well as the work of carrying out the wage rates is done by the union, for which a special part of the union apparatus is adapted. In the factories the evaluation and standardisation of labour is carried out by a special trade union so-called "Wages Committee." This Committee is elected under the guidance of the union by the Workers and employees of a given undertaking, and is guided in its work by the regulations of the regional branch of the union. Attached to this Committee there is a standardisation bureau which ascertains the standard of output of the workers, groups of workers and the factory. Persons representing the higher technical staff also participate in the work of the committee and the bureau. The absence of opposing class interests in the factory renders the work of the wages committee and the factory management to a considerable extent harmonious. All conflicts which may arise from a misinterpretation of the guiding instructions of the union or simply from insubordination are submitted for decision to the regional branch of the union. The latter organises a special wages department which supervises all the work of establishing wage rates in the metal works of the region. The highest authority in the matter of wages in the metal industry is the central committee of the union, which has a special wages-standardisation department.


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 length of the head. Two or three spines above and one below the opercular notch; suboperculum partly and indistinctly, interoperculum not serrated. Vomerine teeth developed, only traces of palatine teeth in front of the bone.

All three specimens from Kondo-Kondo.

Warri.

The typical specimen was most likely from the same locality, the late Mr. Fraser being known to have collected in, or to have received collections from, the Niger delta.

style=font-size: 90%;|hanging-indent=2em|

? Chromis microcephalus, Sauvage, Bull, Soc. Zool. France, ix. 1884,. p. 196 (nec Bleek.).

Scales on the cheek in three series. Twenty-eight notched teeth on each side of the upper jaw. The maxillary terminates some distance in advance of the vertical from the eye. The depth of the body is a little less than one half of the total length (without caudal), the length of the head a little less than one third. Eye two ninths of the length of the head, much less than the length of the snout and than the width of the interorbital space. Pectoral fin with the third and fourth rays produced and extending to the first anal spine. Caudal fin truncated, scaly. Body with indistinct cross-bands. Vertical fins blackish, the dorsal with black longitudinal stripes, longitudinal on the spinous portion, oblique on the soft; a large oval black spot behind the last dorsal spine. Ventrals black. A black opercular spot.

Ogowé River (Lambarene)

Azuminé Creek; Ogowé River.


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days after the dinner at Mr. Grey's, as the Marquess of Carabas was sitting in his library, and sighing, in the fulness of his ennui, as he looked on his large library-table, once triply covered with official communications, now thinly besprinkled with a stray parliamentary paper or two, his steward's accounts, and a few letters from some grumbling tenants; Mr. Vivian Grey was announced.

"I fear I am intruding on your Lordship, but I really could not refrain from bringing you the receipt I promised."

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 Bohemian words, sometimes where an English equivalent is wanting, sometimes, in order to give an idea of the character of the original language, which also means the character of the people who speak it. The stories ave been twice revised. Once by a learned Bohemian Jew in Prague, to whom I read them aloud and who was kind enough to appreciate them in their English dress. “They are written from the heart to the heart”, he said. And again a second time by an English literary man to whom the sentiment of the stories was so obnoxious that he put his pen through about one third part of them. Most of his excisions I have rejected. In spite of these revisions I cannot hope to have avoided many errors of translation which I hope may be corrected by the critical reader, nor can I expect a wide circle of English readers. The stories appeal to a civilization developing on different lines from our own, and, although they are a true picture of Slavonic life and sentiment, they will no doubt often appear to English readers fantastic and overstrained. It may be worth noticing, in passing, that Poldik, the name of a character in one of the stories, is the diminutive of Leopold, and that of Bartos, in another of them, stands for Bartholomew.

He who can read between the lines will perceive in both these stories ingenious political allegories. These I will leave him to discover for himself, premising that in both the main idea is the maintenance of the Bohemian nationality against the encroachments of the centralizing Austrian power. The last story is based on a strange institution in the rural districts of Bohemia—that of vejminkar. In the case of small freehold estates or farms held on a long lease, the owner, as his sons grow up, pensions himself off; or, to put it differently, retires upon a settlement from the active management of the estate, in order that the eldest, youngest, or favourite son may marry and have the enjoyment of it. The pathetic fate of the village Lear in this story is an eloquent exposition of the abuses of the system which exists to this day in some parts of Bohemia.

I began this preface by pointing out what an immense portion of the globe forms the nidus of Slavonic civilization, and as many people have very indefinite ideas about Slavism and its languages, it may not be amiss to conclude with a few remarks upon the Czech or Bohemian language and its relation to other Slavonic dialects. As I do not profess to be a learned man, I have extracted the little I have to say on the subject from Mikes’s Russo-Czech grammar.

The Slavonian nation, he writes, now contains eighty million souls, and is divided by its position into Southern, Eastern, and Western.

I.—In Eastern Slavonic we find

(1) The Cyrillian or Ancient Slavonic, used, like the Latin, but very much modified, as the language of the Church, by Russians, Serbians, Bulgarians, and part of the Dalmatians;


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II. South Slavonic is divided into

III. Western Slavonic is divided into

I will not weary the reader by going over in detail the relationship of these languages to one another; suffice it to say that the Czech or Bohemian is most closely related to the Upper Lusatian, the Croatian, and the Little Russian dialects. The Bohemians, like most of the Catholic and Western Slavonians, use the Latin characters, and thus their language forms a good introduction to the study of the rest.

York, 1886


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Rh France. I had brought honour to each and all. Every instant brought me nearer to the fox. The moment for action had arrived, so I unsheathed my sabre. I waved it in the air, and the brave English all shouted behind me.

Only then did I understand how difficult is this fox chase, for one may cut again and again at the creature and never strike him once. He is small, and turns quickly from a blow. At every cut I heard those shouts of encouragement from behind me, and they spurred me to yet another effort. And then at last the supreme moment of my triumph arrived. In the very act of turning I caught

him fair with such another back-handed cut as that with which I killed the aide-de-camp of the Emperor of Russia. He flew into two pieces, his head one way and his tail another. I looked back and waved the blood-stained sabre in the air. For the moment I was exalted—superb!

Ah! how I should have loved to have waited to have received the congratulations of these generous enemies. There were fifty of them in sight, and not one who was not waving his hand and shouting. They are not really such a phlegmatic race, the English. A gallant deed in war or in sport will always warm their hearts. As to the old huntsman, he was the nearest to me, and I could see with my own eyes how overcome he was by what he had seen. He was like a man paralyzed, his mouth open, his hand, with outspread fingers, raised in the air. For a moment my inclination was to return and to embrace him. But already the call of duty was sounding in my ears, and these English, in spite of all the fraternity which exists among sportsmen, would certainly have made me prisoner. There was no hope for my mission now, and I had done all that I could do. I could the lines of Massena’s camp no very great distance off, for, by a lucky chance, the chase had taken us in that direction. I turned from the dead fox, saluted with my sabre and galloped away.

But they would not leave me so easily, these gallant huntsmen. I was the fox now, and the chase swept bravely over the plain. It was only at the moment when I started for the camp that they could have known that I was a Frenchman, and now the whole swarm of them were at my heels. We were within gunshot of our pickets before they would halt, and then they stood in knots and would not go away, but shouted and waved their hands at me. No, I will not think that it was in enmity. Rather would I fancy that a glow of admiration filled their breasts, and that their one desire was to embrace the stranger who had carried himself so gallantly and well. Vol. .—17.


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 "Most happy too see ye, most happy to see ye."

"This is exactly the correct receipt, my Lord. ." The Peer's eyes glistened, and his companion proceeded; "."

"Splendid!" ejaculated the Marquess.

"The nice point, however, which it is possible to define in a receipt, is catching the Aroma. What sort of a genius is your Lordship's gastrical chef?"

"Splendid!" re-ejaculated the Marquis; "Laporte is a genius.""

"Well, my Lord! I shall be most happy to superintend the first concoction for you; and remember particularly," said Vivian, rising, "remember, it must be iced."

"Certainly, my dear fellow: but pray don't think of going yet."

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 well-disciplin'd Pack of Hounds; and therefore they must have pass'd for Poachers amongst our modern Sportsmen. The Muster Roll given us by Ovid, in his Story of Actaeon is of all Sorts of Dogs, and of all Countries. And the Description of the ancient Hunting, as we find it in the Antiquities of Pere de Montfaucon taken from the Sepulchre of the Nasos, and the Arch of Constantine, has not the least Trace of the Manner now in Use.

WHENEVER the Ancients mention Dogs followed by the Scent, they mean no more than finding out the Game by the Nose of one single Dog. This was as much as they knew of the Odora canum vis. Thus Nemesianus says,

Oppian has a long Description of these Dogs in his first Book from Ver. 479 to 526. And


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 "I am very sorry, my Lord; but such a pressure of engagements—your Lordship's kindness is so great, and, really, I fear, that at this moment especially, your Lordship can scarcely be in a humour for my trifling."

"Why this moment especially, Mr. Vivian Grey?"

"Oh, my Lord! I am perfectly aware of your Lordship's talents for business; but still I had conceived, that the delicate situation in which your Lordship is now placed, requiring such anxious attention, such"

"Delicate situation! anxious attention! why man! you speak riddles. I certainly have a great deal of business to transact: people are so obstinate, or so foolish, they will consult me, certainly,—and certainly I feel it my duty, Mr. Vivian Grey,—I feel it the duty, Sir, of every Peer in this happy country (here his Lordship got parliamentary);—yes, Sir, I feel it due to my character, to my family, to—to—to assist

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 most perfect coolness; then, turning to the member: "You know, Mr. Hargrave, you are reputed the most profound political student in the House, and more intimately acquainted than any other person with the works of Bolingbroke."

Mr. Hargrave knew no such thing;—but he was a weak man, and, seduced by the compliment, he was afraid to prove himself unworthy of it by confessing his ignorance of the passage.

Coffee was announced.

Vivian did not let the Peer escape him in the drawing-room. He soon managed to enter into conversation with him; and certainly the Marquess of Carabas never found a more entertaining companion. Vivian discoursed on a new Venetian liqueur, and taught the Marquess how to mull Moselle, an operation of which the Marquess had never heard (as who has?); and then the flood of anecdotes, and little innocent personalities, and the compliments so

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 introduced, that they scarcely appeared to be compliments; and the voice so pleasant, and conciliating, and the quotation from the Marquess's own speech! and the wonderful art of which the Marquess was not aware, by which, during all this time, the lively, chattering, amusing, elegant conversationist, so full of scandal, politics, and cookery, did not so much appear to be Mr. Vivian Grey as the Marquess of Carabas himself.

"Well, I must be gone," said the fascinated noble; "I really have not felt in such spirits for some time; I almost fear I have been vulgar enough to be amusing, eh! eh! eh!—but you young men are sad fellows, eh! eh! eh!—Don't forget to call on me—good evening! and Mr. Vivian Grey! Mr. Vivian Grey!" said his Lordship returning, "you'll not forget the receipt you promised me for making tomahawk punch."

"Certainly not, my Lord," said the young

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 a little more room, she tossed her head and said, "Beg pardon, never saw you!"

"I wonder what Lord Alhambra sees in that girl?"

"Oh! those forward Misses always take the men—eh! Dr. Sly?"

"Well," said Miss Graves, "I've no notion that it will come to any thing.—I am sure, I, for one, hope not," added she with all a Toadey's venom.

"The Marquess seems to keep a remarkably good table," said the Physician. "There was a haunch to-day, which I really think was the finest haunch I ever met with: but that little move at dinner,—it was, to say the least, very ill-timed."

"Yes, that was Vivian Grey again," said Miss Graves, very indignantly.

"So, you've got the Beaconsfields here. Miss Graven:—nice, unaffected, quiet, people?"

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 here, tho' he seems to describe the Hunting of the Hare by the Scent thro' many Turnings and Windings; yet he really says no more, than that one of those Hounds, which he calls, finds out the Game. For he follows the Scent no further than the Hare's Form; from whence, after he has started her, he pursues her by Sight. I am indebted for these two last Remarks to a reverend and very learned Gentleman, whole Judgment in the Belles Lettres no Body disputes, and whose Approbation gave me the Assurance to publish this Poem.

also observes, that the best Sort of these Finders were brought from Britain; this Island having always been famous (as it is at this Day) for the best Breed of Hounds, for Persons the best skill'd in the Art of Hunting, and for Horses the most enduring to follow the Chace. It is therefore strange that none of our Poets have yet thought it worth their while to treat of this Subject; which is without doubt very noble in itself, and very well adapted to receive the most beautiful Turns of Poetry. Per-


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style=font-size: 90%;|hanging-indent=2em|

Hemichroniis bimaculatus, Gill. Proc. Philad. Ac. 1862, p. 137; Steind. Notes Leyd, Mus. xvi. p. 49.

Hemicromis auritus, Gill, l. c. p. 135.

Allied to H. guttatus and H. subocellatus, but with the body deeper and the spinous dorsal higher.

The height of the body is contained $14⁄10$ in the total length (without caudal), the length of the head $3⁄8$. Length of the snout equal to the diameter of the eye, which is one fourth of the length of the head and equal to the width of the interorbital space. Teeth conical, brown, equal in size. Four series of scales on the cheek. Cleft of the mouth rather narrow, slightly oblique, with the lower jaw slightly projecting and with the maxillary net quite reaching the vertical from the front margin of the orbit. The length of the eighth dorsal spine is two fifths of that of the head. In the adult the soft dorsal and anal and the ventral fin are produced into points. Brownish above, a deep black spot on the end of the operculum and another in the middle of the body; three or four series of round bluish spots on the cheek and gill-cover. Fins without spots.

From the middle course of the Ogowé River.

style=font-size: 90%;|hanging-indent=2em|

? Hemichronus Schwebischi, Sauvage, Bull. Soc. Zool. France, ix. 1884, p. 198, pl. v. fig. 2.

The height of the body is contained $2 1⁄2$ times in the total length (without caudal), the length of the head $2 3⁄4$ times. Snout produced, with the upper jaw slightly the longer, longer than the postorbital portion of the head. Mouth of moderate width, very slightly oblique, the maxillary reaching but little beyond the vertical from the nostril. Teeth small, subequal, with brown pointed tips. The eye is a little less


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intercourse between the Marquess and Vivian, after this interview, was constant. No dinner-party was thought perfect at Carabas House, without the presence of the young gentleman; and as the Marchioness was delighted with the perpetual presence of an individual whom she could always consult about Julie, there was apparently no domestic obstacle to Vivian"'s remaining in high favour.

The Earl of Eglamour, the only child, in whom were concentrated all the hopes of the illustrious House of Lorraine, was in Italy. The

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How shall I describe, that place fit for all princes? In the midst of a park of great extent, and eminent for scenery, as varied as might please Nature's most capricious lover; in the midst of green lawns, and deep winding glens, and cooling streams, and wild forest, and soft woodland, there was gradually formed an elevation, on which was situate a mansion of great size, and of that bastard, but picturesque, style of architecture, called the Italian Gothic. The date of its erection was about the middle of the sixteenth century.

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 You entered by a noble gateway, in which the pointed style still predominated; but in various parts of which, the Ionic column, and the prominent keystone, and other creations of Roman architecture, intermingled with the expiring Gothic, into a large quadrangle, to which the square casement windows, and the triangular pediments or gable ends, supplying the place of battlements, gave a varied and Italian feature. In the centre of the court, from an immense marble basin, the rim of which was enriched by a splendidly sculptured lotus border, rose a marble group, representing Amphitrite with her marine attendants, whose sounding shells and coral sceptres sent forth their subject element in sparkling showers. This work, the chef d'uvre of a celebrated artist of Vicenza, had been purchased by Valerian, first Lord Carabas, who having spent the greater part of his life as the representative of his monarch at the Ducal Court of Venice,

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 with despair. The light, however, moved slowly onward, and disappeared in the windings of the avenue. After remaining a long time in silent suspense, and finding no further obstacle, they ventured to proceed. The light had discovered to them their situation, and the staircase, and they now moved with greater certainty. They reached the bottom in safety, and without any fearful interruption; they listened, and again the silence of the place was undisturbed. Edric knew they were now under the fosse, their way was plain before them, and their hopes were renewed in the belief, that the light and the people they had seen, had taken a different direction, Edric knowing there were various passages branching from the main avenue which led to different openings in the rock. They now stepped on with alacrity, the prospect of deliverance was near, for Edric judged they were now not far from the cavern; an abrupt turning in the passage confirmed at once this supposition, and extinguished the hope which had attended it; for the light of a lamp burst suddenly upon them, and exhibited to their sickening eyes, the figures of four men in an attitude of menace, with their swords pointed ready to receive them. Alleyn drew his sword and advanced, "We will die hardly," cried he. At the sound of his voice, the weapons instantly dropped from the hands of his adversaries, and they advanced to meet him in a transport of joy. Alleyn recognized with astonishment, in the faces of the three strangers, his faithful friends and followers; and Edric in that of the fourth, a fellow soldier. The same purpose had assembled them all in the same spot. They quitted the cave together; and Alleyn in the joyful experience of unexpected deliverance, resolved never more to admit despair. They concluded, that the body which they had passed in the avenue, was that of some person who had perished either by hunger or by the sword in those subterranean labyrinths.

They marched in company till they came within a


text: Index:New Ptiliidae (Coleoptera) from Sarawak in the spirit collection of the Natural History Museum, London.pdf


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 Now, as in the ancient story, it is a reception of the sons of God.

The Master of the gathering, to whom one might reasonably attribute a sublime boredom, seeing that everything that can possibly happen is necessarily known to him, displays on the contrary as lively an interest in his interlocutor as ever. This interlocutor is of course Satan, the Unexpected.

The contrast of these two eternal beings is very marked; while the Deity, veiled and almost hidden in light, with his hair like wool and his eyes like the blue of infinite space, conveys an effect of stable, remote, and mountainous grandeur, Satan has the compact alertness of habitual travel; he is as definite as a grip-sack, and he brings a flavour of initiative and even bustle upon a scene that would otherwise be one of serene perfection. His halo even has a slightly travelled look. He has been going to and fro in the earth and walking up and down in it; his labels are still upon him. His status in heaven remains as undefined as it was in the time of Job; it is uncertain to this day whether he is to be regarded as one of the sons of God or as an inexplicable intruder among them. (But see upon this question the Encyclopædia Biblica under his name.) Whatever his origin there can be little doubt of his increasing assurance of independence and importance in the Divine presence. His freedom may be sanctioned or innate, but he himself has no doubt remaining of the security of his personal autonomy. He believes that he is a necessary accessory to God, and that his incalculable quality is an indispensable relief to the acqui-


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 with my advice, all those who think fit to consult me." Splendid peroration!

"Oh, my Lord!" carelessly remarked Vivian, "I thought it was a mere on dit."

"Thought what, my dear Sir, you really quite perplex me."

"I mean to say, my Lord—I, I thought it was impossible the overtures had been made."

"Overtures, Mr. Vivian Grey?"

"Yes, my Lord! Overtures—hasn't your Lordship seen the Post?—but I knew it was impossible,—I said so, I"

"Said what, Mr. Vivian Grey?"

"Said that the whole paragraph was unfounded."

"Paragraph! what paragraph?" and his Lordship rose, and rang the library bell, with, a vehemence worthy of a Marquess—"Sadler, bring me the Morning Post."

The servant entered with the paper: Mr. Vivian Grey seized it from his hands before it reached the Marquess, and glancing his eye

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76 him that I needed no medical aid, I told him to go to Miss Mayard. He did so. From Miss Neville and other patients I learned what transpired. Miss Mayard was still in the fit, and he caught her roughly between the eyebrows or thereabouts, and pinched until her face was crimson from the rush of blood to the head, and her senses returned. All day afterward she suffered from terrible headache, and from that on she grew worse.

Insane? Yes, insane; and as I watched the insanity slowly creep over the mind that had appeared to be all right I secretly cursed the doctors, the nurses and all public institutions. Some one may say that she was insane at some time previous to her consignment to the asylum. Then if she were, was this the proper place to send a woman just convalescing, to be given cold baths, deprived of sufficient clothing and fed with horrible food?

On this morning I had a long conversation with Dr. Ingram, the assistant superintendent of the asylum. I found that he was kind to the helpless beings in his charge, I began my old complaint of the cold, and he called Miss Grady to the office and ordered more clothing given the patients. Miss Grady said if I made a practice of telling it would be a serious thing for me, she warned me in time.

Many visitors looking for missing girls came to see me. Miss Grady yelled in the door from the hall one day:

“Nellie Brown, you’re wanted.”

I went to the sitting-room at the end of the hall, and there sat a gentleman who had known me intimately for years. I saw by the sudden blanching of his face and his inability to speak that the sight of me was wholly unexpected and had shocked him terribly. In an instant I determined, if he betrayed me as Nellie Bly, to say I had never seen him before. However, I had one card to play and I risked it. With Miss Grady within touching


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Rh distance I whispered hurriedly to him, in language more expressive than elegant:

“Don’t give me away.”

I knew by the expression of his eye that he understood, so I said to Miss Grady:

“I do not know this man.”

“Do you know her?” asked Miss Grady.

“No; this is not the young lady I came in search of,” he replied, in a strained voice.

“If you do not know her you cannot stay here,” she said, and she took him to the door. All at once a fear struck me that he would think I had been sent there through some mistake and would tell my friends and make an effort to have me released. So I waited until Miss Grady had the door unlocked. I knew that she would have to lock it before she could leave, and the time required to do so would give me opportunity to speak, so I called:

“One moment, senor.” He returned to me and I asked aloud:

“Do you speak Spanish, senor?” and then whispered, “It’s all right. I’m after an item. Keep still.” “No,” he said, with a peculiar emphasis, which I knew meant that he would keep my secret.

People in the world can never imagine the length of days to those in asylums. They seemed never ending, and we welcomed any event that might give us something to think about as well as talk of. There is nothing to read, and the only bit of talk that never wears out is conjuring up delicate food that they will get as soon as they get out. Anxiously the hour was watched for when the boat arrived to see if there were any new unfortunates to be added to our ranks. When they came and were ushered into the sitting-room the patients would express sympathy to one another for them and were anxious to show them little marks of attention, Hall


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78 6 was the receiving hall, so that was how we saw all newcomers.

Soon after my advent a girl called Urena Little-Page was brought in. She was, as she had been born, silly, and her tender spot was, as with many sensible women, her age. She claimed eighteen, and would grow very angry if told to the contrary. The nurses were not long in finding this out, and then they teased her.

“Urena,” said Miss Grady, “the doctors say that you are thirty-three instead of eighteen,” and the other nurses laughed. They kept up this until the simple creature began to yell and cry, saying she wanted to go home and that everybody treated her badly. After they had gotten all the amusement out of her they wanted and she was crying, they began to scold and tell her to keep quiet. She grew more hysterical every moment until they pounced upon her and slapped her face and knocked her head in a lively fashion. This made the poor creature cry the more, and so they choked her. Yes, actually choked her. Then they dragged her out to the closet, and I heard her terrified cries hush into smothered ones. After several hours’ absence she returned to the sitting-room, and I plainly saw the marks of their fingers on her throat for the entire day.

This punishment seemed to awaken their desire to administer more. They returned to the sitting-room and caught hold of an old gray-haired woman whom I have heard addressed both as Mrs. Grady and Mrs. O’Keefe. She was insane, and she talked almost continually to herself and to those near her. She never spoke very loud, and at the time I speak of was sitting harmlessly chattering to herself. They grabbed her, and my heart ached as she cried:

“For God sake, ladies, don’t let them beat me.”

“Shut up, you hussy!” said Miss Grady as she caught the woman by her gray hair and dragged her shrieking


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 over it, with the rapidity of lightning, doubled up the sheet in a convenient readable form, and pushing it into his Lordship's hands, exclaimed, "There, my Lord! there, that will explain all."

His Lordship read:—

"We are informed that some alteration in the composition of the present administration is in contemplation; Lord Past Century, it is said, will retire; Mr. Liberal Principles will have the; and Mr. Charlatan Gas the. A noble peer, whose practised talents have already benefited the nation, and who, on vacating his seat in the Cabinet, was elevated in the peerage, is reported as having had certain overtures made him, the nature of which may be conceived; but which, under the present circumstances, it would be indelicate in us to hint at."'

It would have been impossible for a hawk to have watched its quarry with eyes of more fixed and anxious earnestness, than did Vivian Grey

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 the Marquess of Carabas, as his Lordship's eyes wandered over the paragraph. Vivian drew his chair close to the table opposite to the Marquess, and when the paragraph was read, their eyes met.

"Utterly untrue," whispered the peer with an agitated voice, and with a countenance which, for a moment, seemed intellectual. "But why, Mr. Vivian Grey should deem the fact of such overtures having been made,  'impossible,'  I confess, astonishes me."

"Impossible, my Lord!"

"Ay, Mr. Grey, impossible, that was your word."

"Oh, my Lord! what should I know about these matters?"

"Nay, nay, Mr. Grey, something must have been floating in your mind—why impossible, why impossible? Did your father think so?"

"My father! Oh! no, he never thinks about these matters; our's is not a political family; I'm not sure that he ever looks at a newspaper."

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Marquess had preceded Vivian in his arrival about three or four days, and of course, to use the common phrase, the establishment "was quite settled." It was, indeed, to avoid the possibility of witnessing the domestic arrangements of a nobleman in any other point of view, save that of perfection, that Vivian had declined accompanying his noble friend to the Château. Mr. Grey, junior, was an epicurean, and all epicureans will quite agree with me, that his conduct on this head was extremely wise. I am not very nice myself about these

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text:
While Egypt Slept

UPON the roof of a little house near the western bank of the Nile, Petronius and Thersites, reclining upon cushions, enjoyed the cooling breezes of the evening. Below and around them lay the city. Under the magic light of the moon, sailing the seas above the earth, all objects were bathed in a mellow radiance which mercifully blended all tints into one, save where the heavy, sombre shadows lay. Here and there, a torch twinkled among the boats, lying like black shadows upon the river. A soft wind blew from the west, carrying with it, now and then, the mournful cry of a beast, hunting far out in the desert.

Petronius was speaking.

"Yesterday," he said, "I was walking at the edge of the cultivated ground. It was the hour of sunset. Tem-Harmachis, as the Egyptians say, blazing like an altar flame, touched the line of the western mountain. A dark purple shadow lay over the entrances to the tombs of the kings where, they say, the untold wealth of countless ages lies concealed. The city, extended like a mighty picture on each side of the silent river, sparkled and glowed like a city afire. It was superb. Not even upon the seven hills have I seen a spectacle richer in splendor. Thousands upon thousands of white walls caught up the light, reflecting it in a riot of blinding colors.

"At the west of the city, the great temple of Amon shone like a magnificent jewel in a setting of innumerable light points reflected from an army of sphinxes. The great red granite obelisks of the first Thothmes, themselves bright as bloody javelins, upreared their motionless height against the sky. And above them, the pillar of Hatshepsu towered in indescribable grandeur. The city was overwhelmed with color, extravagant, prodigious, through which, like a broad ribbon, lay the shimmering placidity of Sihor. All that was ugly, misshapen, unhappy, was hidden beneath the glory of that setting sun. It was a picture indeed.

"Before such majesty, I felt like a miserable worm upon the earth, so I turned away at last and saw, not a dozen paces distant, a girl walking toward me.

"She was a young girl who could not have seen more than eighteen years. She was clad all in white linen, a vestment whose long, straight folds barely cleared the ground. Her cheeks were clear and light, almost too light for an Egyptian, and holding a delicate pallor like the cheeks of an unhappy child. Her eyes were dark with a depth I could not measure; her lips were neither full nor thin, but red as the blossom of the desert rose. And her raised arms were full of flowers—innumerable flowers of all colors—which she held carefully against her breast.

"I have seen many women, friend, and many virgins of all countries, but never before did such Olympic fairness pass before my eyes. In comparison with her, the sweetest Venus, hewn from the whitest marble, would look only like an ugly daughter of the south. In an instant I was mad, and, without stopping to think, I stepped squarely in her path.

"She stopped short and raised her eyes to mine. Did I mention her eyes? Seen closely, their mysterious depths multiplied upon themselves. They were marvelous, they were immortal. One could lose one's self in such eyes. Then she spoke, in Greek: 'Well?' I answered: 'Ah! I was right! The voice completes the illusion. Tell me, maiden, art thou not Aphrodite, whom thou callest Athor, upon the earth? Verily, I believe thou art.' Her lips quivered in a smile, instantly suppressed. 'Nay, I am a priestess of Amon. Thou shouldst know this by my vestments, and shouldst not make me pause in my way. But thou art a stranger, and so I pardon thee.' I saw that she wished to pass, for she was annoyed. A slight flush, fair as the dawn, appeared upon her cheeks and crept up over her temples. She bit her lip. But I could not let her go so easily, and I found another question to ask: 'And is that thy temple yonder, that shines so gloriously in the sunlight?' 'The temple of Amon, yes.' 'And these sweet flowers, are they for the altars?' 'Surely.' She hesitated, then: 'Are they not beautiful?' There was but one reply for me: 'Doubly so.' But it frightened her; she glanced at me, and her color deepened. Beneath the ardor in my eyes, her own wavered and fell. Then she looked about her, uneasily. 'I—I may not stay and talk. It is forbidden.' She paused, then: 'I am sorry,' she said, softly, and stepped past me toward the city.

"For a long time, I stood motionless watching this girl, like a little white flower, move across the fields and finally disappear among the houses in the direction of the temple. And, friend, she carried my desire with the flowers in her arms. Thou knowest me, what I have been, what I am. I am a soldier, and my life has been a soldier's life. Yet I swear that, in all my existence, never have I desired as I desire now. I want this maiden for mine own. She is a child, a mere child, innocent, unworldly, sleeping. Yet what possibilities, what joys, lie hidden within that body, sweet as the flowers she bore in her arms! And yet—she is a priestess, and I fear the gods. See this scar upon my forehead, and know that it shows a punishment for a sacrifice neglected before a battle, while I was under Octavius. But these gods of Egypt—discredited, forsaken—have they, also, a like or a greater power?"

Thersites sprang to his feet and touched his friend upon the shoulder.

"Look, friend," said he, raising an arm toward the sky, "to where yon cold sphere, destined to gaze forever upon the loves of all the world, sweeps in silent majesty across the heavens. Dost think, thou, that the gods who could guide this silvery orb, the stars, the sun, need, here upon the earth, the hands of one fair child? And even though they did, would the skies fall, the mountains shake, the seas dry up, if thou shouldst take her for thyself, to fill, alone, completely, all thy need? Did not the vandal horde, descending like a swollen flood, beat down the temple doors in Rome itself? What was it to the gods? Did not Egypt herself, beloved of the immortals, sink like a frightened slave beneath the mighty blows of Rome at Actium? What was it to the gods? They have their work to do, fair friend, and thou hast thine. Thou lovest. It is enough. Thou, thou, who couldst have, in Rome, a thousand loves without even the asking: wilt thou be balked, now, and kept from the desire of thy heart, by a few gray-bearded priests? Zeus! If thou dost play the craven in this, my friend, I will seek the girl for myself!"

Petronius shrugged helplessly.

"It is beyond thee, doubtless," he remarked, "to know that the girl is purer than all the purity of the world cast in one body. I saw it in her eyes. And, Gods! I saw the flame which sprang up when I kissed her."

"When you kissed her!"

"Yes. I went to the temple today, pretending to look around. I met her alone in the inner hall, and I—kissed her!"

Thersites, with a laugh, clapped his friend upon the shoulder.

"It is enough. She is thine. Go after her this night. Carry her away, if need be. Bring her here and I will hide her until thou sailest, three days hence. Be a man!"

Petronius rose to his feet, determined at last.

"Thou art right," he said. "I will go. But if I come not by tomorrow, come thou after me. Farewell."

"Farewell. The true immortals go with thee."

Thersites, leaning over the parapet, watched him depart and then turned, sighing gently.

"Love," he murmured, "is a delusion. Poor friend! it is not love but irresolved desire which tormenteth him so sorely. That which we have, we want not; while desire for that which we have not consumeth us as a flame. As for me—" He laughed softly. Crobyle, a slave girl, his present idol, had appeared upon the terrace. "As for me, I desire only that which I have. It is simpler, and it is quite as pleasant."

Among the houses, the night was more intense and held, still, a lingering trace of the heat of the day.

As the Roman strode forward, his sandals on the pavement awoke echoes along the deserted streets. At the avenue of the sphinxes he paused and, stooping over, unlaced the thongs and removed his footgear which he suspended from his belt.

Like a thief, now, slinking in the shadow of the monstrous images, he approached the door of the temple. It was closed. He ascended the steps and extended his arm. The door moved; it was not barred. His breath hissed through his teeth. Slowly, with infinite care, he opened the ponderous barrier, slipped inside, and closed it after him.

Before him, the darkness, heavy with the silence of the night, lay as though hiding an unknown world. Anything, everything, might lie before him, unseen. The silence was profound. He advanced cautiously, feeling his way from pillar to pillar, and stood at last beyond the door of the inner chamber.

All around him, in the gloom, columns arose, thickly, like the innumerable tree trunks of a mighty forest. Some stones had fallen from the roof, and the moonlight, striking through, diffused about the chamber, lighting obscurely the colored sculptures on the pillars. The air was cool and sweet, bearing a faint, intangible odor of incense.

Petronius had marked, that day, the cells of the priestesses, and now he advanced cautiously toward the line of small doors.

"Ah!"

He stopped short, stifling an exclamation. Down the maze of columns, a sigh floated—the echo of a distant sob. He listened intently. Somewhere, at the other end of the chamber, a woman was weeping. If it should be the one for whom he searched! What fortune, if he could find her so far from her companions!

Returning to the middle aisle of the chamber, he crept cautiously down the rows of columns in the direction of the sounds. His outstretched hand met a wall—a door. He paused to listen.

"Ah, thou mighty one! See how I weep before thee in sorrow and in penitence! What was I to do? Then, too, he was so fair. Ah!"

Petronius's heart bounded. She was there—and thinking of him! "Oh fortunate one!" He opened the door, silently stepped inside, closed it after him, and stood in the sanctuary of Amon.

At first he saw nothing. Then, gradually, the walls defined themselves—the altar—the moonlight, filtering through a few cracks in the roof, revealed, dimly, like a deep shadow, the great bulk of the god raised upon a square platform of granite. Like a huge enigma, it stood, imperturbable, surrounded with all the unsolved mystery of coutlesscountless [sic] ages. Amon!

Before the god, a patch of white ray upon the stones of the floor.

"If thou wouldst be a god of mercy, give him to me. Thou seest, I am too young to serve thee truly, O thou silent one! How can I be cold, like thee, when I am full of love? Ah!"

Gently, in the shadow, the Roman rustled his cloak. The white figure shook convulsively, half arose, shrank against the altar and, turning, saw him standing there.

Petronius heard the beating of his heart.

"Fear not, beloved. It is indeed I."

"Ah! Ah!"

"I am coming to thee."

The girl trembled closer against the stone. Petronius drew near and bent down above her. Her face was hidden in her hands. At his touch, she stifled a scream.

Then, slowly, she lowered her hands and raised her eyes to his. Her face appeared less white in the gloom.

She seemed to realize, gradually, for the first time, that a very man, not a spirit, stood before her.

"Is—is it indeed thou?"

Petronius uttered a sigh of relief and swept the great beads of perspiration from his forehead. He knelt beside her on the stones and drew her, half resisting and still frightened, into his arms.

"It is indeed I, beloved. In answer to thy very call I come. And I have come for thee, sweetest rose in all the world. Listen: in three days I sail for Rome. Come with me to the dwelling of my friend, Thersites. We will hide thee safely, though all Egypt search. And, in Rome, thou wilt taste that life of love and delight for which thy soul so longs, and which Rome, and I, alone can give. Yes, thou mayest drink of it even to the dregs, if it pleases thee. For I love thee above all things, and I know not even thy name."

The girl clung to him, sobbing wildly.

"Ah! merciless gods! I cannot, I dare not! I am afraid!"

"But why? Lo, didst thou not call for me before thy god, and did I not come? Is he so weak, indeed, that he must suffer at the loss of a single vestal? Dost think my love but a passing fancy?"

"No! I do not know! No!"

"Then thou dost fear thy god. See, then, here before his very eyes, I hold thee in my arms, and he moves not. See, then, before his very eyes, I kiss thee."

A sigh echoed through the chamber.

Slowly, softly, one arm about the maiden, Petronius approached the door, stretched out his hand, pushed. The door did not move. He pushed harder. The door did not move. Releasing the girl, he raised both hands, he applied his shoulder. The door did not move.

A shriek, full, clear, terrible, rang through the chamber.

The Roman, his skin prickling, turned. The girl lay groveling upon the stone floor. Fear gripping his heart, he knelt down, tried to draw her into his arms. She struggled like a wild thing.

"I knew it! I knew it! We are lost! We are lost! O mighty Amon!'"

Her voice, shrill with terror, echoed horribly through the heavy air of the chamber. At last she lay in his arms, silent, then panting, her eyes staring before her toward where the monstrous shadow of the image stood, inscrutable and brooding.

Petronius began to think, quickly, for the moments were precious. They were trapped. It was useless to shout. Thersites would not expect them before the morning.

Suddenly she became convulsed. Her eyes opened wide with terror. She threw up an arm, one finger extended stiffly in the direction of the god.

"Look! Look!" she shrieked. "Ah!"

Her teeth clenched. Her lower lip, caught between them, loosed a thin stream of blood which trickled out upon her chin and fell in slow drops upon her robe. Petronius raised his head.

A single clear ray of moonlight, from a chink in the roof, fell like a tiny shaft of brilliance upon the smiling lips of the outraged god.

The Roman gasped. Then, with a supreme effort, staggered to his feet, and shrank against the closed doors, his short sword gleaming in his hand, his face white and set. The girl lay silent upon the floor, her hands outstretched grotesquely, her figure angular and without beauty. The silence was absolute save for the man's sonorous breathing.

He turned his face toward the doors. He would hew them down. They could not take a Roman soldier so.

Then, suddenly, without warning, he was struck heavily in the back, and crashed forward against the wall. The sword flew from his hand and clattered upon the stones. For a moment, all was chaos. Then he felt, for the first time, a great icy tremor within him. He became acutous of a horrible agony. He gasped, but choked in a flood of warm blood which poured up through his throat. Stupidly, he took a step backward and held up before his eyes his hands, warm and red. A crimson film shot over his eyes. He took another step—another—another—another—then stumbled and, with a great choking cry, crashed his length upon the floor.

There was a sound of drawn bolts. The doors opened quietly and a flood of fresh, pure air swept into the chamber. An old priest, all his face save his eyes muffled in the folds of his robe, entered slowly, followed by a few other priests.

The old man touched Petronius with his toe.

"Take him away," he said, simply.

Then he turned toward where the priestess lay silent, outstretched on the stones. Long he stood there, looking down at her. And his eyes grew dim and moist so that he could see no longer. Then, at last, he spoke, quietly, tranquil once more.

"Love," he said, "is a delusion. It is not love but irresolved desire which tormenteth so sorely. That which we have, we want not; while desire for that which we have not consumeth us as a flame. As for me—" He sighed, softly. "As for me—" He raised his arms, slowly, toward the silent, watching god.

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80 Miss Grady and her assistants,” she said, “and I am unable to eat the horrible food they give us. I ought not to be compelled to freeze for want of proper clothing. Oh! I pray nightly that I may be taken to my papa and mamma. One night, when I was confined at Bellevue, Dr. Field came; I was in bed, and weary of the examination. At last I said: ‘I am tired of this. I will talk no more.’ ‘Won’t you?’ he said, angrily. ‘I’ll see if I can’t make you.’ With this he laid his crutch on the side of the bed, and, getting up on it, he pinched me very severely in the ribs. I jumped up straight in bed, and said: ‘What do you mean by this?’ ‘I want to teach you to obey when I speak to you,’ he replied. If I could only die and go to papa!” When I left she was confined to bed with a fever, and maybe by this time she has her wish.

There is a Frenchwoman confined in hall 6, or was during my stay, whom I firmly believe to be perfectly sane. I watched her and talked with her every day, excepting the last three, and I was unable to find any delusion or mania in her. Her name is Josephine Despreau, if that is spelled correctly, and her husband and all her friends are in France. Josephine feels her position keenly. Her lips tremble, and she breaks down crying when she talks of her helpless condition. “How did you get here?” I asked.

“One morning as I was trying to get breakfast I grew deathly sick, and two officers were called in by the woman of the house, and I was taken to the station-house. I was unable to understand their proceedings, and they paid little attention to my story. Doings in this country were new to me, and before I realized it I was lodged as an insane woman in this asylum. When I first came I cried that I was here without hope of release, and for crying Miss Grady and her assistants choked me until they hurt my throat, for it has been sore ever since.


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Rh A pretty young Hebrew woman spoke so little English I could not get her story except as told by the nurses. They said her name is Sarah Fishbaum, and that her husband put her in the asylum because she had a fondness for other men than himself. Granting that Sarah was insane, and about men, let me tell you how the nurses tried to cure(?) her. They would call her up and say:

“Sarah, wouldn’t you like to have a nice young man?”

“Oh, yes; a young man is all right,” Sarah would reply in her few English words.

“Well, Sarah, wouldn’t you like us to speak a good word to some of the doctors for you? Wouldn’t you like to have one of the doctors?”

And then they would ask her which doctor she preferred, and advise her to make advances to him when he visited the hall, and so on.

I had been watching and talking with a fair-complexioned woman for several days, and I was at a loss to see why she had been sent there, she was so sane.

“Why did you come here?” I asked her one day, after we had indulged in a long conversation.

“I was sick,” she replied.

“Are you sick mentally?” I urged.

“Oh, no; what gave you such an idea? I had been overworking myself, and I broke down. Having some family trouble, and being penniless and nowhere to go, I applied to the commissioners to be sent to the poorhouse until I would be able to go to work.”

“But they do not send poor people here unless they are insane,” I said. “Don’t you know there are only insane women, or those supposed to be so, sent here?”

“I knew after I got here that the majority of these women were insane, but then I believed them when they told me this was the place they sent all the poor who applied for aid as I had done.”

“How have you been treated?” I asked. “Well, so