do likewise various kinds of chromolithographs. The feuille has its peculiar folds given to it before being mounted on the frame, and glued to the prolongations of the inner ribs.

The making of the different parts of a fan is usually conducted by the workpeople at their own houses; where a piercer, out of a little bit of watch-spring, will provide himself with the tiny saws which pierce the beautiful open-work of some fans, The makers of the frames and feuilles mostly reside in the country districts; while the engravers, printers, lithographers, painters, colourists, mounters, illuminators, &c., are mostly congregated at Paris, The éventailliste, besides superintending the mounting, decorating, and finishing at his own establishment, furnishes instructions for the country workers; he supplies the drawings to suit the frequent changes of fashion, instructs the feuillists as to the style of ornament, groups together the frames and feuilles, and decides upon the last finish with tassel and sheath. Most of the work is, as may readily be supposed, small handicraft labour; yet not wholly so, for the stamping-press is now much used in cutting out and embossing the various materials.

As to the oriental fan, it differs in many ways from the European. The Indian fans are seldom made to close; nor do the lazy possessors take the trouble to fan themselves. Some of them, affixed to central handles, are gorgeously enriched with embroidery and jewels; others resemble a curtain suspended from a silver rod, which is held horizontally by an attendant, and waved backwards and forwards; others, again, are of the circular standardform, the fan being attached to the top of a silver staff, and swung to and fro by an attendant, who rests the lower end of the staff on the ground. Some of the Chinese fans are made in a curious way of beads and pearls. Very clever, and often very beautiful, fans are made of the divided leaf of the Borassus flabelliformis, which emits a fragrant perfume; of the Khus-khus grass; of

thin sheets of sandal-wood; of bamboo; and of the palmyra leaf.

Some of the fans in this collection are, as may be expected, quite as remarkable for their singularity as their beauty. One or two of the Chinese fans have pictures with that impossible perspective which our willow-pattern plates have rendered familiar to us. One, of English make, exhibits Cupids working lustily away in forging and sharpening Love's arrows. A French fan has the mount apparently made up of eight-and-twenty assignats and other kinds of paper-money, belonging to the stirring times of the Revolution: a queer sort of Stock-Exchange idea, worked out in plain printed paper and plain rosewood handle. Not less curious is the fan, made about the same time, mounted with an engraving of the bust of Mirabeau, and scenes from his life. Celebrated sayings of his such as 'Je combattrai le facteurs de tous les parties'-fill up small spaces in the design. One, a splendid production of the time of the unfortunate Louis XVI., may be truly called a toilet fan; for the feuille, painted in medallion on silk, represents the toilet of a lady of the Court, all embroidered and bespangled; while the ivory handle is carved with figures representing a lady's toilet. A fan of the seventeenth century has a most elaborately-drawn pen-and-ink picture of a meeting of an Academy of the Sciences. A French fan of the last century very well represents that odd medley of courtly life with heathen mythology which was at that time so much in favour among painters; the marriage of Louis XV. is being solemnized on Mount Olympus, attended by Jupiter, Juno, and Apollo, and surmounted by the arms of France and Poland. A Revolutionary fan has a painting representing the Assembly of the States-General in 1789; with, on the back or reverse, a statistical account of the revenue and expenditure for that year! A Spanish fan, belonging to Mrs. Layard (now ambassadress at Madrid), presents, painted on a kid feuille, the signs of the Zodiac, and a printed almanac

marked with some historical event for each day. An English fan of the last century is mounted with a printed copy of the Laws of Whist -thereby enabling a lady of quality to keep herself cool and at the same time to attend to her rubber.

Happily, this is not the last Exhibition of the kind we shall have. It is the first fruit of a plan, formed by those who have the power of carrying it into effect, for reviving the production of fans in England as a branch of Fine Art applied to industry, especially suitable for the employment of female artists. There is, as we all know, to be an International Exhibition next year, the first of an annual series; and it is in contemplation to include fans among the exhibits. Her Majesty-always alive to the value of these pleasant and instructive gatherings - has given the matter a start by the offer of a handsome money-prize for the best fan exhibited next year: being either a work of painting or carving, or a combination of both, and executed by a female artist under twenty-five years of age. The Society of Arts offers a gold medal

for the fan second in merit; while Lady Cornelia Guest and the Baroness Meyer de Rothschild offer prizes of ten pounds each for the third and fourth in merit. Princess Louise, whose artistic taste lends an additional grace to her amiability, has signified her intention of preparing a fan of her own handiwork for next year's Exhibition. The Science and Art Department will also contribute towards the same end. It is this department which has lately organised a system of Art-teaching for women; and the Loan Exhibition of Fans is regarded as an incentive. The department, in soliciting the good offices of the owners, pointed out that the fans most to be selected are those which present examples of the best art applied to their ornamentation; that the beauty or novelty of the materials and manufacture should also be attended to; and that an attempt should be made to show the changes of fashion in form and ornamentation. It must be admitted that these recommendations have been responded to in an admirable way.

'I hate the squares and streets, And the faces that one meets, Hearts with no love for me.' } On a brilliant burning day the notion of vulgar work becomes repulsive to one's finer feelings, and, like the Latin poet, we long for a cool valley, by some river side, beneath an abundance of pleasant foliage. This year the spring was so very long in coming on. One heard rumours of enormous icebergs, ever so many miles in length, cooling the Gulf Stream and threatening to spoil the spring altogether. In the early spring, which ought to have been late in spring, it was quite pitiable to see the ladies go to her Majesty's drawing-room. In front of Buckingham Palace round to the Riding School and up Grosvenor Place was there an unceasing string of carriages; and beautifully - dressed ladies' I love that beauty should go beautifully'-for an interminable time were sitting with arms, bust, and shoulders bare, in a cutting, unwholesome wind, even without closing the windows of their carriages. In the benevolence of his heart, the Peripatetic felt strongly inclined to urge upon them that they should send for cloaks and shawls; but his conventionality proved too strong, and he left them to perish of phthisis and bronchitis. At last the spring made a desperate push to get to the front, and there was even a sudden blaze of

hot weather, a short time before the Derby Day. Then it suddenly occurred to the Peripatetic that it would be good for him to cool himself. Sudden gleams of woods and waters passed before his mental eye as he took the shady side of Bond Street, and followed Mr. Disraeli's advice in looking at the fish on the cool marble slabs, or contemplating the delicious ortolans, pretty birds that should be too pretty to be killed. Then the idea suddenly suggested itself that I should betake myself to the Thames and hire a boat, and lie down beneath the trees, and alternate my boating with talk and books. Take the hint, friendly reader: fling a few things together, go down in a Hansom to Paddington or the South Western, and go off to the Thames-some thirty miles up the river is best-and stay for the few hours, or days, or weeks that may be most pleasing to you.

In the course of my wanderings in the Thames district I think I only met a single tourist who, accompanied by his wife, was working through the country, and this amid as lovely scenery and famous localities as southern England can show. I was continually passing and repassing the Thames, and spent a good deal of time on the water. The fishing towns and villages are now generally busy, and the comfortable hostels at the waterside full to overflowing. The closing of the river during the month of May has had the effect of making the fishing villages dull for the time, but has been very beneficial in stocking the water. The quantity of small fish in the river is enormous; and the whole course of the Thames, in its season, is thickly studded with punts. The punting fishermen are interesting, because a patient and withal an enthusiastic people. They have a kind of conversation of their own. One has just arrived, in pursuit of his annual

custom of spending two months of the year in fishing. Another has sent back his carriage, and intends to punt home so far as Teddington. Another, an inveterate punter of eighty, from absence of mind or some other cause, has tilted from his chair into seven feet of water, and narrowly escaped drowning. Another has been informed, by telegraph, that a very big trout has been seen near a certain weir, and has taken lodgings until such time as the trout should be caught or disposed of. It is to be observed that the parlours of most of the angling inns display a stuffed trout in a glass case, with an extract from the local paper setting forth when it was caught and the number of pounds it weighs. This serves to fire the angler with a noble ambition, or to cheer his drooping spirits. From the immense number of fishermen, and the abundant supplies which the fishes find for themselves near their fertile banks, I should not think the Thames the best kind of fishing-ground. I see the punters are obliged to resort to the unsportsmanlike custom of raking the bed of the river to force the retired gudgeon into the actual contemplation of the bait. This brief allusion may be pardoned to a worthy and much-enduring race, with whom I frequently came in friendly collision. When I explained that I did not care for fishing, and was simply out on tourist purposes, they regarded me as a harmless lunatic; which was very much my own opinion concerning them. The river scenery is certainly something wonderful. I know of nothing more beautiful than the Thames from Eton to Pangbourne. Excepting London and Oxford, I know the Rhine better than I know the Thames; and in most respects I give this reach of the river a distinct preference over the Rhine. Less grand, it is much more lovely, and the towns and seats near the banks are not inferior in historic interest. It ought to be said, however, that the expense of travelling at home is not lighter than travelling on the Continent, and that you do not get so much for your money

in the way of commons and company. In some out-of-the-way localities you sometimes find the most unsophisticated prices. A learned friend has been telling me that after a long and conscientious investigation of the subject, he is satisfied that, upon the whole, iced champagne is the most wholesome beverage for his daily drink. He might overcome the difficulty about the ice by dropping the bottle in the cool Thames waters; but my learned friend would find a preliminary difficulty in procuring any light wines. It is in spring, and in spring only, that the foliage has that delicious exquisite green which painters so love. You cannot get such masses of this lovely colour in higher perfection than in the Undercliff, Isle of Wight, and in the valley of the Thames. You get it splendidly in driving along the Long Walk, from the Castle gates to George III.'s statue.

I had the opportunity of observing the extraordinary precautions taken on the occasion of her Majesty's journey northward. The Paper of Special Instructions, furnished to all the railway officials and the police, is quite a curiosity in its way. The train is timed to a second for each station. A pilot engine precedes for a quarter of an hour. There is not only telegraph communication from the break-vans to the engine, but the electric instrument and apparatus are conveyed in the royal train. A telegraphic communication could thus at once be made on the line, the notice paper says, the call for which will be LI. To this signal precedence must be given.' The telegraph clerks of the station when the train is passing are to report both to the next station and to the last station the fact of the passing train, and are to watch the instruments until they are relieved. The danger signals are to be kept for fifteen minutes after the train has passed, and the line is to be kept clear for twenty minutes before. None of the public are on this occasion to be admitted; and the servants of the company are to perform the necessary work on the platforms

without noise, and no cheering or other demonstration must be allowed-the object being that her Majesty shall be perfectly undisturbed during the journey.' And so with all precautions the royal train flashed through the night, crossing and recrossing the imperial river.

Pacing the Castle Terrace, or, better still, making the circuit of the Keep, it is impossible not to be struck with the great number of points in the landscape connected with the literary history of England. The two greatest names in our literature, Shakspeare and Milton, are connected with Windsor. That very morning I had seen on the Windsor walls the announcement that the 'Merry Wives' was to be performed. There is the spot where Herne's oak --or what was reckoned suchstood till a year or two ago; and a little on is Datchet Mead, the scene of the troubles of Sir John Falstaff. Close by, below the railway bridge, is the little island of Black Pots, where worthy Sir Henry Wotton built himself a little fishing-place, and whither Izaak Walton used annually to resort. Three miles from Windsor you see the old church of Horton, with the twin yews in front, where Milton's mother lies buried, and where he spent some of the most active years of his intellectual life. Yonder is a still more picturesque churchyard, that of Stoke Pogis, where Gray wrote the Elegy, and where he lies buried. Before us is the forest associated with the genius of Pope and recollections of Arbuthnot and Swift. Following the course of the Thames, a little beyond Magna Charta Island and the fine downs of Runnymede, you have Cowper's Hill. The whole course of the Thames has its literary souvenirs. At Great Marlow, Shelley wrote

The Revolt of Islam.' Beyond is Bisham Abbey, with its recollections of the early days of Queen Elizabeth, and Medmenham Abbey, and its wild traditions of Wilkes and his monks. The list might be increased indefinitely, if the noble chapel of Eton College, fronting the Castle and rising above the foliage of the

Playing Fields, might be allowed to suggest its associations. Simply to visit such localities would be a pleasure; and, without aspiring to be original, it would be a pleasure to verify what had been written in reference to them. The best way to realise the associations of scenery is to know and love the literature that inspired them; as when Gray, in his Letters, describes Burnham Beeches, or Pope draws the description, which has still so much truth, of Windsor Forest.

But, after all, the best effect of a brief retirement from town is the silence and solitude, the rippling of the stream, of the foliage, of the air; the opportunity of a little quiet thought, the introspect, the prospect, the retrospect. The Lotophagi were right-

We never fold our wings,
Nor cease our wanderings,

Still from one sorrow to another thrown,
Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm,
Or hearken what the inner spirit sings,
"There is no joy but calm."

There is no joy but calm.' Exactly. That just suits the Thames, and sums up the philosophy of the punt.

THE CHRIST CHURCH OUTRAGE.

The

The recent outrage at Christ Church has excited a great deal of annoyance and much real pain among those who are acquainted with the ways of the House.' escapade itself was unfortunate; but the most unfortunate thing about it was that it should find its way into the newspapers. If all the Christ Church rows were published with equal detail, they would furnish a good many exciting columns, and matter for a series of virtuousindignation leaders in the penny papers. Most Oxford men will remember several notorious cases in which Christ Church men have been accused of offences which might very properly have been tried at the criminal bar. They excited a great deal of scandal in the university, but luckily they were kept out of the papers. I remember a member of a late Government saying that he fully expected that some member of the House of Commons